Chapter 117: At Least I Wasn't Embarrassed (3)
Chapter 117: At Least I Wasn't Embarrassed (3)
“An Internal Heavy Hand Technique, huh? Interesting. I suppose necessity really is the mother of invention.”
Patrick let out a short, dry chuckle.
The technique itself wasn't particularly groundbreaking. However, the fact that those pursuing martial excellence in a completely different world had arrived at the same conclusion as the martial arts of the Central Plains was intriguing in its own right.
Regardless, the technique wasn't something to be amazed by. At least, not from Patrick’s perspective…
“Hey, Patrick.”
“What?”
Alex spoke up tentatively.
“If we learn from you, can we do stuff like that too?”
Patrick turned his head. Alex and the other comrades were staring at him with wide, sparkling eyes. Even Professor Late, standing further back, had his ears perked up.
Seeing this, Patrick let out a long sigh.
“Just stick to what you’ve been doing. Just do what you’re supposed to…”
“Why? It’d be great to learn, wouldn't it?”
“Great, my foot. Why would a swordsman bother learning how to use his fists?”
“It could make us stronger.”
“Exploring a variety of techniques helps, doesn't it?”
“Actually, if we learn a skill like that, we could use it in a pinch, right?”
Patrick looked at his comrades as if they were pathetic.
“Oh, is that so? You want to learn it and use it?”
“W-well, yeah.”
They flinched. Whenever that demonic bastard looked at them with such a pitiful expression, nothing good ever followed.
“Ha, you hopeless idiots.”
“Hey, why? What is it this time?”
Patrick spoke sharply.
“Fine, tell me. If you learn that, where and how are you going to use it?”
“Well… if an opponent closes the distance, you could use it as a counterattack.”
“Or I could be the one to dive in and attack.”
“Why the hell are you closing the distance when you’re holding a sword?”
“…Huh?”
“That’s…”
As his comrades fumbled for an answer, Patrick continued.
“Even if you end up fighting at close range, wouldn't it be faster to just bash them with the shield in your hand? That’s literally how the seniors are fighting right now, isn't it?”
The group stood dazed for a moment.
“…Oh, right.”
“Now that you mention it…”
“You can just beat them down with the shield.”
“Or ram them with your shoulder.”
“Or just kick them.”
It was true. They were already well-versed in close-quarters combat. Since they fought under the assumption of being armed with shields and iron armor, the Shield Charge and the Shoulder Charge—using the spaulders of their armor—were basic maneuvers.
They didn't need some fancy, mysterious technique to fight effectively at that range.
Seeing that they had finally come to their senses, Patrick clicked his tongue.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk. You greenhorns are so blinded by the novelty of a technique that you fail to see its essence.”
Stab, stab, stab.
His words felt like daggers to their hearts. Why did the truth have to be so painful?
“This is why kids are a problem. Instead of focusing on their steady training, their eyes start wandering the moment they see something slightly flashy or cool…”
“……”
“Tsk, tsk. You’ve grown a bit, and now you think you know everything. There’s a reaaaason for everything your elders tell you…”
A geezer. A world-class, preachy old fogey was standing right here. He was a top-tier nag who could lecture for at least an hour straight if provoked even slightly.
“You’re the youngest one here.”
“You haven't even had your coming-of-age ceremony yet.”
“No manners. Absolutely no manners…”
“Senior, ‘no manners’ is far too generous a description for a demon.”
“Ah! Is that so?”
Faced with the fierce backlash from the 'greenhorns,' the old fogey Patrick let out a deep sigh.
Sigh, I can't even nag these brats in peace. How tragic. Truly tragic.
“Ahem. Anyway, there’s no end to it if you try to learn every little trick. Just work hard on what you’re already doing.”
“But Patrick.”
“Ugh! What now?”
“If that technique is as useless as you say…”
“I didn't say it was useless.”
This guy… tell him one thing, and he only understands that one thing.
“No, I mean, you’re saying we can suppress an enemy without stuff like that, right?”
