A Necromancer's Guide to Clearing a Game Like Tower

Chapter 94: Chapter 94: The Ganner Ball II

Two hours later the formal presentation had dissolved into the networking half of the evening.

Conversations broke into smaller clusters across the hall while glasses were refilled and the corporate performance relaxed slightly into something that looked more like conversation but was still mostly deals being arranged at a more comfortable distance from the stage.

James moved through the room when approached and kept most exchanges short. He found Finn again near the bar section where Finn was nursing a glass of water with the expression of a man who had been offered alcohol twelve times and turned it down twelve times because his father was thirty feet away.

”How many more hours,” Finn said.

”At least two.”

”That’s optimistic.”

James kept an eye on his mother and Nyra from across the room. They had moved from the dessert table to a quieter corner near the wall where Nyra had apparently discovered the decorative bowl of small mints and was working through them with methodical interest while James’s mother spoke quietly with another guest.

The room felt calm. Controlled. Expensive.

Which was when he heard his name.

”James Ganner.”

The voice came from across the hall and it was loud enough that the people nearby stopped their conversations to look.

The first son was standing about twenty feet away with a glass in his hand that had clearly not been his first of the evening. His collar was loosened and his expression had the specific quality of someone who had spent two hours waiting for a reason to say something and had finally decided he did not need one.

James turned.

”Where is Derek?” the first son asked.

The nearby conversations went quiet. Heads turned.

James kept his voice even. ”Why would I know that?”

”Because Derek went looking into you.” He took a step closer while his voice stayed loud enough for the people around them to hear without being a shout. ”And now he is gone. And nobody in this family has heard from him in months.”

”That is not something I can help you with,” James said.

”That is very convenient.”

Security began moving toward the first son from two directions, their hands not raised but their bodies angled toward de-escalation. James noticed Adrian standing about fifteen feet away near a column, and before either guard took another step, Adrian raised one hand slightly from his side with his fingers pointed down.

Both guards stopped.

Most of the nearby guests had not noticed the gesture. They were watching the first son.

The first son heard the murmur spreading through the people closest to them and the quality of it made him angrier because he could hear what they were saying even if the words were too low to catch clearly. He had been drinking long enough to lose the filter that might have told him what the conversation looked like from the outside.

”You got lucky on a few floors,” he said, his voice getting harder. ”That is all you are. A lucky nobody with a useful class and no real name.”

James said nothing.

”My uncle invited you here as a courtesy. As family. And you walk in here with your pity case and your dead father’s borrowed dignity and act like you belong at the same table as people who built something.”

James’s jaw tightened, but he kept his expression still.

”Your father was stubborn too,” the first son said. ”Look how that ended for him.”

The hall went noticeably quieter. People near the outer edge of the conversation stopped pretending they were not listening.

James looked at his mother, who had moved slightly closer without him noticing. Nyra was still beside her, watching the situation without fully understanding it.

James looked at his mother while keeping his voice low. ”Take Nyra and go.”

His mother took Nyra’s hand without argument and walked her toward the exit.

James started to follow them.

”Yes,” the first son called after him, his voice carrying across a hall that had gone nearly silent. ”Go. Take her home. She looks like she came to clean the venue, not attend it.”

James stopped.

His mother said his name quietly. Just his name. Nothing else.

He turned.

The distance between them closed in five steps and the punch connected before the first son had fully registered that James had moved.

CRACK.

The sound carried across the silent hall and the first son went down hard, the glass leaving his hand on the way and shattering against the marble floor while his body hit it a half second later.

Gasps went through the room. Cameras turned. Several guests stepped back from the immediate area while others stepped forward.

The first son hit the floor with blood already showing on his lip and stayed down for exactly three seconds. Then he laughed.

It was not a surprised sound. It was the sound of someone who had gotten what they wanted.

He put one hand to the floor and pushed himself upright while ice began forming across his knuckles and crawling up his forearm in a slow spreading pattern. His hand when he raised it was encased from the wrist down in a solid pale blue that crackled at the edges where the cold was still moving.

”He punched me first,” he said while his voice was still carrying the same loudness as before. ”Everyone here saw it.”

He pulled his arm back and drove the ice-covered fist forward.

O’Shea stepped into the gap between them and caught the blow with one open hand.

The impact made no visible movement in O’Shea. His feet did not shift. His arm did not buckle. He simply held it there while the ice crackled against his palm and went still under his grip.

The first son’s expression changed.

O’Shea looked at him and then at James without raising his voice. ”This is a celebration. Not a floor zone.”

The first son pulled his arm back slowly while the ice cracked and dropped from his fist in pieces. His smile returned through the blood on his lip but the quality of it had changed.

”You’re right,” he said. He looked around the room and let the cameras find his face before he spoke again. ”There is a better way to handle this.”

He straightened while his voice dropped into something more controlled and more deliberate.

”Under the Challenger Blood Writ.”

The hall went completely quiet.

”I am invoking the right of formal challenge between registered Challengers,” the first son continued while turning slightly so the press section had a clear angle on him. ”Witnessed before TRB officials, guild representatives, and assembled guests.”

He looked at James directly. ”James Ganner. Three months from tonight. You and me. No surrender clause.”

He paused.

”Death decides it.”

The hall remained silent as every camera turned toward James, waiting to see if he would accept.