The Champion's Dance
"What the hell? They all dropped the moment it started?"
"Hey, you son of a bitch! Don't joke around! Ponaldo! Do you know how much money I bet on you?!"
"That's cheating! It doesn't count! Void the match!"
Boos and curses echoed throughout the arena. Most came from gamblers furious that the fighter they'd backed had been eliminated so abruptly, but even the ordinary spectators looked bewildered.
"Did she do something? Magic?"
"If it was magic, wouldn't she have shot fire or something?"
"Or maybe she used poison?"
"Come on, no way they'd allow that in a martial tournament."
The girl's technique had been so subtle and swift that most spectators hadn't even registered what happened. A few demanded the match be declared invalid, but when the referee ignored them and continued the tournament, they grumbled without pushing further. After all, Duke Mars had essentially declared he wouldn't tolerate any more complaints.
Losing money stung, but no one was crazy enough to openly defy the duke over it.
One block after another, the matches concluded. Only the final bout remained.
The scene on the arena floor was exactly what everyone had expected. Every fighter except one knight had surrounded him. It resembled Ligret's match in some ways, but this time no one hesitated to join the encirclement, and the crowd didn't jeer at them for ganging up.
"Isn't this a bit much, all of you against an old man?"
The knight's lighthearted remark did nothing to ease the tension. Standing before them was none other than the strongest knight of the Mars Duchy—the undisputed champion who had already claimed the cup several times. Daniel Richter, the duchy's representative knight, let out a sigh as he met their resolute gazes.
I really hate it when there are this many participants, he thought, but kept the complaint to himself. After watching two girls who looked like children put on such spectacular performances, complaining that he couldn't handle it would be pathetic. It wasn't just his own honor at stake—failing here would disgrace Duke Mars and the entire order of knights who trusted him.
The signal to begin rang out, and blades came at him from every direction. Daniel didn't leap forward to seize the initiative or attempt any hidden tricks. He simply stepped forward calmly, tilting his body and sword to redirect each attack.
The first opponent to clash blades with him felt his sword being pulled along and frantically tried to withdraw it—an amateur mistake. As if caught in a powerful current, his body lost balance along with his weapon and crashed into another participant charging from the side.
A massive axe swung down to split Daniel's head, a dagger aimed at his flank, even a spear thrust meant to impale him through a falling opponent—all lost their force the instant they touched his blade, as though they had become feathers. Their owners tumbled down with them.
Attempts to break falls failed when tangled with other fighters. Projectiles thrown from range were either blocked by other participants' bodies or deflected harmlessly off his armor's curves. He treated every other fighter as part of a single living organism, redirecting their strength and guiding them exactly where he wanted.
To the spectators, he resembled a matador skillfully wielding a red cape.
There was none of Ligret's explosive flair. None of Joy's clever speed. Yet only ten minutes after the match began, with every other participant either pushed out of bounds or rolling in the dust, no one questioned his victory as he stood alone, proud and unscathed.
"Daniel! Daniel! Daniel!"
"Our champion!"
"Knight of Mars!"
The crowd roared after witnessing Daniel's match, especially the citizens of Mars—they looked ready to faint from excitement. Their representative knight had just put on such a magnificent display; of course they were thrilled.
Shortly after the preliminaries ended, the main tournament bracket was announced, and I found myself in an exceptionally good mood. Both my first- and second-round opponents looked like perfectly ordinary fighters. They were skilled enough to reach the main tournament, sure, but at least none of them were the broken characters I knew from the game.
Imagine seeing "VS Ligret" on the bracket from the very first match. I'd be raising the white flag the moment the match started.
"See? This is what happens when you live a good life. Feed a poor kid once and the stars bless you."
"Fiore, does someone like him really not get divine punishment?"
"The stars are as merciful as they are numerous. Though the higher-ups in the church might get angry if they heard that? Akasha-san calls herself a delinquent and a fake, so she's flexible, but temple knights are usually extremely rigid. Even if there's no physical punishment, they might sit you down in a chair and make you listen to four hours of sermons..."
"Can you not say terrifying things so casually?"
People get to joke around when they're happy. It's not that big a deal. Besides, despite what Fiore said, she rarely did anything particularly religious. The local religion was fairly relaxed to begin with, and she'd only joined the Star God Church to learn how to use magic, not out of faith.
Speaking of temple knights...
"Looking at this bracket, it's nothing but swordsmen, warriors, and martial artists. Even if Akasha counts as a priest type, there aren't any mages left at all."
It made sense. While magic in this world didn't require long incantations, most combat spells were ranged, which put mages at a disadvantage in chaotic melees. Even if they tried to fight in close quarters, unlike Red Light users who could simply pour mana into their bodies or weapons for instant reinforcement, Blue Light users had to use indirect methods like cloaking themselves in wind. Unrefined mana might allow both approaches, but the efficiency and power would be terrible.
The princess was a cheat character, so she didn't count. For a mage to shine in this kind of tournament, they'd probably need to be at least Eagle Pendevig's level.
Just then, Ligret spoke up.
"There was one mage."
"Huh? Who? Joy?"
"The guy who came up in the third or fourth match on the second day. He was carrying a staff, but it was a disguise. And Joy's thing isn't spellcasting... probably."
At Ligret's words, Fiore flipped through the tournament roster.
"Wolf Duve. Assuming you both make it past the second round, he'll be your opponent, brother."
"The 'my real power is something else' type? One surprise event with Joy is enough."
I made a mental note of the name, but there was no time to prepare any countermeasures. Joking aside, I wasn't even confident I could dominate my first-round opponent, let alone worry about later matches. Planning for victory before even winning the first fight was pure delusion.
"By the way, Ligret. Who's your first opponent?"
"Akasha."
"...And your second?"
"Joy."
"......"
"Should be fun."
Yeah... sure.
The next day, the main tournament began.
The moment I faced the knight from the Spero Kingdom—whatever his name was, Fork Tourb-something—he immediately started running his mouth.
"Chrome Midas, was it? I heard a lowly commoner like you has been currying favor in the empire with your pathetic tricks. Coming out of that flimsy veil on your own two feet was your mistake. I'll correct your manners properly this time."
"Do you all share the same script? Every single one of you picks a fight the exact same way. Throw in a curveball once in a while so I can give you an interesting reaction."
"W-What?"
At times like this, I really resented the Spero king for granting my grandfather a surname. Even if it wasn't intentional, he'd done the empire a favor by making it easier to identify potential rebels early. The least he could have done was throw in a noble title along with the name. Then I wouldn't have to keep hearing "commoner this, commoner that."
Or maybe that was just how the king operated. Something like:
"So, what's your name?"
"It's Deoksu, Your Majesty!"
"I hear your hometown produces a lot of seaweed. From now on, call yourself Kim Deoksu."
"To be granted a surname despite my lowly status... Your grace is boundless, Your Majesty!"
Maybe he simply hadn't seen any reason to put more thought into it. He'd already shared the mine profits and provided financial treatment—what more could anyone ask?
Whatever. I was getting tired of the same pattern repeating.
"Enough talk. Come at me, you bastard. Let's see if being a noble makes getting hit hurt less."
Repetition made everything boring. Time to end this quickly.