“That’s true.”
“Then why did he go out of his way to suppress the enemy with such a unique technique?”
At Alex’s question, Patrick smirked.
“It’s one of two things.”
“……”
“Either he wanted to flaunt his superiority by showing off that he can do fancy tricks, or he wanted to hide his true strength since it’s only the first round.”
Gerard frowned at Patrick’s words.
“Hiding his strength makes sense. But superiority? Would a Holy Knight serving a god really act on such petty, personal whims?”
He left out the part that said, 'Unlike you?'
But Patrick just chuckled at Gerard’s remark.
“Of all people, Senior, you’re the one saying that?”
“What did I do?”
“Where do you think that Magic Swordsman went flying and crashed?”
“Huh? …Oh?”
Only then did Gerard realize. The wall where the Magic Swordsman had just crashed was the exact same spot where Gerard himself had been sent flying by Sieriion’s attack.
It was as if Antorius was protesting that he could do exactly what Sieriion had done.
Gerard’s expression soured as the realization hit him.
“Then, really…”
“It’s just a childish pissing contest.”
“……”
“Tsk, tsk, tsk. These kids only learn the bad habits…”
Patrick clicked his tongue in lamentation, but the corners of his mouth curled up into a crooked smirk.
In the end, it’s the same here too.
He had thought that since they served gods, things might be a bit different. Unlike the Central Plains, on the Pangemonia Continent, people receive direct blessings from gods and witness miracles. It was a world where the existence of the divine was felt more directly.
He expected the clergy who served the gods in such a world to be a bit different. He thought they would possess the clear, pure character of those who truly entrusted their bodies and souls to their faith.
But they weren't. Even if the world changed and the object of faith changed, humans were still just humans.
Well, fine. That just means I can beat the crap out of them without feeling guilty.
Setting aside the Holy Knight’s skill, he felt he had a good grasp of what kind of people they were. Patrick’s gaze then shifted to the Magic Swordsman from the Tower of Truth, who was being carried out after collapsing.
“Hmm… I’m tempted.”
In truth, what had caught Patrick’s interest in this match wasn't Antorius, the promising genius of the Holy Kingdom, but the nameless Magic Swordsman from the Tower of Truth.
“For a martial artist, relying on an External Object is ultimately a Heretical Path. Or so I thought…”
But that seemed a bit different. Looking at his sword skills, the kid was a greenhorn who looked like he’d get thrashed even by Isabella, yet the moment he used that Soul Weapon, he became undeniably stronger than Alex.
That was quite surprising.
A Soul Weapon, huh…
At first, he thought it was something similar to that sword called Isis or whatever that the Marquis Panola’s son had used. But it was different. It was far more powerful than what the Marquis’s son had used, and the user was much more proficient in wielding its power.
This was enough to pique Patrick’s curiosity.
Even in the Central Plains, unusual weapons occasionally appeared—items so extraordinary they were called Divine Weapons. Weapons that could multiply one's martial prowess just by holding them, or those that granted the user mysterious, supernatural powers.
However, in the history of the martial world, no owner of such a Divine Weapon had ever reached the position of the Number One Under Heaven.
The reason was clear: the drawbacks were distinct. The more powerful the weapon, the more the user tended to mistake that power for their own. As a result, they would focus on mastering the power of the divine artifact rather than honing their own strength. The very direction of their pursuit of martial arts would become warped.
Ultimately, in the long run, a Divine Weapon would turn into a burden that stalled the user’s growth.
But…
First of all, this isn't the Central Plains.
The worlds were too different to simply apply the common sense of the martial world. And he had heard that a Soul Weapon wasn't something just anyone could handle. He knew it required the user’s own skill and training to wield.
If so, couldn't that also be classified as a branch of martial studies?
Patrick licked his lips and turned to Alex.
“Senior, is there any way to get one of those Soul Weapons?”
“There is.”
At the unexpected answer, Patrick brightened up.
