Chapter 66

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Translator: MadScientist

Chapter: 66

Chapter Title: Victory, and...

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I ordered beer for six or seven people.

Not the cheap stuff watered down, but proper beer with grilled sausages on the side.

With about two hours left until my turn, we drank and enjoyed it in moderation.

Of course, since I'd have to go fight soon, I didn't touch the alcohol.

I squeezed lemons from the ones used for cocktails, mixed in some syrup, added ice, and sipped it.

The sharp sourness made my body shiver finely, snapping me awake.

Only then did the pain throb up from my earlobes, but it was bearable.

I could get it treated after the tournament ended.

Having taken down the strongest opponent, the rest should be straightforward.

"Sis, that lightning thing? You didn't use it on us... Were you going easy?"

"Wasn't going easy... If I'd used it here, the whole shop would've gone up in flames. Separate from that, I just couldn't use it."

Everyone nodded in understanding at my explanation.

These ugly sea lions had become all meek after I beat them once—it was ridiculous, but not unpleasant, so I shrugged.

Not that lightning was all that convenient anyway, but no need to tell them that.

For one, it never went in the direction I wanted.

Lightning had no proper form to begin with.

When I used it, it might shoot along my sword's direction at first, only to veer off bizarrely.

That was why I'd dove into Hector's embrace despite being able to fight from afar with lightning.

It didn't obey my commands.

So I'd blasted it point-blank to electrocute him.

And it wasn't just lightning's issue.

Using it risked numbing my muscles with pins and needles.

Not enough to drop my sword, but if they stiffened mid-blast and I couldn't finish the opponent, my win rate would plummet.

Finally, generating enough lightning took time.

That was why experts like Marcel or Shan wouldn't even give me the chance to build it up.

Reading that goblin book might change things if it raised the rank, but for now, that was it.

"You all keep eating and drinking. I need to scout the other opponents. Hey, mister, the bill."

I paid for another round each, and they whistled and cheered, making my face flush for no reason.

"All of you stay put. Don't come to the arena—it's embarrassing."

"Yes, sis!"

They sure talk a good game.

It felt less like they liked me and more ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠like they liked the free beer, but still.

It was a fresh feeling, having them like me in some form or another.

Even with sunglasses on, they knew I wasn't pleased, yet they admitted defeat and bowed their heads like that. Impressive.

It was far from the romance of adventure Hector sought, but if this was romance, then so be it.

With my skill level, as long as they didn't meet my eyes, they could somewhat resist my Gloomy Aura.

"Ugh..."

Rubbing my tingling arm muscles, I headed back to the arena, where a match was underway.

A woman with a spear against a man with a greatsword.

The match was terrible.

The spearwoman was flexible, sure, but only flexible. The greatsword guy had power, sure, but only power.

I could've beaten both at once.

The matches after were the same.

An old man with a wooden staff against a middle-aged guy throwing darts.

It was yawn-inducing.

No hidden powerhouses disguised as apprentice adventurers, apparently.

"Well... In a world where hiding strength gains you nothing."

Even I had power now, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and my treatment had changed overnight.

Just having strength improved life quality—no weirdos would hide it and lower their own standards.

The matches dragged on boringly until I dozed off.

When I woke, the round of 16 was about to start. Yawning, I stepped into the arena.

It was the greatsword guy from the first match I'd seen.

The referee signaled the start. I walked forward, leaned back to dodge the heavy whoosh of the greatsword, and pointed my sword at his throat.

"...I lose."

From start to finish, not even ten seconds.

"You've got good strength, but that's really all you've got."

With that, he shouldn't bother calling himself an adventurer anywhere.

Strength is good.

A clear advantage.

But raw strength alone achieves nothing.

No matter how strong a human is, can they outmatch a monster?

Clashing strength-on-strength, humans always crumble—that's why we learn technique.

I stepped down, stretching.

My body still tingled from the lightning's aftereffects.

Hector must be treated by now.

With the capital buzzing from recent events and priests overflowing, treatment was easy if you had money.

"...He wouldn't come for revenge, would he?"

If that noble young master got serious about payback, even Shan and Marcel couldn't stop him. Chilling thought, but I'd trust Hector once.

He dated me, which pissed me off, but his nature seemed decent.

Whether he'd stay decent after I grilled him from blue rare to well-done, who knew—but if I didn't believe it, what could I do?

After a short break, it was time for my next match.

The crowd had grown a bit.

Overhearing, they were here for me.

Word of Hector's state must've spread.

But not kind words.

Not praising me, but badmouthing Hector—unpleasant stuff.

I memorized their faces.

One had a copper plate proudly at his waist. Adventurer squabbles wouldn't draw guards unless they escalated.

"We'll see later if you're ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠really stronger than Hector."

I muttered a low warning. He spat curses and looked away—pathetic.

Next, the quarterfinals: the old man with the wooden staff.

Skinny as bone and leather without muscle, long beard—he looked too frail to stand, let alone fight me.

But his eyes were fierce.

Veins writhed grotesquely on the hand gripping the staff.

Whatever he was now, I glimpsed what he'd been.

"...Please, take care."

He hadn't expected politeness from me.

His eyes widened briefly, then he smiled faintly and nodded.

The match ended in just over forty seconds.

My win.

But I couldn't dismiss him. I'd won purely on physical superiority.

His strength was weaker than mine.

His body lacked flexibility, leaving huge openings.

My combos disrupted his breathing fast.

Yet his staff swings and counters felt on par with Marcel—or better.

With a healthier body, I'd have lost. In his prime, he'd rank silver adventurer.

I'd won, but didn't feel like it.

I helped him down, supporting him.

The old man smiled faintly, saying Marcel had a fine disciple, clutched his broken staff, and left.

"You know Marcel?"

I'd ask him later.

Not now—he was busy prepping for his tournament.

After all matches ended would do.

Few matches left, so wait time halved.

Semifinals ended in under ten seconds.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

Then the finals right away.

A cocky guy looked down at me.

"A kid? Surrender quick when it starts. I don't enjoy beating children."

Cocky, but seemed decent.

Calling me a kid yet saying he didn't like hurting them.

Most would develop a taste seeing me.

I drew my sword, showing I'd fight, not surrender. He sighed deeply and shook his head.

"If you insist on drinking the penalty, can't stop you."

Confidence was fine.

But did skill match?

Not nimbler than Hector, not more skilled than the old man—my win. Predictably slower than Hector, greener than the old man.

After twenty seconds, anticlimactically, I claimed victory.

Prize: two gold coins and a champion trophy.

Immediate promotion to copper adventurer, plus hefty performance points.

And first pick of the listed prizes.

Not many entrants, sure.

But hosted by the Adventurer's Guild and royals.

Prizes were leagues above anything I'd seen.

Commission the royal blacksmith... rare monster parts... a month training with royal knights...

My weapon was plenty good.

No use for monster bits.

Royal knight swordsmanship tempted, but I hadn't mastered Shan and Marcel's lessons—overkill.

Overlooking the rest, my eyes locked on what seemed an ordinary bag.

But no ordinary bag—I knew instantly.

Magic workshop emblem on it.

Subspace bag.

Size: 2x2m.

Smaller than my current one, yet that capacity was revolutionary.

Invaluable.

Honestly, smaller subspace bags were beyond my means anyway.

Magic workshops sold only to verified elites, demand outstripping supply—money useless. Existed, but a fantasy to me.

Miss this chance, who knew the next?

I chose the subspace bag without hesitation.

Then the system's voice rang out.

"...Suddenly?"