Odyssey of the Guardian Emperor

The amphitheatre was packed to the brim, with gold and white hair dotting the stands, huddled up into clusters within clusters of supporters screaming their lungs out. They yelled strings of words Alaric couldn't decipher as they melded into each other chaotically. When he focused, he caught more insults than actual substance, and that only made his face turn a deeper shade of red.

[ I don't like this place. ] Sabre's voice filtered into Alaric's mind.

[ These birds remind me of my glory days in the arena. ] WorldHammer reminisced, [ But they are vulgar. ]

[ Let's try to get through this. ] Alaric tried.

There was only one upside to this place, and it was that his outfit didn't attract much attention. A few people stared at him, gave him odd looks, but could only spare him a bit of time before turning their heads back to the game. They were all far more interested in the Featherbowl match.

"Par'al, the crowd's rowdier than usual today," Kair'ak called over the noise, "We should come back another time."

"Oh, don't be such a stick in the mud," Par'al yelled back, "It will be fine."

Meanwhile, Scarlett and Lucy pushed past Alaric with Kair'ak in tow. "Is everything okay?" he asked.

Lucy spared him a glance, "Of course, it is. It's not like we're surrounded by an entire stadium of hyped up men covered in sweat."

Alaric scrunched his nose in realisation, "Right, let's go higher."

Par'al led the group up to the higher seats, which they all appreciated given the steam coming off every demihuman in sight.

As they found their seats, Alaric's eyes wandered over the humbling number of demihumans inside the amphitheatre, eventually finding their way back to the arena where the games continued. This high up, it was easier to get a good look at the whole arena.

At the centre of it was a large field of sand with weapon racks on the side, waiting for the next person to use them. Going around this field of sand, however, was the obstacle course Alaric had seen earlier, and that's where the game of Featherbowl was taking place.

The ring of sand, as he observed, was out of bounds for the game of Featherbowl. Everything else, however, was built to break anyone who thought themselves worthy players like these three.

The demihuman with the ball made of feathers was especially skilled, shooting through the obstacles with lightning fast speed, reflexes, and agility Alaric could only dream of. He had navy blue hair, which was extremely uncommon among the Heaven-Crested Eagles. Somewhere in the crowd, though, he caught a glimpse of a group of demihumans with coloured hair as well.

The Eagles chasing the blue-haired one were skilled, too, but the skill gap between them was visible. Out of all the ledges, spinning wheels, flame-shooting nozzles and whatever other sabotaging gizmos that filled the obstacle course, Alaric took note of two large glowing hoops stationed on opposite sides of the arena, slightly above the obstacle course. These hoops were the only things that served no malicious purpose, and that made Alaric curious.

"How is this game played?" he asked when they'd finally sat down.

Par'al spoke up just as the player with navy-blue hair dove through one of the hoops, his wings tucked tightly close to his body. As soon as he did, a magical counter suspended high above the amphitheatre counted up.

"The goal is to go through those hoops thirteen times with the featherball. The hoops are enchanted to allow only the ball-holder through, and even then, he must have rotated a full lap around the course for them to count up," Par'al explained, "Pretty simple, right?"

"No!" Alaric squealed, "You skipped the part where the whole arena is a death trap. What's allowed and what's not?"

Par'al grinned, "That's the fun part. You can do anything to win for as long as you don't bring any weapons or elixirs."

Alaric looked back down with a sinking feeling in his stomach. One of the eagles had stopped chasing the agile one and was nowhere to be seen. After scanning a bit more, Alaric finally saw him standing behind a pillar supporting a line of swinging blades.

Quietly, he waited for his opponent to come whizzing by. As soon as he heard the sound of his wings fluttering, he unfurled his own and jumped right into his path, fist reeled back with a massive triumphant grin splitting his face.

"End of the line," he howled.

Alaric's heart skipped a beat, and for a split second, he saw a dark smirk bloom across the speeding eagle's face. Time dragged. The blue-haired demihuman opened his tucked wings and, with a powerful flap, threw the ball up and cut a sharp arc above his opponent, dodging the fist with relative ease.

He grabbed the other by the wings and, with the momentum from his flight, violently threw him into a contraption of spiked spinning mallets.

Gasps rippled through the crowd.

The blue-haired eagle caught the ball and darted away without a second thought. The eagle who'd been thrown into the spinning mallets tore out of them in a fit of rage, breaking one of the mallets in the process. He was covered in bruises with blood coming from his nose, seething.

At the sight of him, the crowd lit up like a thousand fireworks going off at once, cheering the blue-haired Eagle on as he shot through yet another hoop. The second eagle landed close to his seething friend and grabbed his hand, pulling him up into the air. They were not finished yet.

Together, the chasers turned and started flying the wrong way, heading straight for the blue-haired one. After all, their rotations meant nothing without the featherball. Alaric almost looked away when the two sides collided. The seemingly ingenious manoeuvre, however, turned deadly almost instantly.

