What Ultimately Makes You Win

In the medieval era, people's lives were dreadfully boring. Aside from tilling the fields every day and the nightly pleasures between husband and wife, there was scarcely any entertainment. The one spectacle ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠that nobles and commoners alike adored was watching fights.

The nobility elegantly observed swordmasters demonstrating techniques or duels inspired by some renowned knight. But for the common folk, it was brawls in taverns or scraps on the street. In small villages where death from accidents was routine, a man dying in a fight wasn't all that shocking. There were even trial by duel systems, where the victor was deemed to speak the truth.

So, a fight between a mage and a knight? Especially one fueled by personal grudge, a fight to the death? It was the kind of show that drove people mad with excitement.

"Who do you think will win?"

"Hmm, probably the knight, right?"

"But the knight's just a Quasi-Knight, and that guy's a full-fledged mage."

"Even so, without someone shielding him, the mage is at a disadvantage."

"Yeah, you're right. Better put my money on the knight..."

"Ah! Two beers over here!"

They weren't so poor they couldn't afford seats, but Nautilus residents who'd opted to spend their seating money on arena snacks instead roamed with beer kegs on their shoulders, calling out to the reformed gang selling drinks.

"Eight donghwa per cup."

"Hey, that's too pricey, isn't it?"

Back on Nautilus, beer never cost more than five or six donghwa, so the resident grumbled at the eight-donghwa price. The reformed gang member grinned and replied,

"That includes the cup fee. Return the cup, and you get one donghwa back. Plus, we're hauling this around ourselves—gotta cover the labor, yeah?"

"Fair enough, you're carting it all over. Labor deserves a tip."

Pulling three five-donghwa coins from his pouch, the resident handed them over.

"One donghwa's your tip."

"Thank you, sir!"

With a deep bow, the gang member filled a cheap wooden mug to the brim, the beer bulging from surface tension. The resident laughed, took the mug, and soaked in the pre-match buzz.

While a few reformed gang members hawked food in the stands, Terramit prepared in the fighters' waiting area. The robe and mage garb felt awkward after so long without them. Heukgu said to the fidgeting Terramit,

"Win this. No question."

Terramit, who'd grown close to Heukgu for helping him adjust to gang life, flashed a confident smile.

"I'll make that clueless punk regret everything."

"Says the guy who got his ass handed to him."

"Heh, that's why I got beat by Suhyun too, right?"

"True enough."

As they walked the corridor from the waiting area to the arena, tension flooded Terramit's body. Before joining the gang, he'd fancied himself special. He acquired mysteries others struggled for with ease, mastered spells in days that took them years. That's why he'd believed he was chosen.

Maybe that's why he'd fallen into the delusion that everything existed for him.

"All set?"

An arena staffer approached. Terramit replied with a politeness he'd never have mustered before.

"Yes, ready."

But losing to Heukgu had shown him he wasn't invincible. Sparring with Suhyun proved his talent wasn't that exceptional.

"I'll signal then."

The staffer reported to the control tower.

Truth is cruel. Outside the mage tower, he wasn't some prodigy—just an arrogant goblin who didn't know his place.

Terramit double-checked his reagent pouch, then drew a small stone fragment from it and gripped it tight. Casting off that sense of specialness felt liberating instead. I'm not special, so neither is that guy.

"Gate's opening. Good luck."

"Thanks."

As Terramit emerged, the arena erupted in cheers.

"Woooah!"

"I bet on you—win this!"

Beyond the roaring crowd, Sisin strode out the opposite gate, looking utterly relaxed. Watching him, Terramit recalled his old self—arrogant, convinced of his uniqueness, toying with the world. As a senior now, it was his duty to teach this punk the same lesson.

"Ladies and gentlemen, Nautilus's first gladiatorial match begins!"

The referee rang the gong, and the fight started.

Mages gain advantage with distance; knights up close. Knowing this well, Sisin poured mana into his toes at the signal and leaped forward.

"I'll kill you before you cast!"

Kicking off so hard his leather sole tore, Sisin charged. Terramit, as if expecting it, hurled the catalyst he'd gripped.

A hollow volcanic rock, infused with fire essence over eons, triggered the spell. Flames and shrapnel engulfed Sisin. A normal man would've died on the spot, but Sisin powered through with martial arts.

Don't breathe while running. Don't change your target. Don't close your eyes. These three conditions activated a simple effect: resist interferences to your charge. Ignoring action-reaction, Sisin treated the blast's pressure and debris as obstacles, shrugging them off to reach Terramit. Aiming to end it in one blow, he unleashed his unique ability with a swing.

