Chapter 128: It’s a Failure! (1)
Chapter 128: It’s a Failure! (1)
The fourth round of Arcana.
With seven contestants remaining, one person had to advance on a bye.
After a meeting, the tournament organizers decided that Garcia, the strongest candidate for the championship, would receive the bye.
“Does this mean the Sword Saint’s grandson gets a bye twice now?”
“Looks that way.”
“Man, it must be nice to have such a prestigious background.”
“Don’t be like that. He’s the top favorite to win anyway, so they’re just sending him through.”
“Still, isn’t getting two byes a bit much?”
“Even if he wins, people are going to talk.”
While a debate broke out among the spectators, the contestants themselves didn't seem to care.
The seven remaining here were all powerhouses with absolute confidence in their own skills.
And so, the first match of the fourth round began.
The first to step out was Antorius, the sole remaining representative of the Holy Kingdom.
His opponent was an Elven warrior clad entirely in black.
The outcome of this match was all too obvious.
The Elven style of combat, which relied on agile movements and knife-throwing, was far too weak against a Holy Knight with rock-solid defense.
Especially when it came to someone of Antorius’s caliber…
“O, Yupinel!”
At his thunderous cry, a golden radiance erupted from him with explosive force.
The Elf couldn't even get close due to the sheer pressure of that power, desperately throwing knives from a distance, but…
“Look at that.”
“It’s no use.”
“The matchup is just too bad.”
The knives thrown by the Elf were pushed back by the pressure of the Divine Power, failing to even reach Antorius.
Antorius simply stood there, radiating Divine Power, without even taking a combat stance.
He spoke without even drawing his sword.
“As long as the Goddess’s protection exists, your attacks shall not reach me.”
“……”
“Dweller of the forest. Do you truly wish to continue this match?”
At the question of whether he wanted to continue a fight with a predetermined conclusion, the Elven warrior glanced back at his comrades before quietly raising his hand.
“I forfeit.”
“Antorius Denar wins!”
The referee immediately declared Antorius the victor.
Antorius gave a slight bow to his opponent, withdrew his Divine Power, and stepped down from the arena.
“Whoa… As expected of the Holy Kingdom…”
“He didn't even draw his sword.”
“How can someone that age emit such Divine Power?”
The audience marveled at Antorius’s overwhelming strength.
Meanwhile, Patrick watched the Elven warrior with a look of slight disappointment.
“What a shame. I really wanted to see them actually fight.”
“Tell me about it. They called him the youngest Paladin candidate, but he’s barely showing his skills,” Alex replied.
Patrick chuckled and said, “I’m not talking about that brat. I mean the other one.”
“The Elf?”
“Yeah. They’re keeping their skills so tightly under wraps that I’m getting curious.”
“You mean they weren't going all out?”
“Obviously. They didn't use a bow, and they didn't use spirits, did they?”
Bows and spirits.
Those were the two hallmarks of Elven power.
Even a noble from a backwater countryside like Patrick knew those were the specialties that came to mind first when thinking of Elves.
However, a bow was an unsuitable weapon for Arcana, and as for spirits…
“Why didn't they use them?”
There was no reason not to use spirit magic.
Yet, none of the Elves participating in Arcana had used it.
Alex nodded at Patrick’s remark.
“Maybe Arcana doesn't mean much to those Elves.”
“Then why did they enter?”
“That, I don't know.”
Patrick made a grumpy face.
“Senior, is there anything you do know?”
“As if you know any better…”
“I might not know, but you should. You’re the senior, aren't you?”
“You petty bastard.”
He only called him "senior" when it suited him.
Just as Patrick was about to tease the dejected Alex further, the next contestants were called.
“Owen Battista, step forward!”
The first to appear was the representative of the Benator Empire.
The Benator Empire had become the only nation to have two representatives remaining in the fourth round.
One was the favorite, Garcia.
And the other was this man.
He was a head taller than the average person, with a massive, muscular build that even armor couldn't hide.
A giant of a man with forearms the size of a woman’s head.
He was Owen Battista, a 5-Star Swordsman of the Empire.
And the weapon he brought was…
“A battle axe? Didn't he use a sword before?”
