Ranking Tournament (2)
Well, her class is literally called Barbarian Warrior, so of course she's a barbarian. I nodded to myself at the thought.
Meanwhile, the match began.
"Let the match—begin!!"
With ninety-nine contestants remaining, they were now running two duels at a time. Out on that vast arena floor, Friga and Estel stood alone.
"You little—! beepbeep you!"
Friga was furious enough that the mute filter left almost nothing of her lines intact. She'd been called a barbarian by someone who was, well, calling a barbarian a barbarian—and she was livid.
Is this that whole "truth is no defense against defamation" thing?
There's a saying for it: people swear when they have nothing left to say. Estel had hit her with pure, cowardly facts, so Friga probably had no comeback except cursing.
"...Hmph."
Estel flicked her robe and weaved around Friga's axe. From the faint voice that slipped through, she sounded like a female character—but whether it was a mysterious aesthetic or something else, she absolutely refused to take that robe off.
In games like this, characters wrapped up that tight usually have one or two secrets stashed underneath. They hide their faces because of some identity they need to protect, or a tragic backstory—and when they finally reveal themselves, they're usually pretty good-looking.
Name's… Estel? Hope she shows up at the inn too.
The festival period had apparently bumped the hero-tier adventurer rates; hero-grade guests had been turning up at the inn fairly often. Most of them were still just the Adventurer class, though.
Still, gold was rolling in nicely. I was starting to think it might be time to open another weapon shop and another mine.
Whoosh!
A massive cutting sound roared out of my phone. I cut off the idle daydreaming and locked my eyes back on the screen.
"Aaagh! You little rat bastard! Ugh!"
"..."
Friga's axe cleaved empty air with a heavy, brutal sound. Estel had already slipped far back—her movements light as a feather.
Estel's agility and evasion stats had to be disgustingly high.
Clang!
Every so often she pulled a dagger from her belt and attacked. Against a massive axe, a dagger's reach was pitifully short, so Estel kept her distance, tossing them in a steady stream of harassment.
Dodge the charges with raw speed, then chip away from range with daggers?
Just watching it made my chest tighten. I had no idea why she wasn't using the longbow on her shoulder, but the moment she did, Friga's odds would drop off a cliff.
Not happening.
I opened the skill window and scanned the list. I was the event host, technically, but dropping a lightning bolt on Estel or sealing her outright felt a little too blatant.
Something subtle. Something that wouldn't show…
Gentle Breeze. That was the agility buff, right?
Just boosting Friga's agility should be enough for a quick win. I was about to cast Gentle Breeze on her when—
"Ghk…!"
"Hey. Say it one more time. Barbarian? Huh?! Bar-bar-ian?!"
Somehow Friga had caught her. She had Estel by the collar, hauling the fallen fighter upright by force.
How did she even catch Estel?
A lucky hit, maybe? Either way, Friga had won, so I canceled Gentle Breeze. A little disappointing I missed the process, but she'd made it through fine, so it didn't really mat—
"Hm?"
Now what?
Friga shot forward like a wolf closing on its prey. She poured that speed straight into her axe and swung.
KRAAANG—!
The Dragon Hunter's Axe carved empty air and buried itself in the dirt.
Estel had already drifted well out of range, watching Friga with perfect calm.
She said nothing—but even that silence scraped Friga raw.
A grinding sound came from Friga's teeth. Rage was starting to turn her vision red; the hand clenched around her axe had gone bloodless white.
Tap-tap—!
She set her stance and kicked off the ground again. Friga tore across the arena so fast the massive axe looked almost weightless.
Something came flying straight at her eyes.
Kang!
"You little shit…"
Estel's thrown dagger rang off the axe. Friga had blocked it with the flat of the blade, shielding her body—but it was an irritating way to fight.
"Hah—you get caught and I'm putting a hole in your skull. For real."
Friga spoke like a snarling beast. Estel didn't so much as flinch. She drew another dagger from inside her robe and threw it, then another.
Kang! Ka-kang—!
Whatever force was behind those little blades, it felt less like blocking daggers and more like catching spears.
Tap—!
The moment the rain of daggers thinned, Friga kicked off again and swung her axe in a frenzy.
A lightning strike of a blow, crashing down on Estel—pure killing intent.
"…Hmph."
Estel snorted at Friga's axe work. The storm of wild strikes bearing down on her was nothing but crude, brute-force aggression.
To Estel's eyes, every arc of that axe seemed to hang clear in the air.
"Die, you fucking bastard!"
The angrier Friga got, the simpler her attacks became.
And the simpler they got, the more easily Estel slipped them—a slight shift of her body, a step back, a light hop.
