Chapter 202
Chapter 202
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Translator: True Detective
Chapter: 202
Chapter Title: Martial Dragon Tournament (11)
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The day after the third match of the Round of 12 between Teresa and Andres.
Day four of the Martial Dragon Tournament.
Perhaps because they had finally witnessed a thrilling match after so long the previous day.
The audience's interest in the next bout began to rise once more.
And it was only natural—the lineup for the upcoming match was more than enough to stoke their expectations.
"Finally, we'll get to see Yuri Holland's true strength."
"This time, it'll be for real, right?"
Yuri had advanced to the Round of 12 easily in the Round of 24 due to his opponent's forfeit.
But in the Round of 12, the opponent awaiting him was none other than Fritz Sing.
The current 46th Cohort's number two.
And the blood of the Hyun family.
Not just any distant relative, but the young heir destined to lead the Hyun family in the future.
Surely, such a foe would be enough to draw out Yuri Holland's full power.
The spectators waited for the fourth match of the Round of 12 with such eager anticipation.
At last, the match began, and the first to enter the arena was Yuri.
Strolling casually.
With both hands shoved in his pockets, he stood with legs crossed, waiting for his opponent.
But despite his sloppy posture, Yuri's aura was razor-sharp.
'So this guy's Yulia's older brother, huh?'
Before entering the arena for the match, Yulia herself had come all the way to the waiting room to implore him earnestly.
[Please... you have to utterly demolish that bastard! But don't end it too quickly—take your time, drag it out nice and slow, torment him leisurely for as long as possible!]
She had even shoved a hefty pile of points into his hands, clearly nursing a deep grudge.
'Do all siblings act like this? Anyone would think they were mortal enemies instead of blood relatives.'
Having received this not-quite-request request, Yuri.
Regardless of the circumstances, he intended to fulfill the commission to the best of his ability while waiting for Fritz...
"...This guy's taking forever."
Fritz's entrance was later than expected.
Of course, it had only been about five minutes, but in any other match, the fight would have been decided long ago.
Yet Fritz still hadn't appeared.
Another minute passed like that, just as Yuri's irritation peaked.
Finally, his opponent for this match made his entrance.
Tall stature, slender build.
Add to that white hair and red eyes.
Anyone could see the resemblance to Yulia.
Yuri snapped at him irritably.
"Hey, hurry it up already?"
"Haha, sorry for keeping you waiting. I had some preparations to make."
Even in the face of Yuri's blatant annoyance, Fritz kept smiling smoothly.
Yuri scowled, displeased, and reached for his sword.
And at that exact moment, Fritz raised his hand high.
"Wait! Let's talk for a bit first!"
"No thanks."
Fritz backpedaled frantically at the instantaneous rejection.
"Haha, yes, well, if you do that, I'll be awfully disappointed, you know?"
"Disappointed?"
"Because of some quest you botched, I had to put up with grief from a close friend for a good while. So, for old times' sake, how about chatting with me just a little?"
"Hmm..."
Yuri's eyes narrowed.
A quest he had botched.
He had a rough idea which one.
"That quest with the Demon King? From the 49th Cohort?"
"Yeah, that one! You ruined the quest my friend had planned, and I—who guaranteed it couldn't fail—took a real beating for it."
"So what do you want me to do about it?"
"Just have a quick chat with me, that's all."
Yuri's eyes narrowed further, and he eased his grip on the sword hilt slightly.
"What kind of chat?"
"Nothing much. I just have a few questions for you. Mind if I ask?"
"Sure, no."
"..."
Fritz pulled out his last resort in response to Yuri's attitude, like he was toying with him.
"Ten thousand points per question!"
The gambit worked, and a reaction came immediately.
"One hundred thousand."
Of course, an immediate reaction didn't mean a positive one.
Fritz marveled as Yuri jacked the price up tenfold right away.
And his smooth voice continued.
"Points are useless after graduation anyway, so why not be generous and donate to a poor junior like me?"
Fritz nodded lightly once more, marveling at Yuri's brazen tone, as if demanding a deposit on consigned goods.
As Yuri said, points were useless to him, on the verge of graduating.
With Fritz's approval, Yuri instantly released the sword hilt and bowed obsequiously.
"Welcome, esteemed customer!"
He beamed.
"I'll answer with the utmost sincerity and openness!"
"You're good with that?"
"Of course!"
"Then... hmm. Well, how old are you this year?"
"Sixteen. One hundred thousand."
"And your parents—are they still alive?"
"Orphan here. Two hundred thousand."
"Where's your hometown?"
"No such place. Just wandered wherever my feet took me. Three hundred thousand."
"Got any savings tucked away?"
"Nope, flat broke. Four hundred thousand."
"Got a motto or anything?"
"Conscience is a luxury I can't afford. Five hundred thousand."
"...That's quite the motto. Any visions for the future?"
Yuri paused briefly at that question.
Then he grinned brightly and replied.
"Since you and I are both gunning for the same spot, maybe I should go for it properly too. Six hundred thousand."
"What does that mean?"
"Seizing the Sword Throne. Seven hundred thousand."
