Speed-King's gaze lingered on Lucian, a shrewd glint in his bright, restless eyes. He seemed to be assessing, calculating, his gaze sweeping over Lucian's frame, noting the subtle tension in his shoulders, the quiet power that hummed beneath his dark tunic. "You've cultivated a body strengthening technique, haven't you?" he stated, not as a question, but as an observation, a statement of fact.
Lucian's brow arched almost imperceptibly. He hadn't expected such a direct, accurate assessment from a casual acquaintance. "How did you know?" he asked, his voice even, revealing nothing.
He chuckled, a dry, self-deprecating sound. "Let's just call it instinct. And a lifetime of observing those who walk a path similar to my own, even if I've strayed from it." He extended a hand, a gesture of unexpected camaraderie. "My real name is Ned. What's yours, Mr. Prince?"
Lucian paused, his blue eyes, hidden beneath the dyed black hair and the blue cheek-stripe, holding a flicker of amusement. He considered the question for a moment, then a smirk, faint but distinct, touched his lips. "I am the one who will kick you out in the first round."
Ned threw his head back and laughed, a genuine, booming sound that momentarily cut through the cabin's low hum of anticipation. "Hah! You're as arrogant as your name is Mr. Prince!"
"Of course," Lucian replied, the smirk widening. He extended his own hand, his grip firm and cool. "Give your best, Ned. Don't disappoint me."
Ned's laughter faded, replaced by a wistful shake of his head. A shadow crossed his face, a flicker of sadness, of deep-seated regret.
"If only," he murmured, his gaze drifting towards the bustling arena outside the window, "if only I was as confident as you during my youthful days. Perhaps my life would have been different." The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken burdens.
Lucian's expression softened, a rare moment of empathy breaking through his usual stoicism. He had seen that look before, in the eyes of countless dying men, in the haunted reflections of his own past.
"Everyone has regrets, Ned," he said, his voice quiet, almost reflective. "There are very few people I have met who have no regrets at all. So, open up off your regrets."
Ned's eyes, surprisingly vulnerable, met Lucian's. "What is the grade of your body strengthening?" he asked, the question abrupt, as if seeking a distraction from his own introspection.
Lucian answered casually, as if discussing the weather. "Platinum."
Ned stared, then a short, sharp laugh burst from him, devoid of humor. "True. I will surely lose." He laughed again, a hollow, bitter sound, and this time, Lucian could clearly see the sadness in his eyes, the profound disappointment that had nothing to do with the tournament.
It was the look of a man who had already surrendered, not to an opponent, but to himself. All hope of winning, not just against Lucian, but against his own past, seemed to have evaporated.
"You knew, with your current strength, you could never win this tournament," Lucian stated, his voice gentle, probing. "So why did you join?"
Ned's laughter returned, a desperate, self-mocking sound. "I just wanted some high rank, Mr. Prince. A decent showing. Something to tell myself I wasn't completely useless. And I would have been happy with that. Alas, I got you as an opponent." He sighed, a long, weary exhalation.
"If there is anything I can do?" Lucian offered, the question genuine. He rarely offered help, but something in Ned's despair resonated with a part of him he usually kept locked away.
Ned looked at him, a strange glint in his eye, and then, almost reflexively, he recited a verse, his voice taking on a distant, almost reverent tone, as if quoting from memory.
"Thine own senses are thine greatest foes;
They whisper sweet lies where truth never goes. It is few of the lines I remember from holy bible."
He laughed again, a harsh, self-deprecating bark. "In my youth, when my father told me to work hard, to train, to study, I gave into desires. I wasted time. I freeloaded. I was a pampered fool. My mother… she pampered me a lot. She died when I was ten, and even on her deathbed, she made my father promise not to be harsh on me, to let me do what I loved. And my father… he promised. He took care of me properly. My mom died peacefully, believing I would be fine."
Ned's voice cracked. "But eventually, my father died too, working himself to the bone, just to take care of my needs and desires. He never said a word to me. Not a single word of reproach. He was so clung to that promise he made to her. I think… I think he was just tired of scolding me. He never said anything again. But he never ate dinner before me, even though I was always late at night, either. Not once. I never understood his love then."
Ned's laughter turned raw, tears beginning to stream down his weathered cheeks, mingling with the sweat of his own internal torment. "Do you think I'm joining this tournament for some noble cause, Mr. Prince? No!" He choked back a sob.
"I just lack the money to go to the brothel and enjoy my life in lust and fleeting pleasure. Hahahaha! I am truly pathetic! Hahahahah!" His body shook with the force of his broken laughter, the tears flowing freely now, carving paths through the dust on his cheeks.
"I wish to change. I wish to have a good family. I wish to live life like a true warrior, like those heroes from the stories, even though they feel so cringe because of their righteousness. Aren't they better than a loser like me who wastes time? Yes, I can see the contempt in the eyes of the girls in the brothel. I am a sore loser, but I still go to them, to escape from this world, from myself. Tell me, my friend, what should I do?" His voice was a desperate plea, a raw, exposed wound.
He looked at Lucian, his eyes wide and brimming, seeking an answer, a lifeline, anything to pull him from the abyss of his own making.
…
At that moment, a voice, ancient and resonant, detached from the cabin and the arena, echoed through a boundless, swirling void. "What a pitiful man," I, Time, mused, my voice a low, indifferent hum, "plagued by that little fellow."
My gaze, which encompassed all temporal dimensions, lingered on Ned, a fleeting curiosity.
But then, another voice, distinct from my own, a sound that vibrated with the very essence of creation, cut through the cosmic silence. "You are the one feeling pity for that man?" the voice resonated, its tone laced with a knowing amusement, a hint of accusation.
"Amazing, what hypocrisy, Time. Weren't you the one who killed his ambitions, his ability to think? You, whose own existence is just to 'Kill'?"
I, Time, merely laughed, an indifferent, echoing sound that spanned galaxies. "I don't remember asking for your help in narrating this tale, Progenitor of Everything, the one who holds the authority of creation, the father of all creations, the embodiment of embodiments, the creator of all rules and regulations, and one of the three pillars of this ….."
"Nature!" the voice boomed, a vibrant, living sound.
Nature laughed, a rich, earthy sound that seemed to bring warmth to the cold void. "Oh, I think you forgot one title, Time," he said, a smirk in his voice. "The Leader of the Pillars of this …."
Even though Nature, in its true form, can exist as anything from a cosmic entity to a minute Planck particle, for the benefit of you, our readers, who are humans, he manifested as a human now.
His form shimmered, coalescing into a figure of radiant, vibrant energy, with eyes that held the depth of ancient forests and hair like flowing rivers. Before he could utter another word, a sharp, distinct 'shutter' sound echoed through the void, and the scene abruptly changed, pulling away from the cosmic dialogue and back into the unfolding narrative.