Chapter 61: Vilotheline

The next morning.

Orlando stood at the entrance of the Commerce Guild building, looking up.

A gray stone structure, four stories high, with three flags hanging on the outer wall—

The crests of the Wolf, Dog, and Horse tribes arranged from left to right.

A line stretched from the door.

Not very long, but moving slowly.

Each step forward took about two or three minutes.

Zijiang stood beside him, her pink ponytail tied high, cat-ear headphones around her neck.

She stood on tiptoe to look at the front of the line, then dropped back down.

“Probably thirty minutes to wait.”

“How do you know?”

“I checked a guide.”

Orlando said nothing.

The line shuffled forward.

Something glinted across the street.

Not the light of a magic terminal—

Metal reflection.

Camera lens coating flashed in the sun.

Several people with cameras stood at the corner, all pointed in the same direction.

“Hey.”

Zijiang pointed across the street.

“Isn’t that—”

A deer-race woman walked over from the street corner.

Her golden hair hung down from under the edge of her cloak hood, the ends curling slightly at her collarbone.

The cloak was dark, fine material but plain—

No crests or embroidery.

Unbuttoned, she wore a simple white shirt and dark trousers underneath, the shirt tucked into a belt.

 A thin sword hung at her waist, its scabbard set with an amber gem.

Her deer ears stuck up from her golden hair, the tips curving slightly forward.

Deer-race were rare on the Aotelan Continent—

So rare it was hard to explain, really just scarce.

Camera shutters clicked in a burst.

Zijiang had already pulled out her phone.

“It’s Viloseline!”

Her voice was low, but the end shot upward.

She held up her phone, camera aimed across the street, shutter sounds mixing with those of the cameras.

But Orlando noticed a few figures who didn’t quite fit.

Behind those with cameras, two of them weren’t pressing the shutter.

Their lens caps were still on.

One wore a dark gray jacket, collar up, hands in pockets.

The other crouched on a lamppost base, an unlit cigarette dangling from his mouth, eyes on Viloseline’s direction, but his gaze wasn’t on her.

‘These two people are extremely suspicious.’

“She looks so much better than in the stream—”

Zijiang stood on tiptoe, phone raised above her head, tracking the hem of Viloseline’s cloak from the street corner all the way to the alley beside the Commerce Guild building.

“I heard she came from the Land of the Rising Sun Beyond the Horizon.”

“A noble’s illegitimate daughter, exiled here. Look at that aura—can’t raise that in a common family.”

“Last time she donated all her prize money from the special tournament to the Dark Night relief center.”

“Just for show.”

“So what if it’s for show? She actually paid out real gold and silver.”

“I heard she keeps several male servants under the Candlelight Knights.”

“Where did you hear that?”

“Everyone says so.”

“Lots of things everyone says.”

Zijiang’s phone was still up.

Viloseline had already left.

The golden tail of hair hung from the hood’s edge, swaying against the dark cloak, then swallowed by the alley’s shadow.

The cat-race leaning against the wall glanced at the alley from under his hat brim.

Then he straightened up, hands in his pockets, and followed Viloseline into the alley.

The two “photographers” who hadn’t pressed the shutter also left.

One headed toward the alley; the other crossed the street and circled around the side of the Commerce Guild building.

“Got it, got it, got it—”

Zijiang flipped through her photo album, the corners of her mouth practically reaching her ears.

“She looks way better in person than on stream. That skin, that hair color, that—”

“Zijiang.”

“Huh?”

“Let’s go.”

“Oh, right, we still have to line up.”

She stuffed the phone back into her pocket, stood on tiptoe again to check the front of the line.

It had moved forward another step.

(Three hours later…)

Inside the Commerce Guild building was cooler than outside.

The stone walls blocked the sun, and the air smelled of paper and metal.

Behind the counter sat a row of uniformed clerks, every face as hard as the stamps in their hands.

“Exchange for both of us.”

Zijiang pulled a stack of silver coins from her wallet and lined them up on the counter.

The clerk counted them with his fingers, slid the coins into a drawer, then pulled two stacks of vouchers from under the counter.

The paper was fresh, printed with the Commerce Guild’s emblem—

Three tribal crests in a circle with a gold coin in the center.

The denominations were printed in the four corners.

She handed half the vouchers to Orlando.

“Keep these safe.”

Orlando took them.

The paper felt slippery, like it had been waxed.

He folded them and stuffed them into his pocket.

“Alright, alright, hurry, hurry—”

Zijiang grabbed his sleeve and pulled him out.

The vouchers were crumpled in her other hand, edges wrinkled.

“What’s the rush?”

“Preliminaries! First match of the preliminaries! Starts at 10:00! It’s already 9:20!”

