Ranking Tournament (1)
Some, like Kenis, spent their rest dining out and taking leisurely outings. Others trained, or simply slept, snatching what brief respite they could.
And so the sun and moon rose and fell, day after day.
Time flew like an arrow.
The Festival of Duels. A battleground for warriors.
As lofty as the names of the Six Gods themselves, the festival's renown burned just as brilliantly. Thousands of warriors had gathered, yet only eight hundred eighteen had passed the overseers' scrutiny.
What followed was fierce dueling, bloodshed, and struggle.
Honor and glory.
Things that were nothing — and everything.
Battles fought for just such things.
From eight hundred eighteen to four hundred nine, then two hundred four, until at last only ninety-nine remained.
The blood and sweat spilled upon the arena floor defied all measure.
And finally, those ninety-nine warriors entered the Coliseum.
"Kenis—! Kenis—! Kenis—!"
"Estel!! Show us your face—!!"
"Leon looks so cool—!"
The crowd roared the names of their favored warriors and scattered flowers of every color. Today's festival held a meaning unlike any other day.
Ninety-nine warriors had entered the arena.
And ninety-nine sacred flames still burned, lit at the festival's opening and never once extinguished.
A number of true significance — a number that meant something.
The number of divine relics prepared for the sacred flames matched the number of remaining warriors exactly. For them, a relic was all but guaranteed.
A weaker soul might have taken a relic and withdrawn from the festival...
But these were hardened warriors who had proven themselves through brutal combat.
Not one of them would quit.
They would fight to the end.
With everything on the line.
Friga glanced sideways at Kenis. Whether by luck or misfortune, across three duels so far she had not faced Kenis even once.
Not just Kenis — Iscal, Rohan, Hans, Leon... somehow, none of the Pantheon's people had drawn each other.
Is this a festival prepared by the gods, and they're giving the Pantheon special treatment?
Friga snorted at the thought.
As if. Even a god wouldn't stoop to something that petty.
It was pure coincidence.
An absurdly perfect coincidence.
Lost in such musings, Friga sat in a corner of the waiting room sharpening her axe blade when a priest approached.
"Lady Friga, you are next."
"Yeah, got it."
Friga waved him off, rose, and slapped the dust from her backside.
A few eyes lingered on the tight fit of her pants. She felt the lecherous stares.
Form-fitting trousers that flaunted the line of her legs, a thin top, a short-cut beast-hide vest — an outfit far too bold for the Holy City.
It's too damn hot here...
Friga's clothes were her own modification of traditional northern dress, something she had refused to abandon. Compared to Holy City fashion, they clung more and left less to the imagination. She was used to stares of that sort by now.
She paid them no mind. If anyone went too far, she'd personally settle it with her axe — but this was harmless enough.
She passed through a dim tunnel and stepped out into the arena, where the sun blazed down in full force.
The heavy weight of the Dragon Hunter's Axe settled perfectly into her grip.
From far across the stands, her name began to rise.
"...ga! ...riga! ...Friga!! Friga! Friga!!"
Thousands upon thousands of voices roaring her name — the thrill of it sent a shiver all the way to her fingertips. It was a heady, electric feeling.
She was starting to understand why Iscal grinned like an idiot over this sort of thing.
"Hoo—"
Friga drew a deep breath, trying to settle her racing heart. A still mind was one of her iron rules of combat.
Head cold, heart hot.
In practice she had never once managed it — but it was the ideal she aimed for all the same.
She looked at the warrior standing opposite her. Small of frame, body wrapped tight in a robe, a recurve bow across one shoulder and daggers at the hip.
Bare feet in wooden clogs?
The wooden clogs worn barefoot caught her eye.
With every step came a sharp clack-clack.
One of Friga's eyebrows ticked upward.
"Wooden clogs... well, fine. Guess you're feeling confident."
"..."
Silence was her opponent's only answer. The festival announcer's voice boomed across the arena.
"Dragonslayer Fri—ga!! And her opponent is none other than—!! The dagger master who appeared like a comet!! Este—l!!"
Friga nodded at the announcement.
"Estel? Not a common name."
"..."
"They say you're a master of the dagger. Looking forward to it. Let's have a good fight."
"..."
"...Hey. When someone talks to you, you're supposed to answer."
"..."
"You ignoring me? Hey, can you hear me?"
Estel offered neither reply nor reaction. Faced with that unbroken wall of disregard, Friga ground her teeth. Heat was already climbing into her skull.
Head cold. Head cold. Head cold...
She repeated it under her breath. Drew a long breath and fought to stay calm.
The fight hadn't even started. Losing her composure already would be a disaster.
"Heh."
"...Huh?"
A soft snicker drifted from beneath Estel's robe. Friga stared, half-convinced she'd misheard.
"Your clothes..."
"Clothes? What about my clothes?"
"Look like a barbarian's..."
"What? Hey. What did you just say?"
"..."
