Academic gathering with a lich-Chapter 71 - 68: Twilight Memories

The first arena match concluded.

The subsequent gladiatorial combats lacked any highlight.

Ten minutes of Bigby’s impassioned speech, the challenger’s thirty seconds of power-move buildup, ten seconds of tough talk, Raymond’s one-second finishing move, plus ten more minutes of Bigby’s nonsensical praise.

A gladiatorial fight ended.

The monotony of the routine had numbed Andrey’s reactions, and the boos of the losers were no longer heard, quite the contrary. Each victory set off a wave of cheers, which made Lyle suspect that the audience was not there to watch the fights, but to listen to Bigby fabricate gossip about the Fallen Angel Raymontos to satisfy their inner need to feel closer to their idol. Even if these stories were made up, unethical media would later distort and embellish them in their propaganda.

The repetitive developments of the plot taught Lyle one thing, that Holy Light truly could do whatever it pleased.

Mr. Raymond favored sanctifying the challengers’ specialties and then defeating them with a more powerful output.

Specifically:

"I master the wild force of the elements, the true primal power of nature!"

"Lord of Radiance!"

"Ancient knowledge at my command, the ancestors grant me strength!"

"Guard of Ancient Kings!"

"Machinery is the future, witness the miracle of steel and electricity!"

"Lightforged War Mech!"

The feeling of being defeated by a sanctified version of one’s own abilities was akin to being killed with one’s own sword snatched away – a supreme insult to one’s own skills and existence. When such insult occurred before a crowd, Lyle mourned for them in his heart, especially after their defeat, when Mr. Raymond would seriously say:

"Thank you for your selfless contributions, you make Holy Light even greater."

The resurrected challengers were carried out, cursing and swearing, by the Demon Race guards.

"Gentleman, those challengers who were crushed to bits by Raymond are intact again."

"That’s the current Life Box technology. All extreme battle arenas have such devices. They make your Life Box beforehand, and when you’re shattered, it’s used for resurrection. The idea comes from the Life Boxes of Ancient Liches. Although it’s an outdated spell, it adapts well to the current arenas. It’s patented by Andrey Academy."

"A completely one-sided battle." Mr. Raymond’s combat prowess was formidable indeed.

"Indeed, and that’s also why the associated betting on duels got banned. Even a blind man would know which side to bet on."

Lyle squinted his eyes, and if he weren’t wearing a mask, he would certainly be massaging his tired eyes. Wherever Raymond was, that’s where the source of light pollution lay.

The members of Andrey Academy were starting to leave behind him, declaring the end of the gladiatorial combat with dejected spirits.

Lyle and the Gentleman walked on the black cracked soil of Dark Zone Two, while behind them, the arena remain ablaze with fervor, with the Demon Race still indulging in a bruising celebration of the victory.

The water tendrils of the Talent Sphere once again moved onto his shoulder.

After inquiring about the location of Twilight Memories with the gentleman, Lyle bid him farewell and left.

The location of Twilight Memories was in the central residential area, the gathering place of the original inhabitants of City of Wandering. Mr. Gentleman spoke vaguely, only able to suggest fuzzily, "It’s an association with very few members, like a smaller, more exclusive version of the Cup of Luxury. It bears some resemblance to the Cup of Luxury, but its members... I’m sorry, this touches on some sensitive areas. Plague Doctor, you’d better not get your hopes too high. Compared to Andrei’s societies, it’s closer to the Mystic Party. Unless you have a member’s referral, it would be best not to fantasize about joining."

...

However, the reality was far from what Mr. Gentleman had imagined.

Lyle sat in a chair at Twilight Memories, looking around at the other people gathered in a circle.

Two tall shadows in disguise stood in the center of the living room, engaged in a heated argument, holding aloft a portrait of a person.

One portrait depicted a girl dressed as a Ranger, her golden, soft hair secured by a crown, woven into a bundle, her leather armor outlining elegant curves, a longbow slung across, her gaze following the sharp arrow looking off into the distance, as if to pierce through those beyond the painting.

The other, the girl in the painting rested her hands on her knees, a rather classic noble portrait, her exquisite face like that of a doll, her long hair black as ink, cascading down like a dark waterfall to the floor, dressed in a black and purple pleated skirt, her exposed skin delicate as white porcelain against the dark backdrop.

Both were portraits of stunning subjects, works of great beauty, but the commentary was equally dire.

"Your head is like a flattened tin can, both stubborn and deformed. Have your eyes been hidden behind armor for so long that you can no longer see? How can you overlook such beauty? Look at my Kayla, look at her pure, slender thighs—this is the true epitome of earthly beauty!"

"Your pig-headedness has been worn smooth by time. Have green and tender plants started sprouting on you? My Lina is the ultimate beauty in this world! Behold this hair, like the Milky Way; the smooth touch, like water escaping from the fingertips. I still remember that sensation. You with your eccentric tastes, are truly revolting."

The two hurled insults based on their respective preferences, each extolling their love for the girl in the portrait, eventually losing themselves as they caressed the artwork.

To Lyle, this scene seemed greasily indulgent.

Lyle turned his head to look at a figure, "Thank you very much, unknown sir, for bringing me in here. However, I’m now not sure if the luck you’ve given me was a good choice."

The figure wore velvet cloth, adorned as richly as the two gentlemen at the center, exuding wealth and distinction, but with noticeably more elegance. He not only generously led Lyle, who was lost outside, but also warmly explained everything here.

"Those two have just loved too deeply, after all, she is their only granddaughter, the heir of their families. Also, those two have certain personal grievances. A talented descendant is one aspect, and personal grudges are another, which led to such debates."

So the girl in the paintings was their granddaughter, "Their own eccentric predilections are also a factor."

The figure chuckled, "Compared to their achievements, these flaws are of little consequence."

He took a step forward, as if intending to intervene in their dispute.

The shift in the environment drew their attention.

"Irene, what do you think, which side is better?"

There it was—the third party in the fixed scene to mediate. If not handled well, he might get burned himself.

Irene clasped his hands together, rubbing them as if to please, "I only want to speak on behalf of my foolish grandson, to seek a beautiful wife for him. What do you say?"

"Absolutely not!" "Absolutely not!" The argument ceased, and both men clasped their portraits tightly behind them as if fearing the loss of their precious granddaughters at Irene’s touch.

Mr. Irene had perfectly defused the situation.