Lucia and the Underground Arena (3)
The underground arena was electric with energy.
Tonight featured sixteen fighters in a tournament bracket, with the champion to be decided by night's end.
The two entrants under the pseudonyms George and Rossi had advanced steadily to the quarterfinals.
'The round-of-sixteen opponents were way too boring.'
Lucia's quarterfinal match was about to begin.
I planned to watch from below the central stage. That's when the blond, tanned man beside me struck up a conversation.
"Hey, you're George from the Schuderborn Swordsmanship Guild, right? Never heard of it before. Still, your sword grip looked solid enough. You're from Essemont, yeah?"
The familiar southern golden sun—Fabian. He'd registered as a fighter here tonight too.
Of course, I was disguised with dream demon power, so he harbored no suspicions. He mistook me for some northern bumpkin named George.
"That's right. But nothing impressive about it."
"Humble guy, huh? Haha. Not showing a single opening before your opponent later? Impressive. Northern swordsmen really are ice-cold, like frost mages."
This guy was sociable too. A southern noble in disguise, but even when I played it cool as a commoner, he kept chatting.
'So this is why he's been too "busy" for me. Sneaking around places like this.'
Fabian had been putting off the debauched party he'd pitched at the start of term for over a month.
He kept making excuses about Pantheon duties eating up his time. But the truth seemed to be his obsession with underground arena matches.
"Still, tonight's entrants look pretty tough. Daniel the Brute. Airech of the Serpent Eyes. Even Whittaker of the Iron Sword. Word is they've all got real-steel experience in major arenas. Won't be easy snagging a spot in the big leagues."
Fabian spoke in a serious tone. But I'd never heard of any of them. Names not mentioned in Demon Lord Slayer meant extras.
'Should be decent experience fodder for Lucia and me, though.'
The large-scale arena in the Pleasure Quarter was far grander than this guild-run pit.
Operated by Secret Salon madam Carmen, her estranged business partner, and a separate underworld heavyweight.
One more reason I'd come here.
This place was a qualifier of sorts. Win tonight's tournament, and you earned entry to the major league bracket.
Fabian said,
"Anyway, fate's brought us here. If it weren't a match, I'd buy you a beer, George. Shame, really. Sadly, I'm no good at drunk swordplay, so booze-offs are out."
"No worries. Your words are enough."
"Oho! Northern men are so straightforward."
Of course, I could get blackout drunk and detox instantly with poison immunity, but no need to flaunt it here.
As Fabian said, the crowd clutched beer mugs, waiting for the fights. Sports and beer—unchanging truths even in this otherworld Iseland.
"Oh, fighters are entering."
The quarterfinal opener had begun. Rossi—Lucia—and Daniel the Brute, a muscled hulk.
Daniel strutted bare-chested, scars from blade wounds crisscrossing his bulk.
"Daniel! What a savage build!"
"Good thing mana use is banned. Add that to his raw power, and we'd be dodging meat chunks."
"Heard he's sent a few to the afterlife in major tourneys already."
"I heard that too! Kill her! Kill!"
The crowd roared at Daniel's sight, hyped.
Lucia, meanwhile, just had dyed hair. Her slender frame unchanged. A hairpin altered her eyes to droop slightly, but she was still strikingly pretty.
"Hoo. That Rossi girl—she with you, George? No idea about her sword skills, but her looks could top the capital's beauties. Shame seeing her in a dump like this. Tsk."
True to his golden sun nature, Fabian eyed Lucia appreciatively, regretting this wasn't the Secret Salon.
"No way... she's yours?"
He waggled his pinky—blunt implication. I shook my head.
"Nah. Rossi's just a guildmate from Schuderborn. No men-women divide there. We're all swordsmen following the blade's path."
"Tsk. Too bad. A beauty like that, and you're not interested? Girls like her are rare even in Pan... my sword guild. Could've been fun competing for her love. Real men's blades hang between their legs too, after all."
Hearing I had no claim, he lamented more. Classic southern golden sun—NTR hobbyist.
In truth, Fabian saw Lucia daily in Combat Division. Him not recognizing her cracked me up inwardly.
'Pink hair's too iconic for her.'
The match started amid crowd frenzy.
"Daniel! Flatten that bitch!"
"Make the rookie chick scream under a real man!"
"Crush her, Daniel!!"
"Rip those clothes off!! Give us a show!!"
No mana allowed here. Blunt training swords only.
Lucia wielded her favored arming sword. Daniel hefted a brutish zweihander.
Overawed by its menace, Lucia tensed. I shouted,
"Rossi! Focus!"
But her eyes shifted at my voice.
***
The ear-splitting crowd noise in the arena fell silent.
"Th-that girl won?!"
"What happened? Why's Daniel down alone?"
