Who Am I, You Ask? (3)

"Gods of heaven and earth, please help me just this once. Seriously, I'm begging you."

It was the dead of night, a clear bright moon hanging high overhead. With a devout heart I had drawn a bowl of cold water, set it out, and was bowing as I prayed with everything I had. For this moment I had purified myself with a full ritual bath, washing away every impurity. I already washed once a day, but the feeling of having cast off all defilement mattered more than anything.

Beyond the window shone the brilliant moon. On the low wooden table sat the clean bowl of cold water, and atop it rested my smartphone. The screen displayed the Random Weapon Crafting Recipe. For the Colosseum event prize, I now stood on the brink of a critical gacha pull—I needed a C-Grade or higher weapon to come out of this random recipe.

Anything C-Grade or above would do. No more, no less. Even a plain C-Grade was fine. Just not anything below it.

"Please, please, gods of heaven and earth, Buddha, Jesus, Allah… I've gone this far. Just help me once."

The only other time in my life I had ever prayed this desperately was when I enlisted in the army. How long did I pour my heart into those prayers?

A tiny star twinkled in the night sky—and in that instant I knew by pure instinct.

Everything has its proper moment, and that moment passes in a flash.

"Hah!"

I shot my index finger straight out and stabbed at the screen. My only target: a C-Grade or higher weapon recipe!

My finger moved like a lion pouncing on its prey—swift, yet absolute. It struck the recipe-use button with perfect precision. A brilliant fanfare blared, announcing that the recipe had been consumed.

— Ba-bam!

I squeezed my eyes shut.

Do all that is humanly possible, then leave the rest to heaven. In the end, gacha is nothing more than the will of the heavens. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Whatever result appeared, I was ready to accept it with humble grace.

My eyelids trembled lightly. I must not get my hopes up. People only get betrayed because they dare to expect. If you expect nothing, you can never be disappointed. I calmed my heart and carefully opened my eyes.

My heart hammered in my ears. Through half-lidded eyes I saw the smartphone.

C-Grade weapon… did it drop?

"Whoa…!"

On the screen, a B-Grade weapon recipe shone with dazzling light.

It—it dropped!! It actually dropped!!

Every hair on my body stood on end; adrenaline surged through me. I scrambled forward on my knees and snatched up the phone. With feverish eyes I read ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the item description. As expected, sincerity moves heaven… wait… huh?

My pupils began to tremble. Thinking I must have misread, I rubbed my eyes and gulped down the cold water I had set out. I steadied my breathing and calmly read the weapon description again, slowly.

…Still the exact same description. The exact same item.

"Wh-what the hell is this…"

My voice shook thinly with sheer disbelief. So this is what it feels like when a mood that has soared all the way to the heavens plummets straight into the abyss in a single heartbeat.

"You bastards…! Is this even a game?! Is this a game?!"

A wretched scream tore through the empty room. The developers weren't human—they were clearly demons. They had no understanding of the human heart! How else could they hand out an item like this? How was anyone supposed to use a weapon like this?!

I forced myself to rein in the bitter feelings. A trash weapon was still a trash weapon, but I still had to register it as a prize. With trembling hands I used the Radiant Platinum and crafted the weapon.

— Ba-bam!

"Ha…"

A B-Grade weapon, and the modifier is heavy? All I could do was laugh hollowly. With hands that now shook even harder, I checked the warhammer's description one more time. Maybe I had misread it. Yeah—maybe a bug had pulled up some other item's text…

The description window remained unchanged. My eyes trembled roughly.

What? A threatening weapon if you can lift it? If you can lift it?

That basically meant you might not be able to lift it at all.

Was this the hammer those water-fearing chickens used in novels? It wasn't even Mjolnir—what kind of absolute garbage item was this?

"Ha— I'm going insane."

Conditional items I could understand if the conditions were at least somewhat reasonable. But a condition that says you might not even be able to use it because it's too heavy? Seriously… ha…

A sigh rose all the way to my throat, but I swallowed it. With shaking hands I registered the Terribly Heavy Warhammer as a prize.

Because it had been forged with platinum as its base, the warhammer gleamed a brilliant silver. The handle looked a touch long, and the hammer head bristled with sharp spikes perfect for tenderizing an opponent like a pork cutlet. Some kind of unknown mark was engraved in the center.

"Ah! This game is pure trash!"

I heaved a deep sigh and quit the game.

Yeah. Trash games are just like that.

"Bwahahaha! That is an absolute masterpiece!"

"Stop laughing… I'm seriously not okay right now."

Adam's booming laughter roared through the forge. He was so delighted he pounded the table over and over, laughing ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠himself breathless. Wiping tears from his eyes, he looked at Leon and said,

"That's why you should've come back after fooling around just the right amount. How furious must he have been to pull a prank like that on you?"

"I wasn't fooling around—I was training…! Hah— forget it."

"Hmm? Is our 'Strongest Challenger' in a foul mood? Hmm? Ahahahaha!!"

"Huuu…"

Adam's thick eyebrows wriggled like earthworms as he needled Leon. Having been thoroughly played by the junior he trusted, Leon had no choice but to endure it. He had never imagined Demonic would mess with him in quite that fashion.

To soothe the boiling irritation in his gut, Leon gulped down more liquor, then eyed the now-empty bottle.

"Adam, any more drink?"

"Drink? This is a forge, you old fool. You think I've got liquor lying around?"

"Tch, that so?"

The corner of Adam's mouth curled upward.