The blue-haired demihuman was ruthless in his methods, using every part of the arena to his advantage, including the flames and swinging blades.

He rammed his shoulder into the larger one's torso, twisted mid-air and grabbed his ankles, then started spinning him. The pair blurred into a whirlwind of feathers and armour before the ballholder let go and flung the other into what looked like a dragon's maw. Flames erupted from the dragon's mouth, burning the demihuman down to his screams. The ballholder then went ahead to drive his other opponent through a row of swinging blades before continuing on with the obstacle course.

Alaric had gone silent only to see the charred demihuman step out of the dragon's maw. He flapped his wings and jumped out of the way of another jet of flames, landing on a platform beneath several swinging clubs. His feathers had been charred, and he was covered in light burns. He would not be rejoining the game for a while.

His comrade had surprisingly managed to escape the blades with his body intact. After that, however, even he slowed down in his pursuit. The crowd didn't like that.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

"This game is brutal," Alaric concluded when one side of the magical counter in the air struck twelve against a measly three. Just one point was left before the game ended, but by then, it was a clear win for the blue-haired demihuman. He flew the rest of the way, barely opposed by his opponents.

Par'al waved Alaric's words off, "A game's only as good as the stakes, and what higher stakes are there than one's life? Besides, it's their fault for agreeing to go against a Stormrunner. Everyone knows how ruthless and rowdy they can be."

"Stormrunner?" Alaric asked.

"A Higher One who ventures out of the storm and into the outside world. They dye their hair to blend in with the humans," Grun'am explained calmly.

"They are also responsible for supplying the demiplane with goods we lack here and bringing new ways to enrich the lives we live. It was a Stormrunner who invented this game after seeing the land of the humans for himself." Par'al added excitedly.

Alaric didn't miss the way Grun'am's hands balled into fists whenever Par'al spoke. He constantly shifted when something dangerous happened during the game and often looked away. While the whole amphitheatre was filled with eagles screaming their heads off, he sat quietly. Lucy had long since closed her eyes, asking Scarlett to tell her when it was all over, while LionHeart just sat there with his arms crossed over his chest, walking with an expressionless face.

"Is this the only sport played here?" Scarlett asked.

At that, Grun'am's eyes lit up a bit, "Oh no. There is a lot more. This is where we hold the Duels of Wind, and sometimes, races. Both of those are a lot less… barbaric."

"You mean a lot more boring," Par'al chipped in. Leaning closer to Alaric, he added, "Don't listen to that softie. He doesn't understand the thrill of putting his life at risk. It's why he took a whole century to make Stone Rank."

Grun'am stood up with his fists balled, ready to punch Par'al's eye out, only for Kair'ak to put a hand on his shoulder, "Calm down, brother. It's not worth it." To Par'al, she gave a cold stare, "You know better than to mock the work of others, Par'al."

"I was only messing around. If he has a problem with me, then we can settle it in the arena another time, okay?" Par'al roughly chuckled.

"And what good does that do? He's challenged you to the Duel of Wind more times than I can count now, and yet the fighting never stops," Kair'ak argued.

"Maybe he should try winning for once," Par'al grinned.

Before anything else could be said, the counter hit thirteen, and the crowd erupted in celebration of the victory. The Stormrunner took to the sky and went around, celebrating at the top of his lungs. A daring few managed to strike a high five with him as he flew by, despite the pain it promised them.

"It's good to be back, friends," the man yelled at the top of his voice, "Nothing makes a journey home more fulfilling than a thrilling game of a Featherbowl."

There was a loud chorus of laughter and agreement in the crowd before someone yelled out, "How many demons did you kill out there?"

"Demons? I lost count. The land of humans remains as filthy as ever, and while I thought it couldn't get any worse, it did. Their weakness has let the demon scourge fester, enough for them to even form stampedes," the Stormrunner narrated with enthusiasm. His voice carried throughout the amphitheatre like an amplification spell had been cast on his vocal cords, drawing gasps from the demihumans thirsty for his knowledge, "There I was, purchasing a rare seed the humans like to call 'strawberry' when I sniffed the air and everything's turned foul. I know this scent well, but never had I caught it so dense with no demon in sight. I quickly found an exit and flew high into the sky.

For the first time in my life…" the man gestured with his hands and eyes, gazing upon a vast landscape, "…demons, as far as the eye can see. Large ones, small ones, serpents, dogs, titans, chimeras, anything you can imagine."

"Did the humans survive?" a voice rang out.

"Of course not! The humans are weak," he brushed off the question. "If anything, they performed better at fleeing than fighting off those demons."

"Did you help them?" another rang out.

The crowd went silent at this point, turning to the voice that had just spoken. There she stood, her silver hair waving in the wind.

Lucy had either failed to read the room or lost her cool, but that didn't matter now that she'd spoken up, "You float up there talking about how you watched them flee for their lives, but what did you do when the demons came?"

