Chapter 85
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 85
Chapter Title: Crushing the Lone Wolf
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Beyond the dark corridor lay a brilliant light. Abel slowly walked toward it.
-Waaaaah!
The crowd's cheers grew ever closer.
It was a situation where any ordinary person might feel overwhelmed, but Abel felt strangely at ease instead.
It was like returning to a faint memory of his hometown.
Thud! Thud! Thud-!
With each step, a heavy sound echoed like the beating of his heart.
Abel advanced as if drawn by the noise.
Soon, a dazzling light enveloped his entire body through the Gigant's viewport.
-The Academy's Saint! The youngest participant in this tournament! Abel!
-Waaaaah!
-I bet on you, kid!
Doyle's boisterous voice pierced his ears along with the crowd's roars.
Abel flashed a grin and thrust both hands high into the air.
He might hold back in the Academy to avoid seeming arrogant, but here? No need.
-Gutsy kid!
This place ran by entirely different rules than the Academy.
Still, he couldn't let excitement cloud his judgment.
Abel kept a measured tension as he followed the staff member's guidance into the arena.
"This way!"
The round of 16 featured two matches simultaneously.
To accommodate, they'd set up a separate square arena next to the main one, and it was plenty spacious.
At least twice the size of the underground fight club's arena.
'Perfect.'
No worries about cramped space limiting his attacks.
Abel took position on one side and eyed the opposite.
-Abel's opponent is... the Lone Wolf of the Battlefield! The man who wields his mace like an extension of his body! James!
The opponent's Gigant was the same model as his, of course. Everyone used the ones provided in the arena.
You could tweak them somewhat during matches, but the basics remained identical.
So Abel focused on other tells.
'A mace, huh.'
A very common weapon.
Spears were unmatched for bare-handed fights, but Gigant combat was different.
Spears' biggest edge was ease of use even for novices, but that didn't translate well to Gigant battles.
'Stabbing roughly with a spear won't wound most opponents.'
Gigants fought other Gigants or Gigadeus fragments.
Neither went down to half-hearted spear jabs.
That's why mercenaries favored blunt weapons in general.
Land a hit, and it hurt—a lot.
-The fighters are glaring daggers! Tense atmosphere!
Even amid it all, Doyle bellowed to whip up the crowd.
Abel grinned and slowly loosened up.
Aside from the blunt weapon, the opponent had no standout traits.
'Never heard the name before.'
Lone Wolf of the Battlefield? Probably a made-up nickname.
He'd never heard it once.
'Can't exactly intro him as "some battlefield-rolling mercenary."'
Of course, no complacency just because the guy was a nobody.
Any mercenary piloting a Gigant was a cut above regular grunts.
Unlike Midget grades, Tito grades required real skill.
Meaning solid fundamentals were a given.
Rely on underground brawl instincts, and he'd get wrecked.
Thud, thud, thud-!
Gigants entered the other arena next door.
Different announcer over there. Not that it mattered.
-Alright, we'll begin the match shortly!
Doyle gave the final prep time, and Abel tuned out the noise, sharpening his senses.
'Fast as possible. But no rushing.'
The greatsword in his grip felt reassuringly heavy.
One solid thrust could end it.
Opponent's weapon was similar, so he'd aim for that one-shot too.
-Ready!
Abel settled into stance, ears on Doyle.
Calton always stressed basics, but for the tournament, he'd passed on a few practical techniques.
Nothing flashy, but battle-ready moves.
Abel reviewed them as he raised his sword slowly.
-Begin!
Boom-!
Doyle's call unleashed a thunderous roar.
Both lunged forward at nearly the same instant.
Abel thrust his sword at the rapidly closing foe.
Whoooosh-!
More like swinging a club than a blade, but the speed demanded respect.
The mercenary twisted left in a panic, smashing down with his mace.
Targeting the weapon.
Clanggggg!
Abel easily deflected it.
The broad blade made parrying simple.
As he flowed the blow aside, he whipped the sword upward, slicing for the enemy's flank.
-Ngh!
Opponent blocked desperately with his left arm and retreated.
Couldn't block clean, though. Looked nasty even from afar.
Instead of pursuing, Abel opened the distance.
-Waaaaah!
-Hot damn!
The crowd cheered the fiercer-than-expected clash, but Abel's mind was elsewhere.
'Well, well.'
Seemed one-sided, but Abel sensed something else.
The moment he'd closed in, mana had scattered.
'Not just melee specialist, then.'
Likely some secret technique in that exchange.
Fall for the one-shot feint and drag it out? You'd lose.
But Abel clocked it instantly.
Unlucky for the opponent.
Thud.
Abel stamped hard and exhaled long.
Want a war of attrition? He'd flip it.
'Short and sharp.'
Fresh mana surged through Gigant and body, heating up.
'Overflow.'
Felt like his whole frame was ablaze.
Abel charged the re-approaching foe at blistering speed.
Boom-!
At least twice as fast as before.
Caught off-guard, the mercenary swung wildly.
But Abel tracked the arc crystal clear.
Swoosh!
No technique needed.
Just a casual shift right, and the mace whiffed air.
Thud!
Abel planted his right foot, halted abruptly, and unleashed an explosive swing.
KABOOM!
A sharp boom rang out.
Crash!
Another roar followed instantly.
The flung enemy Gigant slamming the wall.
-Nnngh.
Speaker misadjusted? A pained groan leaked from the cockpit.
"Huff, huff."
Abel approached slowly, breathing hard.
The mercenary tried rising but couldn't balance.
Abel just needed to press his sword to the unsteady core.
-I... forfeit...
Surrender declared.
Abel realized the arena had gone dead silent.
Even Doyle's usual racket absent.
Something wrong?
-WAAAAAHHHH!
-Overwhelming! An overwhelming one-shot! A mere first-year student blasts a grizzled mercenary away in one blow!
Deafening cheers and Doyle's voice hit like a wave.
Abel nearly covered his ears.
Grinning at the rare adulation, he raised his weapon hand.
-Abel! Abel! Abel!
-Knew you'd win!
Savoring victory amid the din.
Abel spotted someone in the VIP seats.
A woman with striking purple hair.
'Who? Familiar...'
Couldn't place her, but the look rang bells.
'Gotta ask around.'
Filed the image away, milked more cheers, then exited.
Time to rest for the next bout.
* * *
"Purple hair?"
"Yeah. VIP section."
"Oh, you mean Lady Deborah."
"Deborah... of Deborah Merchant House?"
"She's a friend of yours? Yeah. She rarely shows even with invites, but here she is today."
Abel perked up at Doyle's words.
He remembered the name Deborah clear as day.
'The game's top patron.'
He had Klein Count's backing now, but for the future? Not enough.
Klein's wealth was solid, but not full-throttle support.
'Wasn't after their money anyway.'
Long-term, he needed a dedicated financial backer.
Deborah would be ideal if possible.
"Hmm."
"Hmm nothing. Work for it. Who knows? Catch her eye, snag some sponsorship."
"Gotta, it's a match."
Doyle chuckled and nodded.
"Exceeded expectations, kid. Leagues above your underground days."
"Those were all improv. Learned proper at the Academy—gotta fight better."
"How long you been learning? Nah, you're just talented. Should've scouted you for the pros."
"Then you'd chase me with a hammer