Chapter 20
----------------------------------------------------------------- Translator: Wjin Chapter: 20 Chapter Title: Pretending to Be Human is Tough Today Too -----------------------------------------------------------------
The arena turned upside down.
Literally. Rusla witnessed the ground right in front of her flipping over with her own two eyes.
'This power...'
Rusla, who hadn't noticed her strength ebbing away due to holy power, realized that all of this was Deyna's doing.
The arena had been overturned, forcing the match to a halt.
"Hold on, we're suspending the match for the moment! Guards, check the spectator seats right away, and as for the fighters in the arena...!"
It was an emergency stoppage. For Rusla, she'd been right on the verge of defeat.
Her opponent clicked his tongue as he glared at her.
"Tch, you're one lucky bastard."
He was right. She had no room for excuses. If Deyna hadn't stepped in, Rusla would've lost once more and been sent tumbling down from the arena.
'I ended up relying on the goddess again.'
Joy mingled with humiliation and sorrow.
Once again, she hadn't proven herself. Even after all the dedicated training Deyna had put her through, she hadn't even made it to the finals—let alone taken the championship.
'I wanted to get revenge on those spectators mocking the Princess.'
The only person sponsoring me is the Princess.
She's not someone you all get to laugh at.
Thanks to her support, I clutched the winner's medal.
That was the dreamlike success she'd craved. She'd even rehearsed her victory speech afterward.
And yet, to suffer such a crushing defeat. Worse still, even that had required Deyna's help!
She wanted nothing more than to crawl into a rat hole and hide.
"G-Gladiator! Head to the waiting room for now! We'll guide you for the next match...!"
"...Yes."
Following the staffer's directions, Rusla staggered back to the waiting room on unsteady legs.
Perhaps disappointed in her pathetic display, Deyna—who'd been seated in the sponsor's box just moments ago—was nowhere to be seen.
In her dejected state, the instant she pushed open the waiting room door...
"Rusla."
Deyna greeted her.
She'd cast aside her veil and fixed Rusla with a fierce glare.
Rusla bowed her head without thinking, her voice thick with tears.
"I'm sorry, Princess. I failed again this time. Someone like me doesn't even deserve to stand by Your Highness's side..."
"Quiet. Get over here."
"Y-Yes?"
Deyna yanked Rusla close, then immediately reached out to strip off her armor.
"W-Wait just a minute, Princess! No matter how disappointed you are...!"
"What are you even saying? Liribel! Get her boots off too!"
"Yes!"
Liribel responded with gusto and peeled off Rusla's armor.
Down to her undergarments in the blink of an eye, Rusla sat there on the chair, utterly dumbfounded.
Deyna let out a heavy sigh as she stared at the armor and gear strewn across the floor.
"Rusla, you don't sense anything off about this equipment?"
"Huh? No, not really..."
"That's the problem with generations that've never seen war. You're sharp with magic power, but blind to everything else."
Deyna snatched up a spare sword from the waiting room and held it level with her chest.
Then she gripped it hard.
Crack. White liquid oozed from the shattered blade.
"This is..."
"Holy water. Concentrated, most likely."
"Holy water?"
"Which makes this a knockoff holy sword, basically."
Deyna explained it had no cutting edge or destructive force, but it weakened any demon who wielded it.
'Then every time I used gear like this...'
Rusla recalled how she'd always grown feeble during crucial matches.
She'd never understood why they gave her fresh equipment before every big fight. To think there was a secret like this.
"Listen up, Rusla. Every one of your losses was rigged."
From there, Deyna launched into a rapid explanation.
Holy power-infused gear designed to debilitate demons.
The scheme woven into the contract to breed a sense of defeat.
The noble snapping up the Baobhan Sith hideout? Probably no coincidence at all.
Rusla's mind reeled under the torrent of revelations.
"Th-Then that means our own kin betrayed us..."
"Pretty much. It can't all be coincidence."
"No way."
But even as the words left her mouth, Rusla knew deep down it was the truth.
'Why didn't I see it? A hideout compromised screams insider or traitor. That's priority one. History class drilled that into us.'