The Stormrunner hovered closer and took another look at Lucy. His irritation forced the wind to stop blowing. In his presence, even Alaric's influence on the world ran mute. With a dangerously low tone, he wondered, "What's a human doing in the demiplane?"

"She's with us," Kair'ak spoke up quickly, pulling Lucy behind her, "They are guests of the High Sentinel."

"Guests with humans?" the Stormrunner bellowed, "That old man's gone senile."

"You take that back," Grun'am growled.

"Oh, Grun'am," the Stormrunner sang, "A weakling like you should know when to hold his tongue. Now, why would the High Sentinel allow humans into the demiplane?" His eyes scanned through the crowd before landing on Alaric, "And those clothes. He let you wear those?"

Alaric's heart sank, and his gut rang out. This was the first time he'd felt a sense of danger since coming to the demiplane. He had no time to act on it as the Stormrunner grabbed him by the collar and took to the sky, hovering above the stands with the boy hanging limp by his shirt.

"I ought to strike you down where you stand."

Alaric resisted the urge to cough or wheeze, breathing deeply to calm down before speaking softly, "What's your name?"

The crowd chuckled at the question, rousing laughter from the Stormrunner as well, "This one's a hoot. His life is in danger, and he's interested in my name."

"You don't know mine either," Alaric answered.

"Does it matter?"

"Of all the noble Heaven-Crested Eagles I've met, you're perhaps the most foul," Alaric responded calmly, "So, I'll ask you one more time. What is your name?"

"You have guts, boy," the man grinned, "I respect that, and because of that, I will give you my answer. My name is Rail'ak, son of Ungv'ak."

Alaric's heart fell, and tears threatened to well up in his eyes. "Ungv'ak?"

"Yes, the High Sentinel himself," the man responded, "Cower in fear. I am the future High Sentinel."

"Rail'ak, let him go." Kair'ak's voice reached their ears, "It's true that a lot of the things you do don't faze your father, but if you put a scratch on that boy, you might suffer banishment."

Rail'ak furrowed his eyebrows, "That's a stretch, even for my father. What's makes this boy so special? Is he some kind of secret ingredient to a pill that can help the old man break to the next level of his Sainthood?"

Another chorus of laughter erupted in the crowd, but Kair'ak's voice tore through it, "No."

"Well, then he's worthless," the Stormrunner responded, his hand waving Alaric around like he weighed nothing. Alaric, until this point, had refrained from activating any of his abilities as he felt the power would only encourage Rail'ak to make more of a scene. "The only other thing, which is highly unlikely, is for this boy to be the reincarnation of that dead man my father reveres."

No reply rose to this, but the silence spoke louder than any words could, and it made a devilish smile bloom on the prince's face. "Oh, you can't be serious!" Turning to Alaric, he finally addressed his clothes, "You were in the room of Delphi's priest? That's where you got these clothes from."

"These clothes have caused me more pain than anything I've ever worn in my entire life," Alaric grunted, "Can you put me down now?"

"Why? You afraid of heights?" Rail'ak rose even higher, flapping his wings effortlessly as a gentle breeze pushed him higher.

Alaric stopped struggling and just sighed, "Rail'ak, while you satisfy yourself with picking on the weak, I'd like to hear your answer to that girl's question."

Rail'ak, ignoring Alaric's words, shook the boy's limp body a bit harder and furrowed his eyebrows, "What's wrong with this human? Do you not feel fear?"

"Stop shaking me already," the boy squealed.

"RAIL'AK," Kair'ak shouted, but the prince didn't flinch.

Rail'ak stopped shaking Alaric for a bit and whispered, "Beg me."

"Wouldn't that be nice?" Alaric smirked, "To have the reincarnation of the Guardian Emperor begging you for mercy. I noticed you dyed your hair. Is that also because you've always wanted a colour that stands out?"

"No," Rail'ak pulled Alaric closer to him so they looked each other in the eye, "It's to blend in with the humans. Everyone knows Stormrunners must dye their hair."

Alaric nodded in response, a wide grin on his face, "I know."

"Then you have quite the sharp tongue for a weak human. Almost makes me feel sorry for what comes next," he growled into Alaric's face. This close, Alaric noticed a light scar running down his eye. It looked a lot like a scratch mark, but he also knew it couldn't be a coincidence that the mark still existed. Scars were rare amongst beings of High Temper ranks.

In the next moment, a fist slammed into Alaric's gut with so much force that it launched him out of the amphitheatre. Alaric had layered his Spirit vessel around his belly, reading into the man's body language—which was very easy—, but even with all that protection, he found himself coughing blood as he shot through the air.

'That jerk…' he screamed in his head.

Blue lines appeared on his arms and neck as he tapped into SwiftWind's power. The wind listened, letting him slow his trajectory down to a smooth hover.

Three large eagles shot out of the amphitheatre a moment later, carrying humans on their backs in a rush to get away from the Stormrunner. A sigh escaped Alaric's lips, 'So much for a 'fun' game of Featherbowl.'