"Barbarian? You looking to die? Huh? You little shit — barbarian? Calling a person a barbarian?!"
In an instant Friga's temper detonated. She seized her axe and lunged into a rage. Estel did not so much as flinch, holding her silence with perfect composure.
"You goddamn little— you're dead! Hey! Take off the robe! Drop the robe and show your face! I'll put some air holes right through that pretty mug of yours!!"
"L-Lady Friga! Please calm yourself! The duel hasn't started yet!"
"Hey, you bastard!! Don't stop me! I said don't stop me!! I'm splitting that asshole's skull in half today!!"
"Killing her means disqualification!! Lady Friga, please!"
Paladins had to rush in and pin her arms and legs to restrain the thrashing Friga. It was a mercy that some thread of reason remained — enough that she didn't swing the axe at the paladins themselves.
"Hoo... hoo... hoo..."
After a desperate struggle they finally got her to stop rampaging. But the look in her eyes still promised to tear Estel apart.
Of all words, Friga was most sensitive to barbarian.
It wasn't that she was ashamed of the North.
The North was her proud homeland, her steadfast family.
But.
Calling Friga a barbarian was not merely an insult to the northern duke's daughter and the North's representative — it was branding the entire North as a land of savages.
If she was a barbarian, then the whole North became a land of barbarians.
That, Friga could not endure.
Watching Friga seethe and snort with barely contained fury, Estel murmured once more, soft and cutting.
"Ignorant barbarian."
"You... son of a—!!"
Friga's teeth ground together with an audible crunch. Her grip on the axe whitened with force.
She swore it inwardly. She would shred that smug robe to ribbons and leave a couple of axe marks across that face.
"Let the duel—!! Begin!!"
At the announcer's signal, Friga charged like a wolf falling on its prey.
"You little piece of shit!!"
With a thick stream of curses, the Dragon Hunter's Axe came crashing down on Estel.
"Hmm—"
I stared at my phone, sunk deep in thought. Lying on the bare floor made my back ache, so I rolled and shifted, trying to find a better position.
The mattress was at the laundromat. More of that strange filth had shown up on it not long ago.
And what I was fretting over now was connected to exactly that. Once could be coincidence. Twice was not. A third time would mean something was definitely going on.
This was already the second time that weird black sludge had soiled my bed. The first time I'd shrugged it off with nothing but a vague unease. Not anymore.
"What the hell is this..."
I'd searched every keyword I could think of — black sludge, strange filth, sticky waste — and found nothing useful. Just in case, I'd even considered the mortifying possibility that I'd soiled myself in my sleep.
Thankfully I'd ruled out that particular nightmare... but I still needed to find the cause of this mess.
And what's this now? Bone-washing rebirth?
Digging deeper had somehow led me into martial arts novel terminology. From what I skimmed, it was a process of the body transforming into something superior — like a snake shedding its skin, supposedly.
Why is every single result either fantasy or wuxia?
In the end, I found nothing helpful. The only common threads between the two sludge incidents: both had happened while I was asleep, and both times I'd had a strange dream.
...The game?
I sat bolt upright and stared at my phone.
In the first sludge incident, Kenis had appeared in my dream. In the second, Friga had shown up.
Was that really a coincidence?
I'd been having a lot of weird dreams lately. Lucid dreams, too — the rate had spiked.
I eyed my phone with deep suspicion. The game, the strange sludge, and the dreams.
Force those pieces together and you got a story more novel-like than any novel. I simply didn't have enough puzzle pieces in hand.
For now... for now, I had no idea.
Something was off, but I had no way of figuring out what or why. It wasn't as if the game was building a multi-instance server inside my brain.
At this rate I'll end up isekai'd into the game.
A snort of laughter escaped me. Ridiculous thought.
Bzzzt—
My phone vibrated. A game popup notification.
99 Warriors! The Ranking Tournament begins!
The Coliseum duels have started!
Current Match: Friga VS Estel
While I'd been spacing out, Friga's turn had come around. She'd been winning cleanly without any buffs so far, but you never knew.
I logged into the game at once.
Entering the grand Coliseum's dedicated UI, I found Friga already holding her axe — the match hadn't started yet.
And her opponent...
Estel? No title on this one?
Occasionally there were fighters without titles. Those usually turned out to be either absurdly strong or absurdly weak. The strong ones were probably going for the hidden-master concept.
— "Barbarian..."
— "What? Barbarian? Hey, you looking to beep? Huh, you little beep beep! I'll beep beep beep your skull!!"
More than half of Friga's lines had been muted out. What on earth was she even saying?
"Ugh..."
Apparently Estel had some kind of special taunt dialogue that worked on Friga. One line from Estel, and the cost-performance ratio was off the charts.
So far, the verbal exchange was a total win for Estel. One sentence that could settle a thousand-gold debt.
Though, well...
Friga's class was Barbarian Warrior to begin with. Wasn't she technically a barbarian?