Countless war stories from her grandmother flashed through her mind. How had she failed to make such a basic deduction all this time?
And to be toyed with by her own kind, wasting over a decade in this idiot arena life.
"Ah... Ahh..."
Deyna approached Rusla as she hung her head in despair and handed her a handkerchief from her pocket.
For some reason, it was stained with blood.
"Don't cry."
Only then did Rusla realize tears had been streaming down her face nonstop since the arena.
Deyna gently wiped the dirt and grime from her cheek before murmuring softly.
"It wasn't your fault. No self-blame. No regrets."
"B-But... If I'd been smarter... stronger..."
"Nothing's more pathetic than a victim blaming themselves in a plot born of malice. You're a warrior—act like it."
The word warrior flooded Rusla's body with strength.
"Am I... still a warrior?"
"Obviously."
Deyna scowled like she'd spouted nonsense.
"You've charged through hopeless battlefields for decades. Warriors like you? One in a million."
My goddess of war acknowledges me as a warrior.
With utter sincerity.
Joy overwhelmed her.
"Sob... Hic..."
"I said no crying."
"Sorry... Sorry..."
Deyna sighed again. But she didn't chide the tears. She must've figured the situation warranted them.
As the sobs tapered off, Deyna spoke up.
"I've halted the match temporarily with magic. It should've been canceled outright... but I invoked my privilege for a resumption in thirty minutes. The crowd eats that up."
"So... we do the match over?"
"Hell no. You'd lose even if Mihilda herself showed up swinging this gear. But I'm not letting you get eliminated either."
What the hell did that mean?
Not fighting, but not dropping out?
As question marks swirled over her head, Deyna curled her lips into a smirk.
"Baobhan Sith disguises—you can use them on others too, right?"
"Ah, yes. They need magic power, though, and they don't last long."
"Perfect. Cast it on me. Make me look like you."
"...Pardon?"
"You turn into me and head to the sponsor's box."
Rusla finally caught on. Her jaw dropped in shock as Deyna declared with total confidence.
"Anyone short on serious magic power couldn't wield that weapon. But I'm different."
Of course. Trifling holy water like that wouldn't faze Asmo-Dina.
She'd bulldozed right through the holy power carriage Loreil had prepared—bare-handed, no less.
"I've been trying to live as a human. As royalty. As a princess. As Deyna. But things are different this time."
Deyna's eyes blazed with ferocity. Those beautiful golden irises took on a beastly gleam.
"If a demon's meddling... if demons are targeting demons... we can't settle this peacefully."
"You don't mean..."
"I'll show you what a real magic power brawl looks like."
The overwhelming, unstoppable might of Asmo-Dina's magic—untouched by holy power.
Faced with that ironclad resolve, Rusla was speechless.
A short while later, Rusla had changed into Deyna's outfit. But first, Deyna—now disguised as Rusla—headed straight for the arena.
"Time to go, Princess."
"Ah, right."
"Casual speech from here on out."
"Gotcha."
With her veil in place and her face altered by the disguise magic, Rusla left the waiting room alongside Liribel.
She'd already been briefed on the plan, apparently—Liribel grinned as she fine-tuned Rusla's performance.
"Take shorter steps when you walk. And don't hold your head too high, or the veil might slip."
"You really... know your stuff."
"I've been studying up on the Princess."
Rusla nodded, a touch overwhelmed by Liribel's devotion down to fingertip precision.
"Oh, let's swing by the trash can real quick."
"Why?"
"Got stuff to toss."
Liribel darted to the trash bin in the corner of the hall and started dumping things in.
"Is that... blood?"
The refuse was a pile of dozens of handkerchiefs soaked in blood. Vibrant fabrics now dyed a uniform crimson as they hit the bin.
"Yeah, the Princess's blood."
"What? Is she hurt?"
Liribel gave a wry smile at her panic.
Then, pitching her voice to a whisper so no one else would overhear...
"Guess you didn't know. The Princess... she vomits blood even from the tiniest spell."
"...!"
Rusla's face drained white.
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