The match ended in a flash—total upset. Daniel opened with ferocious zweihander swings.
"That savage speed on the first strike..."
Fabian marveled. Air ripped as the blade arced.
But before it halved its circle, Lucia's strike hit Daniel's vitals first. Speed beyond normal dynamic vision—only Pantheon Combat cadets like Fabian could glimpse the flash.
Lucia herself seemed stunned by her feat.
'Just as I expected.'
Only I foresaw the outcome. Lucia had been shackled in swordplay till now.
Her sloppy back-alley mana cultivation hindered her talent with inefficient flow.
Ban mana entirely, use blunt steel in a high-stakes real fight unlike spars—
'That unlocked her potential.'
My cheer sharpened her focus too.
If she remembered that sensation, one chain binding her would snap. I praised her as she descended the stage.
"Well done, Rossi. That's your true skill. Burn it into your body."
"N-no... Th-thank you, M-Master—no, Mr. George. Your cheering got me through..."
The fierce woman who'd felled a giant blushed like a girl before me.
My turn next. Another bore. Serpent Eyes Airech, a fierce-gazed man whipping his rapier like a frantic snake.
Whirr-whirr—
Endless thrusting blades, illusory feints blurring reality. Child's play to me.
'Compared to Lucia, it was standing-still swordplay.'
No Lion Heart Sword needed. One casual Imperial Swordsmanship variant floored him.
Soon, semifinals. My opponent: improbably, Fabian, who'd battled past Iron Sword Whittaker.
'Whittaker matched Rip in pure swordplay.'
The southern golden sun's skill surprised. He faced me.
"Hey, George! Dull face, killer sword. No wasted moves, pure power. Northern roots check out. This'll be good."
"You're too kind. You're no slouch yourself, Fabian."
"Hah. No letting guard down, eh? North vs. South pride clash! I'm future Centriac Knights material. Even a fight-crazed northerner won't find this easy."
"Got it. Good match."
Fabian's skill held up.
Just his flighty personality the issue. Graduate Pantheon unscathed as he boasted, and Centriac Knights would take him.
'Too bad none of my classmates graduate.'
Pantheon's three-year course. Current second-years never reach third.
Demon Lord Slayer part two's chaos shutters—closes—Pantheon.
Even protag and mains die; side chars like Fabian? Unknown end.
'Not a bad golden sun. Decent talent too—not nest raid material, but White Night recruit potential.'
Unwittingly, Essemont heir thoughts. Then his blade flew.
Tricky thrust path. No Pantheon spar rules here.
Freer style: Imperial base, power-focused. Southern flair: speed strikes, feints woven seamlessly.
Mana-less, but potent. Direct hit would've ended me. I dodged relentlessly.
"Hoo, slick evasion, George. But dodging alone means my default win?"
Stamina beast too. Unceasing swings and jabs, nonstop chatter.
Soon cornered at stage edge.
"Finish him, Fabian!"
"Show that blond playboy pride!"
"Quit stealing taken girls! Sword-fuck a guy for once!!"
Fueled, his thrusts accelerated. I slipped them by hairs.
"Whew... Wanted to show more against you, George. But finals mean stamina management. Gotta drop you now."
Confident tone. Pinned, obviously. But I stayed calm.
'Seen enough of Fabian. My move.'
Perfect: mana-banned real bout. Great for Lucia—and me.
Mana Sword traits: top guide/operator. But for Aura realm, can't rely solely.
'Must hear Reinhardt blood call the blade mid-fight.'
Unhindered pure Reinhardt senses needed.
Blunt sword too. Victory hinged on my skill alone.
'Focus solely on self.'
Glad Fabian's blade was serviceable. Met Reinhardt battle lust minimum.
"Sorry—end this!"
Familiar Imperial form five. No—Imperial Swordsmanship first chapter secret art. Budget Lion Heart; its secret a White Night knockoff.
Blunt steel boomed impossibly. His blade slashed.
"Idiot! Forfeiting?!"
"Even blunt, that's lethal!"
Arena erupted. My blood sensed peril, instincts sharpening.
Blade at nose-tip. Focus peaked. No fear.
Time slowed.
World bleached white. Points and lines only. His blade's line trajectory vivid from start to end.
As it finished, sadly, its target was gone.
I slipped the secret art's blind spot. Blunt-slapped his back.
***
Semifinal: my win over Fabian.
Final two: Lucia and me. Announcer bellowed,
"Finalists! Clash blades in salute!"
Clashing brought us close. Lucia whispered,
"That was an astonishing match."
"Nah. You were amazing too, Lucia."
"Fl-flattery..."
"Anyway, remember our bet?"
"Yes! Of course."
Clang. As blades met, she added,
"If I lose... I use my body to aid you, as bet."