“Oh? Really? How?”
“Naturalize as a citizen of the Tower of Truth.”
“…Is there no other way?”
“None. Even when the Emperor of the Empire demanded it, they flatly refused.”
“……”
“That thing is the Tower of Truth’s top secret.”
Alex was right. The Tower of Truth never allowed a Soul Weapon to be taken outside. On the rare occasions when a Soul Weapon was taken or stolen without permission, the Tower of Truth would track down and kill everyone involved, regardless of their status. Their targets had even included the royalty of certain nations.
“Stingy bastards. They should share the good stuff.”
Patrick grumbled. Well, he had expected as much. It seemed the Soul Weapon was indeed the Tower of Truth’s greatest secret. He wanted one, but stealing it wouldn't be easy. It was a real shame.
Well, fine. I’ll look into that separately later. For now, let’s just focus on the tournament.
* * *
The first day of Arcana proceeded smoothly. Some individuals stood out early on, while others won while hiding their true skills. Regardless, the winners moved on to the second round, and the losers stepped down bitterly.
One disappointment was that they didn't get to see the skill of the Sword Saint’s grandson, a top contender from the Empire.
“What a shame.”
“They say his skills already surpass the Sword Saint’s when he was that age.”
“Surely not that much? It’s probably just talk.”
“No, you never know.”
“Anyway, it’s a shame we didn't get to see him.”
The spectators were very disappointed they couldn't watch the Sword Saint’s grandson’s match, but there was nothing they could do. He had received one of the six seeds and won by default.
Skipping a match in a tournament could be seen as incredibly unfair. However, people accepted it as a matter of course. It wasn't like the Sword Saint’s grandson would fail to break through the first round anyway, and they figured it was better than having someone else get knocked out in the first round just because they were unlucky enough to be matched against such a monster.
Toward the end of the first day.
What caught Patrick’s eye were the Elves who had come from the far north of the continent. Patrick, whose heart had been racing with the anticipation of seeing an Elf for the first time in his life, was soon disappointed.
“Hey, why are they all bundled up like that? Did they commit a crime?”
The reason for Patrick’s grumbling was that the Elves were covered from head to toe in black clothing and wore masks that concealed everything except their eyes. He had been curious to see just how beautiful the race "sculpted by the gods" really was, but he hadn't expected them to appear like this.
Aside from their long, pointed ears sticking out, you wouldn't even know they were Elves.
Alex spoke to the grumbling Patrick.
“It can't be helped. They say it’s to avoid unnecessary trouble.”
“Ah… come to think of it, they’ve had a pretty turbulent history.”
“Yeah. Considering their past, that’s a natural precaution.”
Elves. The people of the forest blessed by spirits, and the race blessed with beauty by the gods. Their beauty and eternal youth until the moment of death had long made them targets of human greed.
Although they were now building friendly relations with humans, there had been much trial and error before the Elven race found the appropriate distance to interact with humanity.
Not all humans are good, and not all humans are evil… It took a very long time for them to learn that simple truth.
To reduce friction and maintain friendly relations with humans, the modern Elven race had established several rules, one of which was this: never show your bare face to humans carelessly.
Since Elven beauty could become an object of greed for humans, they concealed themselves when active in the outside world. That was why the Elves participating as representatives of Evergreen were all wearing hoods and masks.
Patrick knew that rule. He knew, but…
“Seeing them all bundled up like that just makes me want to see them more.”
“Hey, hey, hey! You crazy bastard.”
Alex was horrified and tried to stop him. But Patrick just grinned.
“Come on, Senior, aren't you curious too?”
“Don't do it. I’m telling you, don't you dare.”
“Why is it that when people tell me not to do something, I want to do it even more?”
“You lunatic, you’ll start a war with the Elves!”
“Hahaha. Don't worry. It’s not like I’d pull off their masks on purpose.”
“…I feel like you would.”
“Bingo!”
“You son of a bit—!”
Whether Alex threw a fit or not, Patrick just cackled.