Group Stage (3)

The winner's interview wouldn't start until every match in Group E was finished.

They ran it in the gaps between groups, piggybacking on the prep time for the next set of matches.

My own match was already over, so I was free to do whatever I wanted with the leftover time.

I could have rested. But one way or another, either Ripper or Fury was going to be my next opponent. If I was going to have to watch the match eventually, I might as well see it in advance.

That was the thinking that brought me to the spectator room. Looking back, I may have misjudged the situation.

The moment I stepped inside, a wave of openly hostile stares hit me. I wasn't completely oblivious — I could tell I was thoroughly disliked.

Maybe I should have just waited in the lobby.

No one was actually badmouthing me out loud, but this was still inside the game. With the right voice settings, you could talk to the person next to you without anyone else hearing a word.

The whole atmosphere felt awkward enough that I was about to leave — when someone tapped me on the shoulder from behind.

"You just gonna stand there? What are you doing?"

"What? Why are you here?"

"What do you mean, why. I came to watch, same as you."

Not quite as tall as Reme, but still a seriously imposing character. Traveler.

Group D's matches had finished yesterday. He had no real reason to be here today. You could watch the games just fine from outside, after all.

"You came all the way… here?"

"I like having people around when I watch a match. Beats sitting alone, right?"

The tall lancer settled naturally into a corner seat, then patted the spot beside him with two quick taps — sit here.

I did as I was told. Once I sat down, Traveler's frame completely blocked the other players from view.

Is this… consideration?

Something about it still bothered me enough that I felt the need to probe.

"What, you think this is gonna make me all fluttery or something?"

"Are you insane? Don't get any weird ideas. I have a girlfriend."

"Ah… right. Good for you."

Okay. That was a relief. The ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠way he waved his hands around so emphatically put me completely at ease. I still had a hard time accepting kindness from people at face value.

"Nobody on our team really cares about the Arena. Luce is prepping for her match, so by process of elimination, you're the only one left."

"Sounds like you've got a lot of complaints about your team."

"Complaints… I wouldn't go that far. Tch. Look — if you ever go pro, read your contracts carefully. Don't get too attached to people."

"…"

He clearly had his own reasons. I didn't feel like prying, so I just nodded. Traveler seemed satisfied and turned his attention to the screen.

Off to the side, I caught Ripper leaving the spectator room. His path out took him right past me, and our eyes met for a brief second. Surprisingly, he was the one who offered a small nod first. Caught off guard, I returned it.

"That's not what I'd heard. Is Ripper actually that polite? I've only ever seen him on the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠broadcasts."

"Nah. He was a total ass to our team. Though he did seem pretty respectful toward Luce."

"Then why's he being like that with me…?"

"Hell if I know. He's got his own standards, I guess."

Traveler's tone was flat, uninterested. On the screen, a few of Ripper's highlight reels were playing — including one against Traveler. Or more precisely, against his team, Q Prime.

From where I was sitting, I couldn't quite make out his expression. But there was a shadow under that casual tone of his.

"Hey. You think you can beat Ripper?"

"Obviously. Nobody wins a fight they go into expecting to lose."

"Right. That's the correct answer… though these days, it's getting harder and harder to hear it."

"Heh. That bad, huh?"

"That bad. It's a mess wherever you go."

The battlefield itself was a fairly standard pick. Not long ago, I'd swallowed the Eye of the Magic Dragon on this very field — a place that held decent memories for me.

The terrain had no special gimmicks of its own, but monsters stationed throughout the map used powerful area-of-effect attacks. They weren't hard to dodge on their own, but once a fight turned chaotic, keeping track of them got surprisingly difficult.

Both sides looked well-positioned to make use of the map.

Blade Swordsman was a class that actively inherited the warrior's energy system. A close-range dealer who had to handle every attack and defense with a single blade. You could even reverse the ancient weapons' attacks for a powerful parrying bonus if you played it right.

Ripper's Fog Mage, on the other hand, was like an Assassin with about thirty percent Mage mixed in. He'd sacrificed a large portion of the Assassin skill tree in exchange for vision control built around fog and stealth.

And once your eyes were blinded by fog, dodging the ancient weapons' attacks became a serious problem.

"Come to think of it, why don't you use Blade Swordsman? You're good at it."

"Assassin's more comfortable for field fighting. And I don't plan on pulling it out here either, not if I can help it."

"That so."

Given my background in kendo, I was confident with Blade Swordsman too. No — I was confident I could play it better than anyone. If I could have, I would have made it my main class.

The reason I couldn't bring myself to use it was psychological. Whenever I drew a longsword without my heart in it, every kind of negative emotion came flooding in.

The last time I'd used it was when I was getting badly overwhelmed out in the field… and it hadn't been a good memory.

A guilt like I'd sold something sacred for cheap. A shame like I'd smeared dirt over the brightest years of my life.

To me, a sword — more precisely, using the weapon I'd wielded as a competitive athlete — carried a meaning that language simply couldn't express.

At some point, a thick fog had blanketed the field. Extreme vision restriction — you couldn't see an inch in front of your face — and five blades were already raised right before Fury's eyes.

The Blade Swordsman didn't go down quietly. He reacted fast, parrying, batting away Ripper's claws and launching straight into a counterattack. A clean downward cut followed — but it found nothing. The ki-edged blade carved only droplets of water from the pure white fog.

Ripper's body, released from its fog form, dropped low. Both claws stabbed into the Blade Swordsman's instep. The moment Fury brought his sword down in a hurry, Ripper short-hopped and switched targets.

That. That was why Ripper was such a nightmare to deal with.

Bait the opponent's defense, then pry open the place they thought was safest. The result was that Ripper's attacks always seemed to arrive a half-beat late.

Constantly targeting outside your field of vision made you restless. Fail to react fast enough and you'd give up a vital point. In practice, that wasn't far from the truth.

But when your mind raced, you lost your own rhythm. Defensive tools got burned on slow attacks for nothing, and Ripper leisurely stacked damage before slipping away.

From the outside, it looked like the victim was putting on a disastrous performance.

He couldn't block a single one of those slow attacks. From the outside, it looked like he was thrashing alone until he destroyed himself.

Completely toyed with by an enemy called Ripper — then shredded to pieces by those razor claws.

Body and mind both.

Fury's two matches were judged as complete disasters.