The Legend of Randidly Ghosthound

Randidly took his time going through the eight losers of this round. Their significance was thick and weighty. But more than that, getting here had not been easy. They deserved some respect for their accomplishments.

Azriel was first. She almost seemed offended that he brought her to the image world. She squinted around and poked at the various aspects of the generated landscape with an intense gaze. She eventually sat down and looked at Randidly with an expression of dissatisfaction. “You’ve been very thorough in the creation of this place. Must have taken quite some time and effort.”

Randidly couldn’t help but chuckle, enjoying the feeling of sunlight and the wind coming in off of the Hallat River. “Thank you. But I have to admit, most of it wasn’t me; because I’ve brought so many other people here… their impressions become a part of the space even after they leave. I didn’t take the time to polish every detail, because the passage of so many experiences formed the foundation all on its own. Nether is pretty convenient in that way.”

Her nod was sharp and birdlike. There was a strangeness to Azriel. She sent him furtive glances while he tried to make other small talk and she haltingly responded. Not that she seemed nervous, but that she seemed to be looking for something in his manner that she couldn’t find.

However, the significance of the place soon indicated that Azriel was ready to move on; whatever tension she carried, it wasn’t related to losing in the tournament. She carried other demons on her shoulders.

Next came Wivanya. If anything, the Frost Dragon Broodmother’s enthusiasm to speak with Randidly was even more stressful than Azriel’s standoffishness. The sessions lasted much longer as well; Wivanya wanted to give Randidly a complete update on the codes of the religion they had based on him. He endured it with a pained smile on his face, glad that the dragon didn’t seem very good at reading emotions.

Hurting her feelings would only make the interaction more agonizing. But then, watching Wivanya’s large sapphire eyes, he wondered if it could possibly be just that he couldn’t read her disappointment with his lukewarm reaction.

That particular anxiety twisted his stomach into a knot.

She only departed after securing a promise from Randidly that he would come visit the inner alcove of the Frost Dragons. Randidly rubbed the bridge of his nose and moved on to the next dreamer, which was Mrs. Hamilton.

She slumped into the seat next to him and released a long sigh. “I’m honestly surprised how much I feel like I need this. Talking to someone about it, someone unrelated. I’m… slightly bitter about the loss. Not that I don’t think Paolo deserved to win; I always knew my match against him would be extremely difficult, but I wanted to fight against you, this time.”

Randidly raised an eyebrow. “This time?”

“Recently, as I’ve focused more on martial pursuits… I’ve discovered that I’m actually pretty good at them. At fighting, overcoming opponents. Targeting opponents.” Mrs. Hamilton seemed to age ten years as she sat there, allowing the lines on her face to sag and cast long shadows across her cheekbones. Her gaze remained on the ground in front of her. “I see more methods, more ruthless shortcuts, more effective uses of violence. Some part of myself… the one that has adapted so quickly to this mindset… is fearful. That I’ll hurt someone. That I’ll be so wrapped up in victory that I will not care about my methods.”

Randidly just observed as she continued to speak. It was, he had to admit, a worry that he had once wrestled with himself.

“I’ve felt myself becoming a monster that would twist the world in order to obtain my victory. I cannot deny its a thrill, feeling that capability. The ability to force the world to acknowledge you, with raw power and desire. But I cannot stomach it, sometimes. So I’ve held myself back. I felt it, most of all, in the match against Paolo. That certain instincts would come to me, bloodthirsty and vindictive ones, instincts I didn’t dare indulge. Who knows if they would have led to my victory or not… but at least against you, I feel like I could have completely let myself go. I could have lashed out with every dangerous thought I possess, confident that you could handle it.”

“You definitely wouldn’t have defeated me with that attitude,” Randidly pointed out.

Mrs. Hamilton’s face came alive once more. She raised her head and smirked at him. “I wouldn’t be so sure. I can be a real brat when I don’t get my way. But also, Randidly… the point was never winning, for me. Which inevitably lead me here, I suppose.”

Of all the conversations Randidly had with this round of losers, his favorite was DiOrtho Vant.

For a while, the two sat in silence. They simply stared out over the landscape, watching wind and river continue its relentless journey. Finally, Vant leaned back in his seat and sighed. “Shit, when Raymund hears I lost to Charlotte, I’m going to have extra training for months.”

Chuckling, Randidly said. “If it makes you feel better, we will be going back to the Nexus after the tournament. And I have a feeling that things… won’t be easy.”

Vant nodded solemnly. “Yea. But we can handle it. The Vulpis Squad has your back.”

“Yea,” Randidly said.

Wolfram and Randidly had a very interesting conversation about Skill combination and Aether separation. The ogre was incredibly insightful into the process and readily admitted he had derived the mechanism for his image from watching Randidly wield his three images together. This became another long consultation, but Wolfram’s emotions were relatively stable as they flowed through the filter of Randidly’s Nether Core. In the aftermath, Randidly didn’t feel even a hint of an ache.

Weirdly, it was a lot of fun to have someone to whom Randidly could talk about the complexity of balancing several sources of power.

