Arwen Reinhardt, His Opponent Is... Jericho

The referee's signal for the duel dropped, and before the crowd's roar could even mark the start of the match, Jericho charged straight at me. His movements were disgustingly cunning. It was as if he wanted to prove that reaching the semifinals wasn't just luck from a favorable bracket. He swung his sword with full force. The blade aimed straight for my neck, slicing through the air with a sharp whoosh.

I quickly activated one of Masha's skills, [Step]. The world seemed to warp around me as I retreated three or four steps. It felt like gravity was pulling me backward. Seeing me dodge, Jericho rested his sword on his shoulder and stopped.

"Kahaha! Stop scurrying around like a rat and come at me already."

Jericho wiggled his fingers, taunting me. I couldn't understand how someone could be this consistently arrogant from start to finish. Maybe he taught himself manners as a child. That seemed entirely possible.

The spectators ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠cheered Jericho's name in response to his bold provocation. At that moment, Jericho's gaze flicked toward the stands for just an instant.

Where the hell is he looking?

I followed his line of sight. It led to the special seats reserved for high-ranking imperial nobles. There, a flag bearing ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the exact same emblem as the one on Jericho's breastplate fluttered in the wind—a bizarre design of grapes with wings attached. It was unmistakably the flag of the Provence family, known for owning a prominent winery in the southern empire.

Beneath that flag sat a middle-aged woman. She looked around forty, carrying the refined air typical of noblewomen. Though not quite on Isabel's level, she had an above-average figure maintained well despite her age and a gentle face. She lacked Isabel's presence but possessed the mature charm unique to women in their prime.

Jericho's lips curled into a satisfied smile as he watched the woman applaud softly. But when a middle-aged man appeared late and took the seat beside her, Jericho's expression twisted as if he'd swallowed rotten fruit.

This bastard... don't tell me...

From the context, the middle-aged couple had to be Jericho's parents. The stark difference in how he regarded his mother versus his father sparked a hypothesis in my mind.

Keeping my sword raised, I asked Jericho, "Who are you grinning at like that? That young-looking lady over there... Is she your mother, Jericho?"

When I gestured toward the Provence flag with my chin, Jericho's shoulders twitched for the first time since entering the arena. He didn't answer, but his reaction alone confirmed my question was correct.

I pressed on, attacking not with my sword but with words. "Hah, it must've been tough growing up this vulgar under a mother who radiates such elegance. Yet you managed it somehow."

"You filthy bastard! Didn't I warn you last time? Don't you dare drag my mother into your filthy mouth!"

Jericho's face flushed crimson as he gripped his sword tightly and lunged at me. He swung downward with enough force to embed the blade in the ground if necessary. The sword struck the floor with a piercing clang and bounced back, nearly impaling his own ankle. The attack, thrown off-balance by rage, was far easier to dodge than before. I didn't even need [Step].

Idiot. He's handing me the answer himself.

My guess was spot-on. His psychological weakness was his mother. The same guy who'd suggested swapping women turned out to have a mother complex. No comedy could top this.

While sidestepping his sword, I said, "Are you mad? That's a shame. But it's true, isn't it? Does your mother know you go around chasing women?"

"Ghh..."

His attack missed, and my taunt scraped at his ears. Jericho clenched his teeth so hard that a grinding sound escaped his lips. Finally, his reason ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠seemed to snap. His eyes filled with murderous intent.

"You vulgar northern bumpkin! I'll definitely kill you!"

Jericho let out a beastly roar and began swinging wildly. I danced around him, deliberately letting him think he had the advantage while deflecting his strikes with my sword. Of course, my mouth never stopped needling him about his complex.

"You really want to look cool in front of your mother, huh? Why, still craving parental praise even after becoming an adult? Then you shouldn't swing so recklessly. How are you supposed to hit even a single fly like that?"

"Shut up, you lowborn scoundrel!"

"So light... both your provocations and your sword. Is that all the weight the name Provence carries?"

"Graaaah!"

Though the power behind his attacks grew as he drew from rage, his swings gradually slowed. Jericho hadn't noticed yet.

"Huff, huff... Just die already!"

Jericho's breathing grew ragged. His hands trembled visibly around the sword hilt. Even the crowd, which had been cheering his aggressive style, began to quiet as they sensed something wrong.

As for me? I hadn't even used a fifth of my stamina. That meant only one thing: it was time to counterattack the fool who'd been swinging so enthusiastically.

When Jericho's attacks finally dulled to the point I'd been waiting for, I parried his mana-infused strike with my own skill, [Sword Strike].

"Kugh?!"

Jericho staggered backward for the first time since the duel began, his face filled with shock. I wasn't about to give him a chance to breathe. I advanced, driving him back with each heavy, killing-intent-laden blow. His legs trembled as he was pushed toward the corner of the arena. The moment his right foot stepped into empty air, I kicked his exposed left knee.

