Chapter 14: Genius (1)
Chapter 14: Genius (1)
In the Arena, there is a mandatory requirement for those seeking to wear a medal of a new color. Fitting for a place that worships Lefri, the Goddess of Justice and Struggle, a fighter must undergo a "duel" proposed by the officials to earn a promotion. After all, this is a place where everything is decided through combat.
People called these duels "Promotion Matches."
"It’s not a difficult duel. For a small gladiator like yourself, it’s actually an opportunity. Once you wear a Silver Medal, you’ll not only be able to participate in much higher-level matches, but the Arena will also provide you with a stipend. It means you’ll finally be able to make a living as a professional fighter."
Just as the receptionist said, the Silver Medal was a benchmark in the Arena. As she explained, this was a chance for me. I could engage in more valuable battles, and above all, I could choose a new sword to devour from the Hall of Fame.
So, I spoke.
"I’d like to hear about the Promotion Match I need to take to receive a Silver Medal."
Refusal was not an option.
The receptionist seemed to have expected my answer.
"The Promotion Match for you, small gladiator, is quite simple."
At that moment, her eyes flickered with a subtle glint.
"You don't need to defeat your opponent. Just three minutes."
"...?"
"You only need to survive for three minutes."
The receptionist held out her hand toward me, extending three fingers. The smile she wore contained not just kindness, but a trace of something unsettling.
"As long as you survive, the Silver Medal will be yours."
My suspicion immediately picked up on the emotion buried in her smile.
It was malice.
Because of her ordinary appearance—the kind you’d find at any guild or inn—I had momentarily forgotten a crucial fact. Even if the name of the coliseum had changed, this was still the Arena. A place teeming with madmen starved for blood and battle.
"It might be a bit unsightly, but if you struggle hard enough, it’s a manageable amount of time."
I felt the invisible madness that saturated the Arena like oxygen. Then, Liam spoke in my mind.
A rookie-stomping, I see. In my day, we called it an execution ceremony.
"..."
It’s a duel where they pit a fighter like you—one who fights safely and without flair—against an overwhelmingly powerful opponent to inflict a terrible humiliation. You’ll keep your life, but your pride will be left in tatters.
A terrible humiliation.
I could guess why such a match was proposed.
Among the Arena’s spectators, there were those who genuinely admired my victories, but there were also those who looked down on me for always fighting efficiently and winning without injury. As my name became somewhat known, even fellow fighters began giving me the cold shoulder.
It was as if they were waiting for the day I would be brutally crushed. They wanted to see the needle that pricked so loftily finally snap, to see me crawling on the ground like a dog, begging for my life.
It was a blatant, murky madness and malice.
The Arena had proposed this Promotion Match to satisfy those desires.
Young descendant, you may avoid this if you wish. Those people will be satisfied just by the fact that you ran, and they will spread malicious rumors regardless.
"..."
Another opportunity will come soon enough. Your skills are far beyond what a Bronze Medal represents.
Liam spoke as if to comfort me.
However...
But mark my words. If you avoid this fight once, you will find yourself avoiding many difficult battles to come.
Liam’s words didn't end there.
To reach the realm you aim for, you will face many battles in the future. And most of those battles will be against those stronger than you. If you avoid the fight every time that happens, you will never become tempered. Never.
He was not a kind master who only said what I wanted to hear.
Liam was a harsh, realistic, and cold master. Like steel, or like a single blade.
There is no Caravan in this world who avoids a duel. A Caravan becomes great through the heart of battle.
In truth, I already knew this, having heard it until I was sick of it.
The answer to the receptionist’s proposal was already decided.
"I’ll do it."
The path I must walk is still so long.
There is no time to step back or take a detour.
Whatever comes, I must face it head-on.
I will run away no longer.
*
My Promotion Match was scheduled for the evening two days later.
Upon returning to the inn, the first thing I did was check my physical condition. Fortunately, I hadn't sustained any injuries from my previous duels. At most, there were a few scratches on my forearms and ankles.
It was the result of fighting with extreme efficiency.
To others, it might look cheap or pathetic, but for a "fighter" who had to duel continuously, it was a very rational method.
"My condition seems fine."
I suppose so. Then, what must you do next?
"Now that I know myself, I must know my opponent."
That was the fundamental rule of combat.
Facing an unknown enemy is a gamble. If there is even a sliver of information available about the opponent, I must find it. Only then can I use my specialty—suspicion—to identify their weaknesses and visualize how the fight will play out.
Excellent.
Liam agreed that my approach was correct.
For a talentless, weak brat like you, fighting with such thoroughness is only logical. Of course, I was so great from the beginning that no one could even come near me, so I never had to use such methods.
"...Yes, yes, you're amazing."
The problem was that he always added unnecessary comments.
I left my room and ordered bread and soup for a simple meal. As expected, the inn's food was terribly unappetizing. Just as I was soaking the dry, hard bread into the dreadfully bland soup, I overheard a conversation I couldn't ignore.
"They say the small gladiator, Liam, is going to be brutally crushed in two days."
"You mean that guy who wiggles his girlish body around like a bug? Hah, I’ll have to make sure to visit the Arena in two days. I couldn't stand looking at him anyway."
They were talking about me.
"A fighter should face his opponent gallantly, shouldn't he? But watching that guy with a body as thin as a dancer’s poking around with his blade in such an unexciting way is just..."
"I really want to see him rolling in the sand, crying like a dog. It’d be great if they knocked his helmet off and exposed his face. If I ever ran into him on the street, I’d beat him to death."
