Chapter 64
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 64
Chapter Title: Tournament Day
-----------------------------------------------------------------
More shame than expected came flooding over me, and I vowed to get revenge for it.
It was an opponent I had to beat anyway, so getting a little more pissy about it wouldn't change anything.
But before that.
"Marcel, don't you have something to say to me first?"
"...Me?"
Marcel pointed at himself with a finger while tearing into his bread, tilting his head.
"Why didn't you tell me about the rumors regarding the Saintess?"
"......Oh. That? Nah, I figured you'd know about it obviously. It's about you, so how could you not?"
"When I carry you back after you lose later, just get on without any backtalk."
"...What."
Marcel made a sullen face but couldn't muster a retort and just meekly tore into his bread.
"Shan, you finished all your busy work?"
"...I wrapped up yesterday what should've been done with a ruler."
I see.
"You two both entering the tournament?"
"I'm entering."
"Not interested."
Contrasting responses came out.
Shan had no interest, while Marcel nodded vigorously with enthusiasm.
Well, Shan only really cared about dealing with devil worshipers, after all.
Thinking I'd asked something pointless, I pulled up a chair, sat down, and crossed my legs.
"You cross 'em good even with short legs."
"You picking a fight? Don't slander me."
My legs were on the longer side.
Sure, my height was short, but proportionally, they were no different from an adult's.
No, actually, even compared to adults, they were pretty good proportions.
"Anyway."
I shrugged, snatched the end of the bread Marcel was holding, popped it in my mouth, and chewed as I tossed out a question.
"You confident about winning?"
"Of course not."
"...Huh?"
"You know what place I got last tournament?"
"Uh......"
I pondered for a moment.
His mannerisms made him seem flighty, but Marcel's skills were the real deal.
From what I'd heard, mid-tier among Silvers.
If it came down to Silvers fighting each other, he might not place high, but he wasn't the type to post a dismal result either.
"Hmm, probably made it to around the quarters or round of 16 before dropping out?"
Since it was a tournament format, bad luck could mean running into a finalist right in the prelims and getting knocked out instantly, but excluding those cases.
Quarters or round of 16 seemed plausible.
"I had the worst luck and ran into both the winner and runner-up in the prelims, so I got cut there. Isn't it kinda weird talking about winning when I bombed out in the prelims last time?"
"...Even Silver adventurers have prelims, huh?"
"They start from Bronze. Apprentices go straight to the main bracket, right? That's 'cause tons of 'em can't even chop a log properly."
There was probably the factor of not enough entrants due to lack of skill, but with Bronze and Silver tournaments already, not many bothered watching the Apprentice one.
Seemed like they put less effort into it.
"Guess they don't scout promising newbies or anything."
"If they had promise, they'd chop the log, right? And win the whole thing?"
"Yeah... true."
I scratched my head vigorously, at a loss for words, and stared at Marcel. He stared back quietly, then shot his hand up and ordered a cup of honeyed milk from the innkeeper.
The drink came quick, and Marcel handed it to me.
"Drink up. Gotta grow a bit."
"......Won't happen."
I was fixed like this—no room to shrink or grow.
I took a sip and looked up at Marcel, who tapped the table with his fingers, lost in thought.
A rich, sweet savoriness filled my mouth.
The thick white liquid lingered on my tongue before sliding smoothly down my throat.
Warmed slightly by my body heat as it passed, the exhale afterward carried a faint nuttiness.
"Haa... Anyway, good luck to us in the tournament."
"Damn right. I was so pissed bombing prelims last time. Can't win it all, but I gotta at least make main bracket."
Marcel furrowed his brow as if just thinking about it tired him out, letting out a sigh.
I subtly offered him the cup I held in both hands. He eyed the milk, then took a sip.
"Main bracket's my goal. What's yours?"
"Winning."
Obviously winning.
Once I took down Hector, no other competition looked tough, so the first match was key.
"Your self-esteem got wrecked so bad you couldn't even hold your sword right, and now you're thinking like this? Victory really is the best way to rebuild confidence."