Without support, Jericho collapsed to the ground. His sword lay trapped beneath his pathetic rear.

"To think I'd lose to a street thug like this..."

Jericho muttered, his face twisted with rage. I pointed my sword at him and said, "You weren't about to call that a cheap shot just because I used my foot, were you? You'd lose to me a hundred times out of a hundred. Go suck on your mother's teat some more."

"N-no!"

Ignoring Jericho's scream, I didn't withdraw my sword. A swift slash drew a horizontal line across his neck. If this weren't a duel, the arena would have echoed with his beloved mother's screams. Instead, what rang out was the referee's cheerful declaration of victory.

"The winner, Arwen Reinhardt!"

The roar was so loud it felt like my eardrums might burst. The arena instantly filled with voices chanting the victor's name. Amid the cheers, a notification window appeared before my eyes, announcing the quest's completion.

The reward was charm instead of strength, agility, or stamina. A shame. As my charm stat grew, a heavy pouch that jingled appeared in my hand. No need to open it—I knew it contained the 100 gold quest reward. The system was always precise.

I tucked the pouch inside my clothes before anyone could see. Thanks to that, my already tight leather breastplate felt even more constricting.

Anyway, it wasn't as hard as I'd worried. Maybe I'm stronger than I thought?

Of course, I knew I was still far from matching Sophia's strength. Sophia, the genius proficient in both magic and swordsmanship, the main boss of the academy arc. She would be incomparably stronger than a side character like Jericho, who was even less relevant than a passing cleaning lady in the adult game.

Still, I couldn't suppress the excitement from my victory. While I was savoring the afterglow in my heart, the referee approached.

"Lord Arwen, would you like to give the loser a final greeting as the winner?"

The referee's polite request implied I should maintain dignity as an academy student in front of the visitors. A greeting was no trouble. I glanced at Jericho—he still seemed unable to process his defeat. Nodding to the referee, I walked over to him. Jericho glared at me, lips tightly pressed together. The sight made me smile involuntarily.

"Good work, Lord Jericho. I don't know when we'll face each other again, but take care of yourself until then. Don't get hurt doing anything unnecessary."

"Kgh..."

Instead of waiting for a reply from the trembling Jericho, whose fists were clenched, I returned my breastplate and sword to an academy staff member and left the arena. Before the thrill of victory faded, I wanted to taste my women right now.

Slipping through the noisy crowd, I headed quickly toward a deserted alley. As the murmurs faded, my ears finally felt at ease. Inside the alley stood a small warehouse. I checked my surroundings—no signs of people. Carefully opening the door, I found Cordelia waiting for me, having arrived first. Her face lit up upon seeing her brother.

"Oppa, why are you so late? I thought you were going to leave me here and go have fun with Emilia unni."

"Surely your imagination is running too wild?"

"Hehe, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of course it was a joke."

Cordelia playfully poked my chest. Meeting my sister in this remote warehouse wasn't a coincidence. Before leaving my room this morning, I'd asked Cordelia to come here after the match. She'd given me a strange look for suggesting the warehouse instead of my room, but she'd obediently come anyway. Now she kneaded my arm muscles.

"I never imagined you could be this strong. Was everything you showed at the mansion—the sick goblin act—just an act?"

"A sick goblin... Well, something like that."

"Hee, even I was fooled for a bit."

Cordelia's playful hand slid down to stroke my groin. "So, won't you tell me why you wanted to meet in the warehouse? Don't tell me you wanted to ravish your little sister with that amazing thing of yours right here."

"Why, does Cordelia hate the idea?"

"Of course not. It makes my heart race, actually."

Cordelia pulled down the dress covering her chest. Her beautifully rounded breasts and pink nipples that stole a man's gaze appeared on her white skin. Breasts I'd never tire of kneading and sucking no matter how many times I did it. Come to think of it, there was no underwear visible beneath the dress.

"Wait, don't tell me you came out without any underwear?"

"It's fine, no one noticed. My breasts bouncing was a little uncomfortable, though."

No wonder her nipples had been slightly perked. I'd thought she was excited imagining her brother taking her, but apparently not. As long as no one caught her, it was fine—she had a point, but I still worried about my sister's common sense. Cordelia nonchalantly tapped her own breasts with her hands, sending lewd ripples through their large curves. It was absurd that men hadn't noticed such prominent breasts. They must have noticed but pretended not to.

Deciding the underwear topic was settled, Cordelia massaged her breasts with both hands and urged me on. "Since you won so splendidly, I'll specially gift you your little sister's breasts. So hurry up and take off your pants."

Just as Cordelia knelt before me, gripping my member, a cold voice suddenly came from the warehouse door behind us.

"The blonde woman... Yes, I know. Cordelia, the vice president's little sister? Unfortunately, you'll have to wait to take off your brother's pants."