The Long Vacation (8)
The grandstands offered a sweeping view of the arena where the martial tournament raged. A booming laugh rang out, one that refused to be outdone by the roaring heat of the crowd below.
"Hahaha! Excellent, excellent! This is exactly how a festival should feel! It's even hotter than usual this year—how delightful!"
The man behind the laughter was no ordinary spectator. His ash-gray hair, splendid beard, and wrinkled skin all spoke of considerable age, yet his expression sparkled with the mischievous energy of a boy who had somehow outrun time itself. He wore robes of red and blue silk embroidered with golden thread—garments so opulent that most people could never dream of affording them—yet on him they looked as natural and comfortable as everyday clothes.
"Don't you agree, Daniel?"
At the words of this clearly high-ranking noble, the knight clad in heavy armor gave a cheeky shrug.
"While it may be enjoyable for you, Your Grace, it only makes my job that much harder. I can't exactly celebrate. Just look at the preliminaries—last time we barely had twenty per block, but now it's thirty-eight or thirty-nine. Thinking about tomorrow's final matches already keeps me up at night."
"Come now, how can the representative knight of our duchy sound so weak? In the end, a brawl is a brawl. Dealing with them all at once is simply more efficient."
"The problem is that the title of 'representative knight' makes every last one of them swarm straight toward me."
"So, do you think you can't win?"
"If I said that here, would I be dismissed, by any chance?"
"Come now, how could that be? I'm not such a heartless man. Though I suppose the bards I've prepared to sing of your heroic deeds would all have to change their themes to comedy instead."
"Then I suppose I'll have to grit my teeth and win, if only to avoid humiliation in my later years."
Daniel Richter. The representative knight of the duchy and three-time champion of the martial tournament delivered his wry jest, and Duke Mars burst into hearty laughter once more.
Looking down at the arena where fierce battles continued to unfold, the duke spoke again.
"Let's see... The numbers are far higher than usual, which is good, but what about the quality? Do you see any promising contestants, Daniel?"
"Well, in a chaotic melee like this, unless someone has truly exceptional skill, luck plays a massive role... Hmm?"
At the duke's question, Daniel Richter, who had been scanning the arena, turned to the mage waiting beside them.
"Could you show me the northwest corner of the arena in more detail?"
The mage manipulated the magical device installed in the grandstand for image projection. A massive screen-like projection floated in the air, displaying a portion of the arena in vivid detail.
On the screen, roughly ten people were locked in combat. Among them, Daniel's attention fixed on the movements of one particular boy.
The duke asked, "Why? Have you spotted someone with truly remarkable skill?"
"His skill isn't bad, but I'd say 'cunning' is the better word for it."
When Daniel pointed to the blond boy visible on one side of the screen, Duke Mars watched with interest at first—only to tilt his head in confusion shortly after.
Oddly enough, the boy wasn't wielding a sharpened blade but a heavy iron club. He was currently clashing weapons with another participant. While he wasn't being overwhelmingly pushed back, he also wasn't defeating his opponent, simply wasting time in a stalemate.
The duke, who had watched countless tournaments and seen many outstanding contestants fell their rivals with a single decisive strike, found it difficult to understand why Daniel had specifically pointed out this boy.
"His movements seem decent enough for his age, I'll grant you that. But I don't see anything particularly special beyond that."
"If you keep watching, you'll understand. The timing is perfect right about now."
The moment Daniel finished speaking, the scene on the screen changed. The opponent who had been clashing weapons with the boy suddenly collapsed, bleeding. And not from anything the boy had done—he had been ambushed from behind by yet another participant.
The successful ambusher immediately turned toward the boy as well, and another fierce battle erupted. It might have been unfair for the fallen contestant, but in a battle royale, such things were hardly rare. Coldly speaking, it was simply a matter of the boy's opponent becoming too focused on their duel and failing to respond to external threats—nothing more than a lack of skill.
Though still puzzled, Duke Mars continued to watch the boy's fights in silence. After all, his knight wouldn't have spoken so casually without reason.
Another ambush from outside. The opponent fighting the boy fell once more. This time, unlike before, the successful ambusher didn't target the boy and instead fled elsewhere. The boy, left alone, glanced around briefly before charging at another participant who had been warily observing the chaos without joining any fights.
Once again, a tense battle ensued. And once again, the opponent fighting the boy was taken down by an external ambush.
"...Hmm?"
By this point, even the duke couldn't help but feel something was off. The pattern had repeated several times: the boy would clash with another participant, they'd fight fiercely without either gaining a clear advantage, and then an outside ambush would decide the outcome.
It was common for similarly skilled fighters to drag out their battles. It was also common for external ambushes to force a conclusion. But for one particular participant to remain completely unscathed and mobile through it all? That was clearly abnormal.
"If there's a surefire strategy for battle royale, one of them is simply 'not standing out.'"
As if answering the duke's unspoken question, Knight Daniel began to explain.
"The strong—or more precisely, those who appear strong—are at a disadvantage in battle royale. Everyone tends to team up temporarily with the mindset of 'let's take that guy down first.' By the same logic, those who appear weak also become easy targets. People think, 'I can handle someone like that without much trouble.'"
Duke Mars asked, "So maintaining a mediocre appearance is advantageous?"
"Exactly. But it's not easy. Everyone judges strength and weakness differently."
If an old man in ragged clothes stood in the middle of that arena, some might let their guard down at his unremarkable appearance and attack, while others would grow suspicious of his overly shabby look and keep their distance. Which reaction was correct? You wouldn't know until you actually fought him.
"There are some indicators—large build, high-quality armor, things like that—but even those aren't foolproof. The transcendent power of magic shatters common sense. That's why anyone with real skill doesn't judge opponents based solely on appearances."
Judging by looks alone is unreliable. So, if not by appearance, what is the best way to gauge an opponent's true strength? The ideal answer would be prior investigation, but what if that's not possible?
"You watch them fight. 'Ah, that one looks dangerous.' 'Oh, that one seems manageable.'"
"Wait, are you saying that boy is deliberately showing everyone how he fights? To make himself look like 'just an average guy'?"
"Yes. That's why I called him cunning. What's more, no matter who he faces, he never ends the fight quickly. He's deliberately dragging every battle out as long as possible."
At Daniel's impressed tone, the duke spoke as if he couldn't quite accept it.
"But Daniel. If the goal is simply not to stand out, wouldn't it be better to avoid fights altogether and hide quietly?"
"Human psychology works in predictable ways. Those who flee to empty areas end up clashing with each other anyway. There are also participants who dislike such sneaky behavior and deliberately target anyone trying to avoid conflict. In the end, mixing in with the crowd and fighting openly draws less attention. Haven't you seen it in previous tournaments?"
"I prefer my fights hot-blooded and straightforward, Daniel."
In other words, he remembered the flashy contestants who rampaged as if they could single-handedly crush every other participant, but not those who relied on subtle, intricate techniques.
"Hmm. I understand now why you called him cunning. It may be efficient, but from my perspective, it's not particularly satisfying. It lacks flair. Flair, I say."
Watching the duke grumble like a child, Daniel inwardly swallowed a bitter smile. If he had mentioned everything else—the way the boy looked ragged and battered on the surface yet didn't have a single real wound, or how he wasn't just stalling against his opponents but cleverly seeking out only those weaker than himself—the duke's reaction would have been obvious.
As he watched the boy finish off the last remaining competitor while still refusing to drop his act of struggling until the very end, Daniel thought to himself:
It would be quite entertaining to fight that sly snake in the main tournament.