A twist of the waist. A retreat. A leap.
With those simple motions she turned every one of Friga's attacks into a circus act of near-misses.
"Wooooah!!"
"Incredible, Estel—!!"
The crowd roared its praise for Estel's uncanny footwork. To everyone watching, it must have looked like a choreographed play.
"Grrh! You little rat…!!"
Judging that this couldn't continue, Friga sprang backward and opened the distance. Then she started thinking fast.
If Friga's assault was a typhoon, Estel was a feather. No matter how hard a typhoon blows, a feather simply yields and rides the wind. Feathers don't snap in a storm.
It galled her, but Estel was lighter and quicker than she was.
Which meant—
She had to pin Estel's feet.
This…
Friga's eyes swept the surroundings, and a spark of inspiration lit in them.
It looked like a decent plan.
She finished her calculations in a flash and locked her gaze on Estel. Whether that longbow on the shoulder was just for show or not, once the bow came into play this would get a lot harder.
I end it before that!
Friga swept in a wide leftward arc and charged. Estel, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, retreated while throwing daggers. Friga knocked them aside with her axe; the blades clattered across the ground.
How many daggers had she packed under that robe? Estel kept throwing without end as she fell back.
A war of attrition—whittle Friga's stamina down, then finish her with a dagger the moment she tired. That seemed to be the plan.
Not a chance…!
Friga chased. Estel dodged the axe.
On and on they went, hunter and hunted, circling the arena in endless loops.
It looked a little like a circus act of a matador calming an enraged bull—and a little like a rabbit fleeing a wolf.
After a long stretch of that chase, Estel suddenly felt something off.
This barbarian… is she herding me?
She wasn't just chasing blindly. She was guiding Estel somewhere. But where?
Estel scanned the area in a hurry. The corner of Friga's mouth curled up.
She'd finally noticed—but by now it was already too late.
"You're slow on the uptake!!"
Friga's axe scraped along the ground and then surged upward, kicking up a thick cloud of sand. And through that sand came a sharp, whistling sound.
Shuuuk—!
"Hhk!"
Estel jerked back on pure instinct—but a hot line seared across her ankle, and blood welled and ran. Something had flown at her. But what? How?
That barbarian only has an axe…!
"Kh…!"
Estel ground her teeth and retreated. It was only a scratch on the foot, nothing more—
Swaeek—!
"Ugh!"
Friga didn't waste the opening. She charged hard. Every time her axe scraped the ground, a sharp dagger sprang up from the dirt and flew at Estel.
My daggers…!
Estel's pupils shook. She'd been knocking the daggers Estel had thrown for harassment back into the air with her axe? She'd been herding Estel toward where the daggers had fallen?
Friga's smile deepened.
"Hahaha! Those fancy feet of yours don't look so special once they're cut!"
Estel's movements grew steadily duller. Blood kept running from her ankle, and the pain chewed at her nerves.
Like a predator tracking wounded prey with cold precision, Friga drove Estel step by step into a corner.
And at last—
Puhk—!
"Ghhuh!"
The haft of Friga's axe smashed hard into Estel's gut. The impact sank deep; it felt solid.
"Ghk—ghhuh! Ugh!!"
Estel clutched her stomach and hacked like she was dying. For someone who'd only taken a hit to the stomach, the reaction looked wildly overdone, and Friga's brow furrowed.
"Hey. Hey! Get up. Quit faking and get up. You think I'm gonna go easy on you for that?"
She grabbed the collar of the Estel who had crumpled and was wheezing on the ground, and hauled her up in one motion. Small frame, light weight—easy enough to lift with one hand.
"Hey. Say it one more time. Barbarian? Huh?! Bar-bar-ian?!"
"Eek! H-h-how dare you—to m-me—"
"Yeah, whatever. Pick. Hole in the right cheek, or hole in the left?"
"H-hiiik!"
Friga spoke in a low, chilling voice and casually offered up the Dragon Hunter's Axe. The edge gleamed with a cold, blue light, and Estel shook like a mouse in a cat's jaws.
She was trembling so hard Friga's own hand started shaking with her.
The axe drifted closer and closer to Estel's face.
Sensing the situation turning ugly, the announcer hastily declared Friga the winner.
"Ah—! What a truly astonishing strategy!! Dragon Slayer Friga! Displaying brilliant wisdom and resourcefulness, she—"
Whether she heard the announcer's tearful efforts to stop her or not, Friga showed no intention of putting Estel down.
She genuinely looked ready to put a wind hole through one of Estel's cheeks.
In the end, just as the holy knights—signaled by the announcer—were about to storm the arena—
A booming voice rolled out from the Coliseum's sacred flame.