Chapter 61
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 61
Chapter Title: Heron Underground Tavern Slayer
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Adventurer Martial Arts Tournament.
It was an event held once every three years.
This year was the year of the martial arts tournament.
Normally, there would still be some time left, but due to recent events in the capital, they had decided to hold it a bit earlier.
"Channeling anxiety and anger into the tournament and festival, huh."
It was a good idea if managed well, but if not, it would only lead to more chaos and disorder.
As it was a martial arts tournament for 'adventurers,' applications were being accepted at the Adventurer's Guild.
After returning the books I'd borrowed from Reni, I applied right away.
They made me take a minimal test, telling me to chop a thick log placed in the open field behind the guild.
The receptionist confirmed that my sword had embedded about a third of the way into the log and handed me a participation number.
Even though I hadn't sliced it cleanly through, it was a pass.
Rather than me being great, it seemed their expectations for an apprentice adventurer with a wooden plaque were low enough that this was acceptable.
I stuffed the participation number into my pocket and left immediately.
Today was a day to move busily.
I had too much to do.
First, I hurried back to the inn, locked the door, and examined the books.
The goblin book and the orc book.
The ordinary books were useless, but these might have value as skill books.
That was my hope.
I opened the books, and the reaction came immediately.
The gaze of the Thunder God upon you grows even denser.
"Huh...?"
The voice that rang out the moment I read the goblin book lacked the mocking tone I'd felt before.
It was stated flatly, as if merely conveying a fact. I hurriedly opened my status window and checked [Lightning].
My heart pounded.
[Lightning C]
You have read the scriptures of the Thunder God worshipped by goblins.
The scriptures written by goblins are a mess and can't truly be called a 'book.'
However, the Thunder God they worship is real. A faint spark of the Thunder God's lightning now resides in you, the reader of the scriptures.
The Thunder God has begun to take an interest in you.
The rank hadn't changed much, nor had the content.
Just one new line at the end.
"The Thunder God is taking an interest in me...?"
I wasn't sure if this was good or bad.
The image of a savage god worshipped by goblins made it seem like an evil deity, but I believed gods had no inherent good or evil. If it granted me power, even an evil god would be a benevolent one to me.
Whatever it was, it had given me strength, so I wanted to think positively rather than dwell on the negative.
"It's a shame the rank didn't go up, but something changed, so that's fine."
I steadied my mind and turned to the next book.
The orc book.
Would this one give me power too, like the goblin book?
The answer came immediately.
Traits:Autonomy B, Silent Steps B, Gloomy Aura D, Villain F, Deception F
Skills:Military Swordsmanship D, Assassination Sword C, Lightning C, Superhuman Strength E
"Superhuman Strength..."
A new skill had appeared.
[Superhuman Strength E]
You have read the warrior's tome of the orcs.
The book written by orcs is surprisingly systematic, but it doesn't fully match the human body.
Nevertheless, the training methods it teaches allow humans to unleash explosive superhuman strength, albeit accompanied by backlash.
"...Accompanied by backlash, huh."
That word sent a chill down my spine.
Unlike Lightning, this wasn't a power given without risk.
But it was also the ability that filled my greatest need.
"My strength has been too lacking."
Fortunately, I hadn't needed much raw power against the enemies I'd faced so far.
Sneaking up silently and swinging my sword silently—that was what I was good at, and my best strategy.
I lacked the innate strength to clash head-on.
"Even when I exercised, I never felt my muscles growing."
I'd eaten diligently and exercised hard.
But aside from the vitality from eating well, no changes came from the training.
I had my suspicions.
I was a game character, fixed stats and all.
The problem was that with no way to increase strength like this, it was my biggest issue.
Now, a means had appeared—even if it came with backlash.
"The issue is how severe the backlash is."
Testing it out would be risky in many ways.
Considering my luck, I might try using superhuman strength once and break my arm bone, missing the tournament entirely.
I didn't trust my luck.
Since being thrown into this world, good days had been rare.
I didn't want to gamble anymore, so I'd hold off on testing superhuman strength until after this business was done.
More importantly...
"Monster books can serve as skill books..."
If so, my path forward was clear.
Collect monster books continuously.
And keep getting stronger.
So that I could clean up the filth I'd spilled myself and no longer despise who I was.
Having checked the books, I left the inn again.