"I've got a damn ton of it! Ahahaha!!"

"I knew it! You never disappoint me! Bwahahaha!!"

"Who am I? The Holy City's number-one blacksmith! Huh?! Disciple of the Dwarves!! Adam Smith himself!! Ahahaha!! Ah, go to the warehouse out back—there'll be oak barrels. Bring as many as you can drink, just the right amount."

"Hmm… Adam, you look pretty drunk already. You sure about this?"

Leon goaded him. Adam snorted. This old man, challenging him over drink?

The amount of liquor he had downed in the Holy Land alone could fill the moat surrounding the Holy City. There was probably no one in the entire Holy City who could out-drink him.

"You could drink till your nose is crooked and I'd still be fine. You're the one who ought to think about your age and take care of that body."

"Little snot-nosed Adam's all grown up, huh? Today I'll teach you some manners."

With that spirited declaration, Leon headed for the warehouse in the back and soon returned carrying five heavy oak barrels stacked like a tower. Truly astonishing strength.

Thud—!

When Leon set the barrels down, the ground seemed to tremble faintly. He grinned at Adam.

"Admit defeat now and I won't open every single one of these barrels."

"Ha! You just worry about tomorrow's hangover."

Two old men whose combined ages easily topped a hundred, staking their pride on a single bout. As the liquor went down, the atmosphere grew lively and warm.

They had plenty of stories piled up, and the time they had spent together was even longer, so the drink never stopped flowing.

Old tales run long, but the night is short.

They drank from the setting of the sun until it rose again.

"Damn it… Adam…"

"Loser. You go to sleep first."

Just before the rooster crowed to announce dawn, Leon's massive frame slumped over, putting a full stop to their contest. He curled up in a corner of the forge and sank into deep sleep—not the proud warrior, not the devout believer, merely a pathetic drunk.

Smack—!

"Get up!"

Leon, dead to the world, suddenly felt a fierce pain bloom across his cheek and jolted awake.

Smack—!

The hand was so sharp that one side of his face burned. Groaning under the weight of the alcohol, he forced his heavy body upright and saw Adam seizing him by the collar and shaking him.

"W-water…"

"This is no time for water! You said you were entering the festival!!"

His cracked throat begged for water. Adam ignored him completely and bellowed,

"The festival's already started! The Festival of Duels is beginning!!"

"…What?"

His liquor-soaked, hazy mind snapped wide awake. Leon struggled to rise at once. The previous night's drinking still reeked from his body, and the world spun.

"Here—drink this and pull yourself together."

Adam handed him a cool cup of cold water. The moment the liquid hit his parched throat, he felt a little more alive.

"Get your head straight! See the arena over there? Do you see it?!"

"Yeah—huff—huff—I see it, I see it."

"Last night all ninety-nine sacred flames lit up! That means the festival has begun! The Pantheon is summoning every challenger!"

Above the arena, brilliant flowers painted the sky as they scattered. A massive roar rolled in. Even at this distance the cheering was crystal clear.

"Hey! We have to go right now! Last night the Pantheon contacted every challenger to gather! We were too busy drinking to hear it!"

"Wait—just wait a second… Ugh! Bleeegh!"

Leon tried to circulate holy power to drive out the alcohol, but he had drunk far too much for such precise control. Watching him retch instead, Adam slapped his own forehead. What was he supposed to do with this old man who had wasted his years?

Seeing Leon unable even to walk, let alone run, Adam stamped his feet in frustration. If the arena opened while they stood here, Leon might be eliminated without even fighting a single duel.

As he fretted over whether he would have to carry the man on his back, something in the alley caught Adam's eye—a somewhat battered cart.

"That'll do!"

Adam hurriedly dragged the cart over. He felt bad for the owner, but once he explained the circumstances later, the fellow would understand.

Grunting, he loaded Leon onto the cart and set off at a run. Every time the old cart rattled down the main road, dying noises rose from the back, but it was far too late to worry about that.

Rattle—!

"Ugh!"

"Hang on just a little longer, friend!"

Adam worked his legs furiously, racing toward the distant stadium.

Waaaaaah—!!

The closer they drew to the arena, the more the crowd's roar thundered. It felt as if every person in the world had gathered to shout; the sky itself trembled and hearts pounded.

"Challengers—!! …!! Glory…!!!"

The announcer's voice reached them as well. It ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠seemed they were not yet too late. Adam hauled the cart straight into the stadium.

Passing beneath the great arched gate and heading into the arena proper, the bright sun beyond suddenly lit Adam, and in an instant the entire stadium unfolded before his eyes.

Waaaaaaaaah—!!

Overwhelming grandeur, roaring cheers, heat, excitement—everything pressed against the skin. Every soul in sight was screaming in frenzy, and across the vast arena hot-blooded warriors burned with fighting spirit.

The announcer spotted Adam creaking along with the cart. He had apparently been introducing the challengers; he turned toward Adam and called,

"Challenger who has only just arrived—what is your name!"

Leon staggered up from the cart, gave Adam a shove, and lurched forward on unsteady feet.

"Hah… You ask who I am?"

Liquor still reeked from his mouth, and his body was so hungover he could not even call upon holy power—yet he was a warrior.

To grow old meant one had survived that long.

And the one who survives is the strong.

The most seasoned lion roared valiantly at the challengers.

"Aigoo…"

Adam pressed a hand to his forehead as he watched his friend, still drowning in liquor, blurt out his true identity all on his own.