Even if it was never utterly quiet, the Alliance was, for some reason today, seething.
There were a lot of people in sight, and maybe because the mood was good, the air felt hot.
It was because qi influenced by emotion was being discharged out of people’s bodies.
Thinking that made me feel vaguely gross.
Walking with a faint sense of displeasure, I moved slowly, and gazes pinned themselves this way.
“It’s the Cheongryong Dae.”
“Are those five entering the Dueling Tournament?”
“The roster’s a bit different from the predictions, no? I don’t see the Sword Dragon.”
“Sword Dragon? Hey, didn’t you hear? The Sword Dragon got his arm wrecked by the Little Mad Dog.”
“Ah… right.”
I pricked up my ears at the words. What?
‘Little Mad Dog…?’
Is that supposed to be my epithet? I looked that way, dumbfounded.
“Eek…!”
“Careful. Rumor says even making eye contact gets you torn apart.”
“He’s got a downright murderous face.”
“……”
Dizzying. It’s ridiculous enough that I’ve got an epithet— but…