Marcel teased playfully, muttering "Hector, Hector..." a few times before turning to Shan.
"Hector from the East side?"
"Yeah. Flashy swordplay's his specialty."
Shan answered flatly, not even glancing my way as he continued.
"Considering his family's status, he'll use disorienting sword techniques. Don't get fooled. Focus on his hands and eyes, not the blade."
It was obvious advice, but all the more effective for it.
Especially knowing the opponent's style in advance made countering easier.
That said, knowing wouldn't make him an easy opponent.
"Everyone I've fought so far has mostly been about overwhelming with brute force... Guess I need to stay on my toes."
A completely new type of foe.
Thief packs, goblins, all sorts of monsters from subjugation ops, devil worshipers and devils.
All my opponents up to now had relied on raw power.
They only knew strength, no real technique, which was why I'd managed with my lacking sword skills.
This would be a tricky one, so I started pondering seriously.
"Maybe start by tossing some sand."
I considered flinging the handful of dirt I always carried (unless it was raining) and subduing him quick, but Shan and Marcel stopped me in unison.
"Do that and you're DQ'd immediately."
"It's sparring, not real combat. I let it slide 'cause it's you. Do that to anyone else and you'll eat steel, so don't."
"Got it..."
Worked great in real fights, so I'd probably use it often.
Just not tournament legal, apparently.
So, straight-up fair fight it was?
Thinking about it, exams and tournaments weren't for cramming all night beforehand.
They were the payoff for steady effort, so I scrapped all the dirty tricks popping into my head.
I leaned back in my chair, staring blankly at the ceiling.
Even amid the recent hustle, things felt peaceful.
Day after day of disgust and scorn, dice rolling at unexpected times.
After all that hardship, wasn't I entitled to some rest like this? Yet the quiet only amplified my unease.
The more peaceful I was, the bigger the inevitable storm loomed.
Honestly, I was scared.
Every incident cost me people around me.
So maybe what worried me wasn't my own safety, but theirs.
"Shan, Marcel."
They turned at my call.
"You two, don't die."
In less than a year, I'd seen too much death.
Some by my own hand—innocent lives no different from if I'd cut them myself.
The goblin village girl's face and expression wouldn't fade from my mind.
Not just her—Bronze adventurer Ban, Tory and the kids, the village incident I just resolved.
All etched into my brain like direct brands, vivid no matter how much time passed.
"Our first meetings weren't great, but we've gotten close now... I don't want to see you two die."
First impressions were rough.
Shan suspected me of being a devil worshiper; Marcel figured I couldn't pull my weight and picked fights.
But after that, we got to know each other and bonded.
We're friends now—no way I wanted anything bad happening to them.
"Outta nowhere?"
Marcel looked flustered but couldn't hide his grin, standing to ruffle my hair.
"You worried about us? You're way more likely to drop dead first."
Meant not to worry, but after that blood giant, I couldn't just relax.
I downed the rest of the honeyed milk, fiddled with the empty cup, and sighed deeply.
I couldn't help worrying, but saying it out loud wouldn't get taken seriously.
In the end, I'd just have to get stronger.
"I'm heading up to bed early. See you tomorrow."
With that, I climbed the stairs to the room at the far end of the second floor and flopped onto the bed.
The next day, I trained with Shan for the first time in ages, and the day after that.
The tournament kicked off amid the rowdy atmosphere.
I was called in my turn and stepped up to the arena.
Hector stood before me, beaming a bright smile.
We readied ourselves at the referee's signal.
Drew our swords and pointed them at each other.
And then, time stopped.
The die rolled.
D6_1
4
Result value 4: Event difficulty Hard!!
"Haa..."
I let out a sigh of relief.
Gloomy Aura not triggering meant at least it wasn't a devil worshiper-related event.
So this was...
"Looking forward to a good match!"
Probably about Hector, shouting boldly like that.
Seeing his face brought back the irritation I'd forgotten.
"Pay for the date with your life."
"Wh-what?"
I charged at the flustered Hector without hesitation.
The system deemed it a 'Hard' fight.
But I didn't think I'd lose.