I headed to the open field where Marcel and Shan had trained me a few months ago, and Marcel was waiting.
"Oh, you came."
"Sparring again?"
Last time, I'd run until exhaustion with Shan, then sparred with Marcel right after, repeating it.
As a result, there was less room for stray thoughts in my swordplay—not eliminated, but narrowed significantly—and the time between one move and the next had visibly shortened.
"I heard your skills regressed... Let's fight once first."
"...No, why say 'fight' instead of the nice word 'sparring'?"
"Same thing. Anyway, like last time, use any means you want—come at me with everything."
Marcel grinned, spinning his spear shaft before slamming it into the ground with a thud.
It wasn't his usual steel spear but a wooden one blunted for sparring.
I had no choice but to draw my sword as well.
Last time, it was being repaired, so I couldn't use my main sword, but now I could wield Grandfather's sword.
The balance was good, and it was lighter than a standard sword.
Not a famed blade worth boasting about, but well-crafted enough.
I raised my sword silently and stared at Marcel.
His spear wasn't extended toward me; his lax stance seemed full of openings, but I knew those 'openings' were traps.
I'd learned that the hard way after charging in many times.
The pain etched into my brain from training wouldn't fade easily, no matter how untalented I was.
Charging straight at someone superior from the front, without surprise, was suicide.
Normal methods wouldn't work.
Holding my sword in one hand, I slipped the other into my pocket.
Marcel's expression crumpled, not expecting me to reach into my pocket mid-spar, but he didn't attack.
I grabbed a handful from my pocket.
And shouted, "Marcel!"
"Huh?"
The moment he naturally looked at me, I scattered what I held.
Sand.
No one walks around with sand in their pockets, so it worked perfectly.
Even Marcel couldn't keep his eyes open with sand in them.
I moved in with quick steps.
Running would make noise.
Ten steps: Marcel coughed in confusion.
Eight steps: He suffered from the sand in his eyes.
Six steps: "You...!" he growled angrily but still couldn't react.
Four steps.
Marcel swung his wooden spear.
Even without sound, the swing targeted me precisely—with enough force to shatter bone if I were a step slower.
Three steps.
Marcel finally opened his eyes. His glare was bloodshot red, but I saw his lips curl slightly upward.
I raised my sword high.
Knowing he was much faster, there was no hesitation in my slash.
One strike.
If I swung down now, it might be my first victory.
But the tip of my sword trembled for a moment.
Could I really win?
Could I really cut him down?
As waves of doubt crashed in, I bit my lip to snap out of it, tasting pain and blood.
But Marcel's spear strike came faster than I could recover.
"...You."
Marcel clutched his side, frowning down at me collapsed on the ground.
"Tch, now I get why Shan told you to enter the martial arts tournament."
He squatted in front of me and patted my head.
"Your self-esteem is completely shattered. It's not major regression—you've just stagnated exactly where I left off teaching you."
Marcel kept looking down at me. "Well..."
He let out a deep sigh.
"The opponents you've faced were a bit off, huh? But listen. You'll be surprised when you enter the tournament."
"...W-what...?"
I groaned out the question, and he shrugged.
"There are that many people in the world worse off than you. Your skill isn't the issue—it's your shattered self-esteem holding you back. Sparring more seems pointless. Better to boost it at the tournament first, then teach you after."
"...I see."
"Or there's a good method. Wanna try?"
"...What now?"
"There's this way. Wanna give it a shot?"
I nodded since he said it was a method.
But Marcel's reaction was odd.
He chuckled darkly and led me to the underground tavern where we'd caused a scene before.
Unlike then, it was dusk, and the place was packed.
"Attention—!!!"
Marcel bellowed, drawing everyone's gaze, then shoved me forward into the spotlight.
"Anyone! Whoever beats this guy one-on-one, I'll pay your entire tab!"
The sharp stares pinned on me made cold sweat trickle down my back.
I was bewildered.
But there was no escape.
How many days passed like that?
In the daily brawls at the tavern, I definitely grew bolder.
No, I had to.
Record: 27 wins, 1 draw, 1 loss.
My self-esteem recovered naturally with the overwhelming record, and a new moniker stuck to me.
"...No, is the moniker really 'Heron Underground Tavern Slayer'?"
"...Pfft!"
I kicked Marcel's shin for mocking my new title.
What the hell kind of name is that?