Return of the Runebound Professor

Chapter 898: Bad Memories

The world seemed to buzz in Noah’s ears. For a moment, his brain spun to a complete halt. The sheer incredulity assaulting his mind was just too much to resist. He couldn’t quite comprehend how in the world he possibly could have run into Kyyle. Out of literally every single person he knew… this might have been legitimately the worst one.

The worst one that was still alive, at least.

It would have been hard to think of someone he’d have wanted to meet up with less.

Maybe Vivian? Yeah, that would have been terrible.

But this is definitely a close #2.

Noah was all too aware that his complete lack of an answer was making things worse for him. The longer it took him to speak, the more suspicious the Apostles were going to get. He yanked himself out of the depths of his disbelief and set his jaw, deepening his voice to make sure that Kyyle didn’t get a chance to recognize him.

“Doesn’t that defeat the point of a masquerade?”

Kyyle let out an amused snort. “I suppose it does. But you’ve already gone and done that, haven’t you? I don’t see you trying to blend in. Your mask and outfit are entirely custom, and they stand out like a sore thumb. That’s what someone who wants to bring attention to themselves would do.”

“Wanting attention doesn’t necessarily mean I like to broadcast my name. That takes all the fun out of things,” Noah said. It didn’t seem like Kyyle recognized him. Not yet, at least. He wasn’t quite sure who the other members of the group were. There were definitely some other Apostles present, but he couldn’t place who they were.

The only thing Noah was fairly confident about was that Garina wasn’t among their number. She had a certain… unique style. One that he doubted she’d have foregone, even for a masquerade.

“I see,” Kyyle said. Even though Noah couldn’t see his face, there was a clear note of displeasure in his voice. That was too damn bad. He didn’t give much of a shit what the asshole thought. Noah was considerably more preoccupied with trying to figure out how he could leave without pissing the Apostles off too badly. They definitely struck him as the type to start a brawl in the middle of a party.

“I don’t think I saw you in the melee rounds,” one of the other group members said, peering at Noah from behind a pig mask. “I definitely would have recognized that outfit of yours. It doesn’t look like anyone else recognizes you either. Are you a competitor?”

He’s probably referring to the Rank 6 and 7 rounds… I’d bet there were less of them, so the competitors are more recognizable. Damn. That’s not good. It’ll make it harder to pretend to be Rank 6. They’ll also definitely be able to figure out who I am if they poke around too closely, so I can’t go lying too much. Not if there’s a chance of running into them again anytime soon.

“I am.” Noah shrugged one shoulder. He was still vividly aware of his stalkers in the crowd. They hadn’t left. It seemed they were just planning on waiting around until he could be isolated without a scene. “I suppose we must have missed each other.”

Because we’re in entirely different tournament brackets. Seriously, what the hell are the Apostles doing here? There’s no way they’re looking for tutelage. They all follow Decras, and their leader is supposedly as strong as the Prophet. What are they after?

“Evidently,” Kyyle said. “But since you’re here, I’m still going to have to ask. Who made those clothes of yours? It is exceedingly rare for me to find someone walking around in any semblance of taste. A tailor of this level… I don’t think I’d be lying to say that they’ve made you a better product than what I myself wear.”

That nearly made Noah choke on his own saliva. Kyyle, the most arrogant prick of an Apostle that he’d ever met, was actually being humble. This was potentially the most terrifying thing he’d seen all night.

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“That depends,” Noah replied casually. “Why are you asking? Because I’m not the kind of person who goes around getting people who have done work for me into trouble. Are you going to make things difficult for them?”

“Absolutely not,” Kyyle replied, sounding genuinely affronted at the prospect. “It is complete curiosity. The art of making articles like the one you wear is a dying one. I would go to war to ensure such talent was properly preserved. Never would I put them in danger.”

The way Kyyle said war sounded a little too serious to be a joke.

Gods, why did I have to run into this fucking psychopath? I don’t want to toss Elania under the bus. There’s a good chance that he tries to kidnap her or something. I — hold on. The gods didn’t have anything to do with this, do they?