“He must have switched.”
“Why?”
“Who knows? I can take a guess, though…”
As soon as Patrick finished speaking, the referee called the opponent’s name.
“Sierion Vaisus Yuzef, step forward!”
From the opposite side, Sierion ascended the stage carrying an unnaturally large two-handed sword.
“It turned out exactly as expected,” Patrick said, and Alex nodded in agreement.
“Indeed. It fits.”
“The organizers probably paired them up with that in mind.”
Sierion had climbed the ranks by blowing his opponents away with his massive two-handed sword.
The organizers had matched him against a heavy armored knight of the same "class."
“Ooh…”
“Now this is a picture.”
“A battle of pure strength?”
The stands heated up instantly.
The mere appearance of the two men drew intrigued gazes from the audience.
Sierion stepped up, lightly swinging his massive two-handed sword.
Owen, facing him, also looked like he wouldn't lose when it came to strength.
In fact, in terms of pure physical build, Owen was overwhelming.
Sierion was well-built himself, but standing across from Owen, he looked small by comparison.
As they faced each other, Owen spoke with a grin.
“I am glad to meet a fellow traveler on the same path, Prince Sierion.”
“The same path?”
“Indeed. For a man, isn't it all about power and physical strength?”
As he spoke, Owen flexed his arm, showing off his rock-hard muscles.
Sierion gave a short, dry laugh.
“You seem confident in your strength.”
“I am. I will be different from those who flew away like gnats when you struck them.”
“Is that so?”
“It is. I brought this fellow along specifically to have a head-on contest of strength with you.”
Owen stroked his massive battle axe.
“It’s a weapon a bit too crude for Arcana, but I brought it because I figured you wouldn't shy away from a test of power.”
Sierion didn't bother answering Owen.
Instead, he smirked and called out to the referee nearby.
“Referee.”
“What is it?”
“Just start the match already.”
“Ah… Understood.”
Owen was slightly taken aback.
He had shown a degree of goodwill, and he hadn't expected his opponent to react with such blatant unpleasantness.
Regardless, Sierion turned his back and returned to his starting position.
Once the contestants were set, the referee gave the command.
“Begin!”
At the signal, Owen gripped his massive battle axe tightly with both hands.
With his personal weapon, crafted much larger than a standard battle axe, he felt he could sufficiently handle that freakish two-handed sword…
“Hmm?”
Owen’s brow furrowed.
His opponent, Sierion, was acting strangely.
Thud.
He slammed his two-handed sword hard into the ground.
Then, completely unarmed, he began walking toward Owen with steady steps.
Both Owen and the audience were deeply confused by this bizarre behavior.
“What? What is he doing?”
“Is he crazy?”
“Why is everyone in this year’s Arcana like this?”
Amidst the buzzing crowd, only Patrick chuckled.
“He’s pissed.”
“Huh? What do you mean?”
“When someone challenges you in your own specialty, don't you just want to crush them so miserably they regret being born?”
“Uh, no?”
“You’d go that far?”
“Are you even human?”
“You’re worse than a demon.”
At his companions’ consistent condemnation, Patrick said, “Hey, honestly, you all relate. Tell the truth. Right?”
“……”
“What? Really, no one?”
“……”
“Was I the weird one?”
Not weird, just evil, they thought.
Patrick, momentarily confused, quickly regained his composure.
“Well, anyway, that Prince Sierion is fuming. He’s decided to show this brat who’s challenging him in his own field what’s what.”
“Then, in your eyes, Prince Sierion’s strength is much greater?”
At Alex’s question, Patrick giggled.
“Just watch. You’ll see.”
Sierion walked right up to Owen without hesitation.
He approached defenselessly, reaching a distance where a single swing of the opponent’s weapon could cleave him in two.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Owen shouted, his face flushing with shame.
Sierion replied, “And what are you doing?”
“……”
“Are you just going to watch?”
“Urgh…”
Finally, Owen swung his battle axe.
Attacking a defenseless opponent pricked his conscience, but this was a match, and the opponent had brought this on himself.
He would make him pay for insulting a knight’s honor.
Whooooosh!
With that resolve, his battle axe flew ruthlessly toward Sierion. And…
Thwack!
