Wendell’s announced departure didn’t change the outcome of this brief conflict. The set was left in shambles, the chairs thrown about, and the table in the center broken and splintered. 

Still, Jezabelle felt this was the best outcome possible given the previous circumstances.

Unsure of how to move forward; however, Jezabelle looked toward the external director who generally controlled the teleprompter, manually changing the script or directives to account for sudden variables.

But the suggestion she received exceeded her expectations. 

Due to the embarrassing blunder, she assumed the director would immediately stop the broadcast, but that wasn’t the case.

Quite the opposite, he fed into the drama, finding it befitting of this particular crowd.

“Okay… so you want me to play on the fact that we’re accommodating ordinary people with a known desire for excitement. If we look at the ratings… it is the best idea, but is that well… safe?” Jezabelle murmured, considering the pros and cons of continuing or stopping.

The power she felt in the attacks of these guests was not something she could contend against. Sure, she was combat trained—far from a master, but skilled enough to defend herself from simple threats—but she wasn’t a precious gem in her family’s eyes; thus, she wasn’t allowed a high-ranking bodyguard.

Prior to this meeting, individuals from her family’s eldest and most influential generation had informed her that any increased protection from and within the family required immense and imitable value.

The Welsh Family didn’t amass their vast amounts of wealth by being generous.

Those riches were soaked in adversarial blood, doused with deceit, and obtained through vile machinations. Most of their member were cold, calculating individuals who viewed family as expendable tools based on some unknown evaluation scale.

Jezabelle understood that she had to come to grips with one irrefutable fact—treachery was the key to progress. Simply provoking her guest to walk into her serpentine traps forged by her deceitful wit wasn’t enough.

The necessity to taunt, deceive and lure the remaining guests on the show became apparent to her.

What could she muster from this situation, though?

Well, she was aware that Kieran and Daedric didn’t share the same hostility between them that the former and Soulless shared. But there were still the remnants of jealousy continuing to brew and fester in Daedric’s mind.

So, what better idea than to instigate more excitement?

“Fellas, fellas, would you all take a breather? As you can see, a greater portion of the trouble has excused itself. I believe it would be best to act civil. Now, between you, who would like to be the bigger man?”

Jezabelle acted polite and affable, but there was a hint of subdued cunning—hidden but not entirely erased—present in her expression.

Kieran was keen to schemes by now, so he noticed the glint in her eyes and the momentary twitch near the corner of her lip, briefly turning her smile into a smirk and then returning it to its rightful beauty.

‘She’s about to play more games. But let’s see where she takes this. Daedric does, after all, have an open offer from Apocalypse.’

Calm and prepared for whatever Jezabelle was concocting in her mind, Kieran indulged in the conversation, choosing to humor the girl.

“Is there a cause for one of us to be a bigger man? The way I see it, there’s no reason to back down. I’m prepared for anything.”

Daedric scowled, his competitive tendencies rendering him incapable of looking like the inferior one. “If he’s prepared, you better damn well know I’m also prepared!”

An expected situation, and Jezabelle accounted for it. No, she welcomed it, in fact, because she acquired a good read on Daedric.

Seeds of doubt had been sown into his mind, subtly damaging his psyche until he now felt the need to constantly prove himself. Perhaps this was a projection of his insecurity and instability, which he now wore on his skin.

Something that was all too common in the competitive sphere. 

The whole emotional and mental phenomenon originated from a fragile matter known as an ego. Until a player—or any competitor, really—dispelled their ego, cleansing them of the embedded nature to compare, reaching their destined peak was impossible.

It was ideal to compete but not compare. Unless it was introspection, comparing a current self to a previous inferior and inept version.

Unfortunately for Daedric, Jezabelle wanted more for herself, and she understood following her family’s practice, namely going on a conniving warpath, could yield the most promising results.

If it included victims, then so be it. That was an acceptable burden she was willing to bear on her conscience.

“I see that you were the second to answer. Does that mean you’re less sure than Mr. Aatrox here? He seemed resolute and firm in his standing. You, on the other hand, Mr. Daedric… have displayed riled emotions. Is there something eating away at you?”

“What are you getting at?!”

“I’m not getting at anything in particular. It’s the facts. The facts paint a vivid and irrefutable picture.”

Daedric’s scowl deepened, contorting into something frightening. 

“And what picture is that? Humor me. Let me hear the tasteless bullshit you’re prepared to spew.”

Outright attacking Jezabelle, based on his current expression, was not unthinkable. 

How close to irrationality was he? 

Kieran wondered about it but didn’t comment.

Jezabelle watched over Daedric, smiling but also examining. The fire burning in the man’s eyes was becoming a sweltering inferno. 

All that remained was to feed it.

“Not bullshit. And certainly not humor. Facts! Mister. It’s the fact that you’re currently inferior to Mr. Aatrox in every regard. If we look back over both your track records—”

“Bullshit!” Daedric erupted. His skin reddened while the veins in his neck and forehead pulsated dangerously. “How dare you slander me, smear dirt on my name, and look down on me like that?”

“I have done no such thing,” Jezabelle argued. “Let’s compare—”

“Do not compare me!”

A violent eruption surged from Daedric’s heated figure, forcing Kieran to lift his bruised and battered arms to defend against sudden winds. 

The pressure grew exponentially and gave off a vaguely familiar feeling.

This pressure wasn’t kind related to what Kieran experienced against Ronan, but the underlying principles were the same. 

An emission of reality-altering pressure.

In his current state, going toe-to-toe with a physical behemoth was not ideal, but it had its merits. The more he suffered, the more the X-hancers would have to temper his body upon his return.

More than that, subduing a formidable foe while in this condition would deepen the masses’ opinion of his personal strength, perhaps creating a few fervent believers on par with zealots.

“See. That right there is proof,” Jezabelle remarked. 

Although there was no additional sound or distortion captured by the audio, she was forced to yell because of the pressure she resisted. 

Soon, after a deep gasp, momentarily regaining control of her diaphragm, she continued:

“Deep down, my words resonate with your feelings, speaking to a truth you won’t accept. Whereas you’re forced to join an established force, working beneath someone in subservience, your competition remains a sovereign entity with independent and progressive ambitions!”

“That’s enough! I’ll show you right now that I can crush him. Everyone will understand and witness with their own eyes.”

Seconds later, Daedric was rushing toward Kieran.

Allan stared, petrified and unable to breathe, moisture now accumulating on his palm, turning them calmly. His heartbeat accelerated, threatening to jump out of his chest.

Altair and everyone else prepared to react, but an absolute command ensued.

“Stay. There’s no need to… and you will not interfere.”

Despite the discomfort Kieran felt clenching his fist, he did it anyways. What stood before him was not an unbeatable enemy equipped with cunning and expertise. 

It was a mindless behemoth of a man in a deranged state.

The lack of reason left many exploitable holes in Daedric’s assault. Composed and confident, Kieran sidestepped a body grab and quickly punched Daedric’s left jaw.

The behemoth buckled but didn’t go down. Instead, he slammed the ground, destroying the set floor without damaging his arms. Truly inhuman strength.

‘I can’t be caught by one of those…’

The lack of connection in his attack infuriated Daedric, but his desperate swings failed to connect repeatedly. In terms of speed, Kieran was the superior. 

More than that, Kieran minimally supplemented his movement with Burst Steps, slipping beneath, by, and over the swing.

Every movement was topped off with a swift strike, however, leading the large Daedric to come to a grinding halt, his expression unfocused and dazed.

He fell back roughly ten seconds after that, producing a heavy tremor.

Exhausted pants filled the air, though the panting Kieran emerged triumphant. 

“Haha… the harder they fall.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep