Chapter 109: It Doesn't Quite Have the Same Vibe When I Say It (1)
Chapter 109: It Doesn't Quite Have the Same Vibe When I Say It (1)
Patrick thought to himself.
Seriously, no matter where you go, people are the same everywhere.
The Benator Empire, the Saint Louis Holy Church State, and even the Tower of Truth.
The backgrounds were certainly impressive.
The continent’s strongest empire; the spiritual pillar and headquarters for all religious folk; and the Tower of Truth, which held a monopoly on the production of magical tools—a necessity of civilization in this world.
They were truly grand places. And yet…
Look at how stiff these brats’ necks are. It’s like they’ve got iron rods shoved up their spines.
The glory and achievements built by these Three Great Powers weren't made by these greenhorns.
Their ancestors built it all; these kids were just the ones lucky enough to inherit it. They were just brats who wouldn't be able to catch up even if they spent every single day training and striving for more.
Yet, these novices often fell under a delusion.
They mistook their background for their own skill. They let vanity fill their lungs and casually displayed an arrogance they mistook for confidence.
Back in my past life, curing guys like that was my specialty.
[How dare you interfere with the affairs of the Great Wudang Sect?]
[In the name of the Great Shaolin, I shall no longer tolerate your wickedness. Accept this monk’s guidance.]
[I shall punish you in the name of the Great Beggars’ Sect. Prepare yourself!]
They sure loved the word "Great."
So, what should one do with kids like that?
It was simple.
Most problems in the world could be solved by beating some sense into people.
Vanity in the lungs?
A single prick from a blade would let the air right out.
Iron rods in the neck?
If you tenderized them until their whole body turned soft, they’d eventually learn to bend quite flexibly.
Come to think of it, the Nine Great Sects should be grateful to me. It’s thanks to me injecting the virtue of humility into them that they eventually started acting a tiny bit like decent human beings, right?
If the members of the Nine Great Sects had heard this, they would have coughed up blood and fallen into Qi Deviation from the sheer absurdity of it.
Regardless, the battle of nerves between the Three Great Powers—which the entire banquet hall was watching with bated breath—looked like nothing more than children playing house to Patrick.
That was why he didn't pay them any mind and focused solely on depleting the banquet’s food and wine.
Mmm… as expected, when you’re at a party, the only thing that lasts is what you eat.
Following his lifelong conviction never to turn down free food or free booze, Patrick enjoyed the dishes with gusto.
Meanwhile, the other representatives of the Atronia Kingdom kept their distance, feeling embarrassed by him.
It was then…
"Haha. Is our country’s food to your liking?"
Someone spoke to him.
Unaware of the Martial World’s proverb—You can mess with a dog while it’s eating, but never mess with a madman while he’s eating—the voice prompted Patrick to turn around and snap back.
"Wha? Punk?"
He hadn't even finished swallowing his food.
The person who approached was visibly taken aback by the sight.
What is this? A beggar? A thug?
Judging by the attire and crest, the man definitely belonged to the Atronia Kingdom.
That meant he was someone who had come to represent a nation in this glorious tournament.
What was a national representative?
Of course, the Atronia Kingdom was considered the weakest among the four eastern kingdoms, but he was still a representative.
Yet, a representative of a nation was lusting after food with an attitude that lacked even a shred of dignity?
Born and raised as royalty, Jeyton could not understand this in the slightest.
While he stood there dazed, Patrick swallowed his food and spoke.
"What are you looking at?"
"Ahem… Cough…"
"And why did you call me? If you call someone over, you should state your business, shouldn't you?"
"Ahem… Well, that is… Ahem…"
Only dry coughs kept coming out.
Jeyton Rud Magellan.
Born as a prince of the Magellan Kingdom, he had encountered many different types of people.
He had dealt with those who approached with cunning intentions behind a smile, and those who acted rough and violent.
But even so, there were limits to what a royal usually faced.
He had no idea how to handle a total thug like this.
Fortunately, someone stepped in to save him.
"It is an honor to meet you, Prince Jeyton. I am Alex Rowenski of the Atronia Kingdom."
"Hmph, I am Jeyton Rud Magellan."
Thankfully, a seemingly normal person appeared before Jeyton.
And this normal person said exactly what Jeyton wanted to hear.
"I apologize for my junior’s rudeness. His intentions aren't… that bad."
What was that? That hesitation, as if he were enduring the pain of his heart being sliced into pieces…
Regardless, Alex continued with iron-clad willpower.
"It is his first time in a far-off foreign land, so he failed to observe proper etiquette. I hope you can find it in your generous heart to forgive him."
Though it felt a bit shaky in the middle, it was an appropriate apology that could smoothly resolve the situation.
Jeyton nodded, intending to accept the apology.
"I understand perfectly."
Just as the situation was about to be settled amicably by the two sensible men…
"What kind of bullshit are you two spouting together?"
The madman threw a wrench in the works.
At Patrick’s blunt remark, Alex pressed his hand to his forehead, and Jeyton’s face contorted completely.
I’ve been trying to be patient with this guy, but…
Jeyton looked at Patrick coldly and spoke.
"Do you not know the honor and decorum expected of a noble?"
"Honor? Decorum? Ah… Is that why those brats were acting all heavy and leaking killing intent at each other earlier?"
Patrick pointed his finger at the "brats."
The representatives of the Three Great Powers dropped their jaws.
My god…
You’re the first person to ever treat me like this.
Patrick’s relentless mouth didn't stop there.
"We have to hack at each other with swords tomorrow anyway, so what’s with all this 'etiquette' nonsense? Tsk, tsk, tsk. This is why kids raised in luxury are so…"
"How dare you…"
"Why? You wanna go right now if you’ve got a problem?"
"……."
Jeyton’s face was filled with shame and rage.
His original plan to create the image of a benevolent prince by looking after the representative of a marginalized, weak nation had been shattered.
Who could have known the opponent would be such a lunatic?
He felt like drawing his sword and taking the man’s head right then and there, but…
Dammit…
He was a prince of the Magellan Kingdom.
And this was the official banquet hall to welcome the representatives of Arcana, the most prestigious festival on the continent.
If he drew his sword here out of anger, he had far too much to lose.
As he hesitated, unable to do one thing or the other, a burst of laughter reached his ears.
"Hahahaha!"
Who was the owner of that laughter, which was full of genuine amusement?
Turning his head, he saw Prince Sierion of the Yuzef Kingdom.
He laughed as if he found the situation truly refreshing, then looked toward Patrick and spoke.
"He’s right. It is quite ridiculous to gather here for 'networking' when we’re supposed to be fighting with swords tomorrow."
"Prince Sierion, your remarks are too aggressive."
When a representative from another country spoke to him in displeasure, Sierion smirked and asked.
"Is being aggressive the problem? And you are?"
"I am Andros Gregory of the Harbor Kingdom."
"Ah, the Harbor Kingdom… I’ve heard it’s a fine place. A prosperous country that has accumulated vast wealth by monopolizing the distribution of food from its wide granaries, and jewelry and iron products produced by the dwarves of the Iron Mountains."
As the prince of another nation praised his country, the man named Andros wore a proud expression.
Sierion’s words continued.
"I suppose growing up in such a peaceful country means you have to speak the truth carefully and gently, rather than aggressively. I’m sorry, but we in the East don't obsess over such useless etiquette."
Andros’s face crumpled.
No swordsman enjoys being treated like a pampered young master.
Especially not one who has trained hard enough to represent his nation.
He tried to say something more, but Sierion spoke first.
"Then, this country bumpkin from the East, who knows no manners, shall take his leave. I hope the rest of you enjoy this banquet to your heart’s content."
Leaving behind words that essentially treated everyone else in the hall like flowers in a greenhouse, he departed.
Many turned red at the blatant mockery, but they couldn't exactly grab him and drag him back.
Taking advantage of the moment, Alex also took action.
"Let’s go."
"There’s still food and wine left."
"If you ask a servant, they’ll bring some to your room."
"For real? If you’re lying, I’m gonna cry. I’ll really cry."
"……."
Looking at Patrick’s dead-serious expression, Alex thought to himself.
I’m the one who wants to cry, you bastard.
*
After leaving the banquet hall, Alex showed a textbook example of flying into a rage.
"Do you even have a brain? Do you?"
"I do."
"Then why does someone with a brain act like that?"
"Yeah, that’s why I act like this because I have one."
"Guh… Ack…"
Alex realized that even at his young and healthy age, he could suffer from high blood pressure.
As he clutched the back of his neck and prepared to collapse, the others rushed to support him.
"Alex! Get a hold of yourself!"
"Senior, you can't die!"
Watching this overflowing display of loyalty between seniors and juniors, Patrick smirked and spoke.
"Senior Alex, let me ask you one thing."
"Don't ask. Just go home, you punk!"
"Hey, don't be like that. Just listen."
Patrick looked at Alex and said.
"What did we come here for?"
"Um…"
Alex’s mouth shut.
What did they come here for? That was obviously…
When there was no answer, Patrick continued.
"The martial arts tournament… no, that’s not it. Anyway, didn't we come here to win this Arcana thing?"
"That’s right."
To the readily admitting Alex, Patrick said.
"Then shouldn't we focus on just that? Huh? Why are a bunch of green-as-grass brats gathered together playing politics?"
"No, that was just basic etiquette in a banquet hall…"
"Etiquette, my ass. Anyone could see they were just testing the waters and trying to get the upper hand with words."
"Ugh…"
The phrasing was blunt, but it wasn't wrong.
Patrick clicked his tongue and lamented.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk. Young punks learning only useless things… They should be swinging their swords one more time instead. Every single one of them was taught wrong."
What is this? Am I being lectured by a junior who’s barely even started?
"The morals of the Martial World have hit rock bottom. Rock bottom!"
"Where on earth is this 'Martial World' you keep talking about?"
"It exists. A place with lots of guys like me."
"The Demon World?"
"You want to die, Senior?"
Seeing Patrick genuinely glaring, Alex let out a deep sigh.
Right, it was my mistake to look for a logical reason from this madman.
Having cleared his mind, he spoke to Patrick again.
"Anyway, the tournament officially begins tomorrow. Are you fully prepared?"
"I’d win even without preparing. More importantly, how about you guys?"
"We…"
"From what I saw today, there are quite a few kids who are definitely stronger than you seniors. If the brackets are unlucky, everyone except me might get knocked out in the first round."
At Patrick’s words, the seniors’ expressions darkened. However, Alex’s expression remained unchanged.
He answered with a calm face.
"If that happens, there’s nothing we can do."
"Oh? Giving up already?"
"It’s not like that…"
Alex let out a sigh and said.
"I’ve done as much as I could. I’ve had this thought before, but this time, I can truly say it with sincerity to anyone who asks: I really did as much as I could."
"Well, that’s true. Since I personally put you through the wringer."
"Thank you, you son of a bitch."
"Ahem!"
"Don't look so proud!"
Even as his senior ground his teeth, Patrick proudly puffed out his chest.
How could someone be so confident and annoying at the same time?
Just one punch to the face… just one…
Just one hit to the head with a wooden sword…
I don't even care if I don't win Arcana, just one hit…
Whether he knew of his seniors’ desires or not, Patrick spoke.
"In short, you’ve done your best to the point where you won't have regrets even if you lose. Is that it?"
"Yeah. That’s right."
"Then that’s enough."
"Huh?"
A completely unexpected response came from Patrick’s mouth.
The answer Alex had anticipated was…
[Your beeeest? Bullshit. It’s always the losers who talk about doing their best. If you did your best, shouldn't you win? The 'best' that losers talk about is just an excuse they spout to get criticized a little less.]
He thought Patrick would say something like that.
He didn't expect Patrick to agree so readily.
To the bewildered Alex, Patrick said.
"Seniors, how old are you?"
"Huh? I’m 21 now."
"I’m 20."
"I’m 22."
"18."
Looking at them, Patrick spoke.
"Whether you leave a mark here or not, your lives will continue. So don't be too happy or too disappointed by your results in Arcana. Once this passes, it’ll just be one part of a long, long process."
Somehow… it sounded right.
It even sounded like advice from a seasoned elder.
Why is that coming out of this guy’s mouth?
Did he eat something wrong?
Is it a trap?
Has he finally gone cra—ah, he was already crazy.
At the seniors’ suspicious looks, Patrick smirked and stood up.
"Then get to bed early. See you tomorrow."
Returning to his room, Patrick chuckled to himself.
[Do not feel burdened. What does victory or defeat matter? In the end, isn't this moment just a part of the process?]
Master, it doesn't quite have the same vibe when I say it.