She tugged him across the street.

The potholes in the cobblestones still held yesterday’s water, splashing small droplets as they stepped.

Her pink ponytail swung behind her, and a small piece of shredded paper clung to the edge of her cat-ear headphone.

The arena was in the center of the inner city.

Orlando stood at the entrance and looked up.

Not a castle.

More like a large sports stadium.

Oval-shaped, outer walls painted beige, hung with a giant advertisement banner—

Masiweiluo’s portrait stared down at the crowd from the canvas, silver-white plate armor, a lance beside her, with gold letters reading:

“The Seventy-Second Match—Witness History.”

Below the banner were ticket gates.

Dozens of turnstiles lined up, with uniformed ticket checkers behind them.

The crowd formed dozens of lines in front of the turnstiles, pouring inward.

Zijiang dragged him toward the media entrance.

The media entrance had no line.

A dog-race woman in a dark uniform checked her credentials, glanced at Orlando.

Zijiang explained, “He’s my cameraman,” and the woman nodded.

At the end of the passage was a double door, its panels covered in dark soundproofing leather.

The moment the door opened, the sound surged out.

Not from the arena floor—

From above.

Orlando looked up.

Above the arena hung a ring of broadcasting booths.

Dozens of cameras mounted on tracks, lenses aimed at different angles of the field.

The sound from the speakers mixed into a buzzing white noise.

Above the broadcasting ring hung an entire circle of magical projection screens.

Zijiang was already setting up her equipment.

The ring light turned on, the fill light clipped to the top of the stand, the camera aimed at her own face.

She sat on a folding chair in the press section, put on her cat-ear headphones, adjusted her bangs, and checked the framing on her phone.

Then she tapped the screen.

The stream began.

“Everyone, long time no see—I’m now inside the Genitswa Arena! The first preliminary match is about to start!”

Comments floated in.

“First”

“Finally started”

“Zijiang’s still pink today”

“Is that guy behind you the cameraman?”

“Yeah, he’s the cameraman. Don’t ask every time—”

The center of the arena was still empty.

The grass was trimmed very neatly, dark green, lit by the ring of lights like a spread of velvet.

Around the field stood translucent protective barriers, with pale blue runic patterns flowing across their surface.

Beyond the barriers were the spectator stands, rising from the edge of the grass all the way up to the top, packed with people.

Mostly wolf-race, dog-race, and horse-race, but also some humans and other races.

Some held cheering signs, shouting the names of knights.

‘If I didn’t know these were knights, I’d think this was a fan meeting…’

The loudspeaker let out a short screech.

“Ladies and gentlemen—honored—spectators—!!”

“Welcome to—Genitswa—!! The Wolfgang Special Tournament—Preliminary First Match—!!”

The stands erupted in cheers.

Cheering signs went up, people stomped, some whistled.

The runic patterns on the barriers trembled slightly from the noise.

“Today—we will witness—who can—stand out from the preliminaries—!! Who can—challenge that—seventy-two-match undefeated legend—!!”

On the projection screen, Masiweiluo’s portrait doubled in size.

“Ma—si—wei—luo—!!”

The cheering rose another wave.

“And—last year’s dark horse—who fought all the way from the Eternal Night Plains into the finals—the Dark Night race warrior—”

The screen jumped to a Dark Night male portrait.

Only his dark red pupils were visible; his whole body was wrapped in red armor.

“Red—Horn—!!”

Some boos mixed into the cheers.

“And—the radiant pearl of the Candlelight Knights—the deer-race jewel—”

“Vi—lo—se—line—!!”

The cheers were noticeably louder than before.

“And—the wolf-race’s fiercest challenger—Bone—Crusher—!!”

“And—more—and more—knights—!!”

The dog-race announcer on the main stage raised both arms above his head.

The cuffs of his silver suit slid down, revealing a furry wrist.

“Today—they will—fight for glory—!!”

“For gold—!!”

“For—you—!!”

The stands absolutely exploded.

Stomps, whistles, the clatter of cheering signs all mixed together, and the entire arena floor vibrated slightly.

The runic patterns on the barriers pulsed like a heartbeat, bright and dim.

Zijiang spoke to her camera.

Her voice was intermittently drowned out by the cheers around her, but her pace didn’t waver, every word full and round.

“—Everyone, did you hear that? The atmosphere here—the announcer just introduced all the seeded players—the preliminaries are single elimination, and four matches will be held this morning. The first match is—”

Comments streamed by densely.

“Red Horn Red Horn Red Horn”

“Candlelight Knights charge!”

“Will Masiweiluo come to watch today?”

“Bone Crusher Bone Crusher Bone Crusher”

“Doesn’t the announcer’s throat hurt?”