The sound of an impact echoed.
Spectators who had imagined a gruesome sight instinctively looked away.
However, the result was entirely different from their imagination.
“Ugh…”
Sierion had caught the shaft of the incoming battle axe with his bare hand.
That alone was shocking, but it wasn't the end.
Sierion spoke while holding the axe.
“You said you were confident in your strength?”
“Guh… You?”
“Go ahead. Try me.”
At Sierion’s words, Owen’s face turned beet red.
“Don't regret this!”
Aura exploded from Owen’s entire body.
It was an aura focused on reinforcing his own body rather than his weapon.
When combined with his muscles, which had been tempered through endless training, it produced incredible results.
Owen was a man who had once beaten a troll to death with his bare hands.
He resolved to swing the battle axe with all his might and send his opponent flying. However…
“Nngh… Hrrgh…”
“What are you doing?”
“Gggghhhhhhh…”
“Is this you using your strength?”
Despite Sierion’s mockery, Owen didn't have the luxury to respond.
This… this is impossible.
Even though he was giving it his all, his opponent didn't budge.
The man clearly looked smaller than him, yet the battle axe held in his single hand remained motionless.
It was as if it were embedded in a massive boulder.
How can this be?
“Thousand Jin Drop. Not bad. He’s using it quite skillfully.”
Patrick understood exactly what was happening.
Unlike Owen, who was trying to blow his opponent away using only reinforced physical strength, Sierion was using his power with a clear purpose.
A slightly lowered center of gravity.
Unshakable legs that seemed rooted in the earth.
To this, he added weight to the nature of his aura.
It was the so-called Thousand Jin Drop.
Actually, it wasn't that surprising.
In the Central Plains, any second-rate martial artist who could manipulate Ki could use the Thousand Jin Drop.
One could even do it without being formally taught.
Broadly speaking, it was just a method of Ki manipulation that was an extension of the Horse Stance.
With a bit of a knack for it, it wasn't difficult to use.
So, it wasn't strange for a knight of this world to use it.
However, the fact that he used it so naturally was something Patrick found worthy of praise.
Is it effort? Or talent? Either way, he’s impressive.
He had been keeping an eye on him since the previous matches, but this Prince Sierion was no ordinary man.
A contest of strength? That was meaningless from the start.
Because this was a battle Owen could never win.
“Ggggrrrrgh!”
Dammit, what a humiliation…
Owen, frustrated by Sierion who wouldn't budge no matter how much strength he applied, eventually let go with one hand and tried to bash Sierion’s face with his fist.
At this point, he didn't care about a contest of strength; he just wanted to land a blow on that smug face. However…
Crack!
Even that failed.
Sierion lightly caught Owen’s fist with his hand and then applied crushing force.
Crunch!
“Aaaaaagh!”
Owen screamed as he felt the bones in the back of his hand shattering as his gauntlet was crushed.
Sierion spoke to him.
“I’ll correct two things for you.”
“Wh-what…”
“If you’re going to brag about your strength at this level, give it up. You’re nowhere near ready.”
“Urgh…”
“And one more thing.”
Sierion’s eyes turned fierce.
“I, Sierion Vaisus Yuzef, will never walk the same path as the trash of the West.”
“Wh… Aaaaagh!”
Now, the shattered bones of his hand were protruding.
Blood seeped out from the cuff of Owen’s gauntlet, and he fell to his knees, unable to withstand the pain.
“The… the winner is Sierion Vaisus Yuzef!”
The referee hurriedly declared the winner, and only then did Sierion release the man’s fist.
When he let go, clear, squeezed handprints remained on the steel gauntlet.
As Owen continued to suffer from the steel digging into his flesh, Sierion spoke.
“Remember this well. Trash.”
For a moment, Owen felt a surge of anger and tried to retort, but…
“Ngh…?”
In that instant, his eyes met Sierion’s.
A gaze of cold contempt, looking down from a position of absolute superiority.
Overwhelmed by it, Owen couldn't even muster a rebuttal for his honor and had to avert his eyes.
“Hmph.”
Sierion gave Owen a dismissive glance as if he were nothing and turned away.