"..."
Fritz fell silent, stunned by how casually Yuri spoke of usurping the Sword Throne.
With the questions ceasing for a while, Yuri shrugged.
"That it, customer?"
"Yeah. This should suffice."
"Want to keep going?"
"...Earning seven hundred thousand off seven answers, and still greedy."
"Tch."
Yuri clicked his tongue in disappointment, his tone reverting to normal.
"But why ask all this? You must already know stuff like that anyway."
"There's a world of difference between hearsay and hearing it straight from the source."
"Oh yeah? Whatever. Just deposit the seven hundred thousand points ASAP."
"Yeah, got it. You're even more... um... well..."
Fritz mumbled something, but Yuri ignored it.
Instead, he reached for his sword hilt again.
Seeing this, Fritz cried out desperately once more.
"Wait!"
As Yuri shot him a look of 'now what?', Fritz grinned.
"You know that saying? Know your enemy, and know yourself first, and you won't be defeated in battle?"
"What're you on about?"
"I know you pretty well—did my homework. So for this fight, I've come fully prepared!"
With that shout, Fritz reached into his pocket.
Yuri's eyes flashed at the sight.
Swish-.
In an instant, he had drawn his sword from right in front of Fritz.
And he should have slashed down at Fritz in that stance.
If only he hadn't seen what Fritz pulled from his pocket.
What Fritz drew left even the great Yuri flustered.
'...What the?'
The item Fritz produced.
It was none other than...
"...A white flag?"
A small flag made by tying a white cloth to a thin twig.
Flutter, flutter-.
Fritz waved the white flag with a smile in his eyes.
"So, you know this one too?"
"..."
"The best way to avoid defeat in battle... is not to fight at all?"
"...Who said that?"
"A genius named Fritz Sing."
"..."
"What do you think? Pretty good, right?"
He had arrived late to the arena after personally crafting it in the waiting room.
Fritz waved the crude white flag side to side, grinning broadly.
"I forfeit."
Yuri blinked dazedly at Fritz's smile.
"...That idiot."
Watching her blood kin toss aside the family honor, Yulia clutched her face.
And so, Yuri advanced to the Round of 6 without lifting a finger again.
The spectators who had watched it all muttered in disbelief.
"...What the hell?"
"What kind of match is this...?"
No one had expected Fritz Sing to forfeit, so their disappointment was immense.
Plus, the match itself had been utterly ridiculous.
But the truly absurd match...
Came next.
"Hoo..."
"I'm hungry."
Round of 12, match five.
The two first-years who had beaten third-years to advance, Arin and Poppi, stood wide apart in the arena, glaring at each other murderously.
The thick killing intent was so intense it was hard to believe they were friends, leading the audience to think, 'Oh? Looks like we're in for a real show.'
Just as the arena's tension peaked.
"Not if..."
"I'm hun..."
Without a word, the two charged at each other.
Their ferocious auras poured toward one another.
In that hair-trigger moment, when something huge seemed imminent...
"...I win rock-paper-scissors!"
"...gry!"
The two collided dead center in the arena and thrust their hands out at each other.
The result...
"Yessssss!"
"...I'm hungry."
Arin's victory with scissors.
Having lost the single round of rock-paper-scissors as per their prior agreement, Poppi forfeited glumly and left.
Left alone, Arin raised both hands high in the arena's center, reveling in her win.
"Yay! I won! Round of 6!"
Meanwhile, the audience could barely contain their boiling rage at Arin's victory roar.
"Th-that?!"
"Those... damn 50th Cohort brats!"
"Do they think the Martial Dragon Tournament is child's play...?!"
"Those idiots made it to the Round of 12... and one got to the Round of 6 on rock-paper-scissors... What the hell am I even..."
"Shit!"
Those ranked sixth to tenth in their cohorts, who had wanted to enter the Martial Dragon Tournament but fell short, sank into self-loathing watching Arin and Poppi's match.
To think those clowns got in while they didn't.
And rock-paper-scissors in the Martial Dragon Tournament, no less!
What nonsense was this!
But there was nothing they could do.
The contestants decided the format, not them.
So all they could do was grind their teeth.
In the meantime, the final Round of 12 match began.
And at least that one was a proper Martial Dragon Tournament-style fight, with Vangelis beating a fourth-year to advance to the Round of 6.
That afternoon, once all six finalists were set, Yoram gathered them and drew up the bracket by lots, announcing it publicly.
Yoram's cohort members stared at the revealed Round of 6 bracket, doubting their own eyes.
"...What is this?"
"...For real?"
[Round of 6 Bracket]
[Match 1]
Susan Ripley (Win) : Teresa Winchester (Forfeit Loss)
[Match 2]
Goetz Roetern : Vangelis Aniston
[Match 3]
Yuri Holland (Win) : Arin Helga (Forfeit Loss)
The Round of 6 hadn't even started, yet two matches were already over.
And the next day.
Day five, with just a single Round of 6 match.
Boom-!
Goetz's demonic sword shattered the spear of Vangelis, the official number one of the fifth-years...
Determining the final three to advance to the semifinals.