Noah’s eyes narrowed as a thought finally struck him. The sheer number of unfortunate coincidences that had happened in such a short period of time…

Yoru. You little shit. Is this your doing?

There was no way for him to confirm it, but—

“Hello?” Kyyle asked. His voice was sharper, now. “Are you just going to stare at me? You do realize that entering a group generally involves speaking with them, yes? Or did you just plan to eavesdrop on our discussion without saying anything?”

“I was distracted,” Noah said smoothly. He needed to get out of here. The longer he spent near Kyyle, the higher the chances of something going wrong became. “My apologies. It’s been a busy day. What did you ask?”

“The name of your seamstress,” Kyyle replied. He was being impressively patient. Maybe he’d been seeing a therapist. If he was, the poor sap definitely wasn’t getting paid enough.

“Ah,” Noah said. “Right. It was a random bloke in a town I was passing through, if you can believe it. I just happened to see their work in the window. I can say with complete and utter honesty that I hadn’t even been planning on getting anything special that day. It just kind of… happened. It was a very odd interaction.”

Kyyle stared at him.

“You expect me to believe that?”

“I didn’t realize this was an interrogation,” Noah said. “What about you? Where was your outfit made? I quite like the look of it myself.”

Kyyle hesitated for a moment. Then he glanced down at himself.

“Custom tailored. Silk from a Rank 7 Great Dragonspider.” There was an undeniable note of pride in Kyyle’s voice. “Woven with imbued thread to protect against quite the number of magics, all done by one of the few master tailors in Obsidian Gate. He goes by Alexander, and has a 15 year queue just to hire.”

The pause that followed the end of Kyyle’s explanation made it clear that he expected Noah to fill him in on the ins and outs of his own outfit.

Gods, did I seriously walk into a clothes-based dick-measuring contest? What am I, on the set of an off-brand American Psycho?

Well, whatever. I can make some bullshit up. This is way better than actually dealing with Kyyle. I’ll just let him run his mouth for a little while and then politely slip back into the crowd as fast as I can.

But, before Noah could say anything else, a heavy hand fell on his shoulder in a friendly clap. A new form stepped into the ring alongside him.

Noah glanced over in surprise. He had to crane his neck back slightly to get a proper look at the newcomer. Standing beside him was a tall, heavily muscled man. He’d chosen a warped demon mask and had grey silk robes that a monk might have worn in a monastery.

“I hate to interrupt,” the large man said, his tone grating, like rocks grinding against each other. There was a faint note of amusement within it, but it wasn’t the jovial kind. “I just couldn’t help but interject myself. I’m sure you don’t mind.”

Noah’s jaw set instantly. Something about this man sat wrong. He disliked him instantly. A flicker of recognition tickled the back of his head.

Who is this? An Apostle? Do I know him?

“It’s a party,” Kyyle said. “Anyone is welcome to do what they wish. That does not absolve them of what may follow. I don’t much like your tone.”

Noah reached up to the man’s hand and pushed it off his shoulder.

“Where I’m from, you don’t put hands on someone without introducing yourself properly,” Noah said. “We find it rude.”

“Do you, now?” the large man asked. He let out a grating laugh. “My apologies. I’ve never been the best with customs. But I didn’t think you were much better. You certainly didn’t seem to be the polite sort when we last met. And I definitely wouldn’t have taken you as one who found any sort of amusement in such driveling conversations.”

“I think you might be mistaking me for someone,” Noah said.

“Mm? No. I don’t think I am. But I’m hurt that it doesn’t seem you remember me. After all the time and effort I spent tracking you down, I had hoped to receive a much better reaction. Perhaps I will have to jog your memory.”

Then the large man reached up to his mask and pulled it free to reveal his face.

Noah stared for a moment. Then his heart sank. It turned out that he had been wrong. There was indeed one more person on his absolutely do-not-want-to-meet list.

“How is this, False Herald?” Og asked, his lips curled into a cold smile. “Do you remember me now?”