Borrowing maximum power from his next attack—nearly tripling its force—he swung mercilessly. Assuming a flame mage's weak defense, he swung full-force without guarding, cleaving through what looked like Terramit.

"What?!"

But the strike sliced only an afterimage.

The explosion hadn't just stalled—it'd blinded too. In gang spars, Terramit learned backups when plans failed. Where the illusion vanished, another catalyst waited.

A red flame-attuned flower burst ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠from the impact. Sticky tree sap mixed with flammable fluids exploded, splattering Sisin's body.

"Guh!"

His old armor would've snuffed minor flames—coated in magic-resistant oil. But in plain leather, the goo ignited and stuck. Sisin rolled desperately to extinguish it.

"Haha, rolling around suits you!"

"You bastard! Setting me on fire?!"

"What, should a flame mage douse you with water instead?"

Not just the armor—the flower's innards sprayed flammable goo everywhere, fueling fires all around: prime flame mage fodder. Terramit amplified them with mana, then used a belt catalyst as Sisin rose to charge.

Flames condensed into spheres.

"I'll slice you first!"

Mistaking it for a spell wind-up, Sisin charged—but it was the spell's effect itself. His kick detonated the firebombs, blasting him back.

"Kuhak!"

Off-balance before Unstoppable Charge, Sisin finally ate Terramit's attack spell.

"Predictable!"

Even staggered, Sisin deflected the spear, glaring at Terramit. He'd close before the next cast. But Terramit anticipated, prepping his follow-up. Seeing deflections repeat, impatience crept in—mangling the cast slightly.

Damn it!

Gang training boosted his physique, but close range was still suicide. Sisin specialized in slashing foes up close; Terramit was a week-old novice. He'd kept distance maxed, but preps were dwindling. Mages are "preparers"—more setup, more power. Gang life left no time; his arsenal was thin.

He untangled the mana for success, but Sisin had stabilized, slicing the mistimed web apart. The blasts kept him airborne, dodging spear and web without landing cleanly—but no follow-up exploited it. Sisin crashed shoulder-first, shrugged off the shock like a true knight, and charged.

What now?

Offense aplenty, but stalling tricks were few. Quasi-knight mana resistance shrugged minor spells; big ones took time. Terramit regretted tower focus on attacks, but gang life taught regret was useless. Then Suhyun's martial arts flashed in mind.

"Die!"

Sisin, unhindered in sword range, was certain of victory. No tricks this time; too late for spells or dodging with mage frailty. Preemptive Borrow weakened it, but one hit leads to two, three—he trusted that. In that moment of triumph, flames erupted from Terramit's feet.

His fire-heavy inner power met flame mana—explosive propulsion. Unorthodox, it nearly blacked him out; the spent leg screamed like broken. But he endured. Sisin cleaved residual flames where Terramit had stood, smirking.

"I win—"

Expecting Sisin's whiff to unbalance like his opener, Terramit moved to cast. But weakened Preemptive Borrow let Sisin recover fast, chaining swing into recovery into counter-slash. Terramit reflex-blocked with left arm.

Sisin sneered,

"Mages can't cast in pain, right?"

Terramit, sweating through agony, held his twisted cast amid the mockery.

"This is pain? Pfft, no gang training, that's your problem. I've done it—this is just an itch!"

Judging he couldn't complete amid pain, Terramit fed the runaway mana, thrusting his hand at Sisin's face.

"What the—?!"

Sisin recoiled in alarm, but Terramit was faster.

"Boom!"

Mana detonated. Both flung apart, tumbling. The roaring crowd fell silent.

"Kuh!"

Terramit's sword-gashed left arm gushed; he crudely bandaged from his pouch, eyeing Sisin.

"Kraaagh!"

Sisin's left face burned raw, screaming in agony. Eye intact, but ear bled; half his face charred. Murderous glare fixed on Terramit.

"You little shit, I'll kill you! I will kill you!"

"Kuhuhu, whining over that?"

Forced mana into the botched spell caused internal wounds; mana wouldn't flow. Left arm useless, right burned with nails gone—but movable. Pain locked his body, sirens blaring. Yet Terramit stepped forward. Not his cherished talent, but will drove him through the searing torment.

Damaged leg out, he used the good one for footwork.

What brought victory wasn't uniqueness, but simple martial arts anyone could learn.

Thwack!

Terramit's mangled right fist met Sisin's burned left face in a final clash. Nautilus's inaugural gladiatorial match ended.