At the end, Wolfram asked Randidly whether he should also try to develop several separate images to juggle along with his Skills. For a long time, Randidly stayed silent, mulling over the possibilities. More than anyone else, he understood both the difficulties and advantages of possessing three images.

He licked his lips before speaking. “If that is the Path you choose, then I wish you good luck. You would obtain significant power by succeeding, but it’s hard. The mental strain is tough to quantify; there is no way to prepare for it. Oftentimes, some portion of myself even the System has difficulty empowering reaches its limit; I need to go into a several-hour coma to recover and continue training.

“But I will say this: it is one thing to accept that several images are emerging and learning to use them. It is altogether another to forcefully create several images in order to have a variety of options. The foundation and purity of each image are more important than the number. Don’t stretch yourself too thin.”

Randidly’s meeting with the chimeric woman Allowaen was another one that was threaded through with tension. Her intentions buzzed off her nervous posture. She watched him like a hawk, torn between wanting to attack him and worrying that he would attack her.

During that meeting, he did his best to move slowly. He asked her about life in Kharon, about her relationship with Zeta, about how she felt acclimating to normal life. Her answers were vague, confusing, and often included weird references to natural phenomena.

Through it all, her significance poured into him, displaying none of the hesitance that her physical form showed. Randidly could very literally feel how much she craved answers from him about what exactly she was or what it meant that she carried on a little bit of the Patron of the Grey that had been created as a Calamity.

Randidly’s Nether Core resonated with her presence. More than the thick and dense Nether from those that came before, the connection between the two of them did the most to push him toward his next Nether Core transformation. And for a brief moment, Randidly felt that resonance pry open the future and give him a glimpse of a possible outcome.

If I ever fail in my fight against the Nexus, if Elhume captures me or grinds my bones to dust, Thinking of those futures, Randidly felt them. Their ways forward were briefly illuminated, even as his own potential end loomed closer. His body began to tremble, a horrible abyss of death pulling him into its depths. She will pick up the spear. She will have help, of course. But weirdly, she is the being closest to my disposition. Everything that I have, she could learn.

She could avenge me.

The moment passed. The two of them were simply sitting on the hill about the Hallat. To their left, the neat cemetery stood with its iron gates and geometric gravestones. Randidly released a shaky breath, causing Allowaen to flinch. They parted silently, the sudden lack of negative emotions and her genuine desire to leave teleporting her out of the dream.

Which only left Illdan.

The spearman from Tellus still seemed shocked, as though he still hadn’t been able to grasp that he had lost in the arena. He sat very quietly for a long time on the hill, just looking down at his hands.

“I… what do I tell my people.” Illdan eventually volunteered. His voice was low and raw. “I was supposed to be the Spearman Reborn. Even if I didn’t exactly… believe everything they were staying, I still have a responsibility to Tellus. And I failed them. All the effort and resources that have gone into my training have been wasted.”

Perhaps it was the exhaustion speaking through him, but Randidly had no more patience for being kind to this morose younger man. “If you believe that Tellus had truly named you Spearman Reborn for anything other than grabbing the attention of the masses, you are a fool. Do you believe you are the most powerful spear user on Tellus? Especially while Kimpap has made it a round beyond you, without revealing her true depth.”

Illdan blinked several times, as though just noticing Randidly’s presence. But then his face creased with anger. “True, I might not currently have the most fighting strength. However, my potential should be one of the highest in the entire Alpha Cosmos. And my image is directly from the Spearman-”

“That is also incorrect,” Randidly shook his head several times. Even now, it seemed comical to him that he should have to be here, having this conversation. “Your image is actually mine. Well, I don’t want to disturb whatever history they are spreading about the Spearman on Tellus these days… but his true image wasn’t related to a spear. It was just a tool to pay back a very old debt to someone he loved.

“And if you want proof about the image being mine,” Randidly shot Illdan a sharp glance as the younger man opened his mouth, undoubtedly to offer a rebuttal. “Do you remember your previous match? Against the other spear user from Tellus? I’m sure you had a sense of enlightenment in those moments. You felt unstoppable, like you could find an answer to every attack the opponent threw at you. That’s because the protective barrier around the arena was made with my memories; you were relying on my combat experience in order to fight. The reason it transferred so smoothly was that you utilize my Breath of the Spear Phantom. That small connection made it possible.”

Illdan went pale and hiccuped.

“Now, let’s get to your third and most damning reason that you were absolutely crushed by Beatrice.” Randidly began to frown, just remembering the sorry display of a match that he had been forced to watch. “She predicted most of your moves because she had been paying attention to you the entire tournament. Have you even seen her fight? Did you not even bother to research the opponent. You-”

Randidly cut off his small rant, feeling the sense of helplessness beginning to waft off of Illdan. The spear user slumped in his seat, looking lost and weak.

“So… what do I do now?” Illdan whispered.

Randidly reached over and squeezed his shoulder. “You start again. You work on your foundation. You train. If you want to follow your Path to the finish… all you need to do is keep going, no matter how difficult the losses become.”

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