Public opinion of me was quite poor.
I held my breath and crunched down on the soup-soaked bread. It wasn't because I was intimidated.
The reason was simple.
The latter half of such conversations usually contained useful information.
"So, who did they say the opponent is?"
"The 'Black Bride.' That guy is going to get wrecked for sure."
"I can already see the result."
The Black Bride.
I knew that alias.
The important part would follow.
"Isn't she a terrifyingly skilled fighter who graduated from a prestigious academy and hasn't lost a single match since earning her Silver Medal? I heard she wouldn't even be out of place with a Gold Medal... She’s an incredible fighter. A swordswoman who reached the realm of a 'Sword Walker' before even turning twenty—she's a monster, isn't she?"
Through the mouth of a drunkard, I learned precious information about the fighter who would be my opponent.
And...
Oh, young descendant. The Arena has really gone all out this time.
"..."
I believe there’s a somewhat vulgar way to describe the situation you’re in.
Liam spoke with an amused expression.
You’re screwed.
"You don't have to say it out loud. I already know."
Yes.
I was screwed.
*
An academy.
An educational institution where those who wish to learn swordsmanship gather. It is an elite course for those with the talent to become swordsmen. Generally, those who graduate from an academy are granted the qualification to become knights just by that fact, or they can easily join various groups just by showing their diploma.
In other words, they are proven talents.
They learn systematic swordsmanship, gain combat experience through a curriculum, and are educated with traditionally accumulated data to become excellent combatants. Even if two "Sword Beginners" were to fight, there would be a significant gap between an academy graduate and someone who wasn't.
But what if there was even a difference in their realm?
I was a green Sword Beginner who had only recently entered the path of the sword, and my opponent was an experienced Sword Walker who had graduated from a prestigious academy. Just looking at that sentence, the outcome was clear. The only saving grace was that the condition for promotion wasn't to defeat the enemy, but to survive for three minutes.
Surviving for three minutes won't be easy either.
"Is that so?"
Yes. This fighter called the Black Bride will be weaker than that wheezing knight... Petel. That stiff-necked knight is likely one of the strongest even among 'Sword Walkers.'
Liam spoke nonchalantly.
But there is a clear difference between the two situations. That knight held back to match your level out of some sense of honor, but the fighter you’ll meet in the Arena won't do that. You’re about to find out exactly how terrifying the 'path' extended by a Sword Walker truly is.
"..."
Countless paths will pierce your limbs, and you’ll lose your arms and legs, wailing and dragging your torso like a dog as you beg for your life.
"Thank you for the detailed description of the horrific reality to come."
Damn it. I couldn't deny Liam’s words.
I knew because I had faced one myself.
The superhumans called "Sword Walkers" were powerful foes far beyond my current ability to handle. If one truly intended to kill me, it was nearly impossible to oppose them. No matter how completely I had digested the memories of the swordswoman Mary, the realm of a superhuman was still far off.
And it seemed my opponent knew that as well.
It was the morning after I had accepted the Promotion Match proposal.
A guest came to the inn where I was staying.
"...Small gladiator, Liam. That's you, right?"
In the quiet inn during the sparsely populated morning hours, a girl about my height stood blocking the entrance. Her appearance was unique. Perhaps she was from the Eastern Continent, as she had jet-black hair and eyes. In contrast, the skin visible between her sleeves and her face was pure white. Like a snowflake.
I answered her question.
"I think you have the wrong person."
I already knew many people looked down on me, so there was no need to reveal my identity. I tried to walk past her indifferently, but she didn't budge from the entrance.
The girl spoke again.
"Forfeit tomorrow’s match."
"...?"
"The Arena wants to humiliate you. To meet their expectations, I’ll probably take at least one of your arms when I step into that ring. If you resist, I might take all your limbs. So don't show up. Don't make me brutally destroy your future."
I stopped in my tracks at her words. It wasn't hard to grasp the meaning behind them. At the same time, I realized who she was.
'The Black Bride. The fighter who will be my opponent in the Promotion Match.'
As soon as that thought crossed my mind, suspicion flared up intensely. Things that were previously invisible began to show. The killing intent and sharp momentum hidden behind her beautiful and delicate appearance.
She was simply standing there, but she had no openings. I saw the scabbard hidden at her waist. I felt it instinctively. The moment she drew her sword, I would die before I could even run.
I could feel the second heart located below her left breast. Her heart was shaped like a hedgehog, with thorns protruding here and there. Around that chestnut-burr-like heart, rough paths had been carved. It was the symbol of a Sword Walker and proof that she was a superhuman.
Facing her directly, the gap felt even wider.
The girl seemed to feel the same.
"The rumors were vague, but facing you like this, I can tell. If you fight me tomorrow, you’ll be completely broken. You are no match for me. Never."
The girl said that, glared at me for a moment, then turned and walked out of the inn.
"Make a wise decision."
"..."
"Looking at your match history, you didn't seem like a fool."
Even after she left, I stood there as if frozen to the spot. I was drenched in cold sweat. It was Liam’s voice that snapped me out of it.
A talent too good for this era.
Liam spoke calmly.
That girl... is a genius.
*
The gladiator "Black Bride," who was terrifying even by reputation, was an even more frightening expert when met in person. I couldn't even imagine a scenario where I could defeat her. Rationally speaking, running away was the right choice. Losing an arm just for the sake of pride was incredibly stupid.
But from the moment I vowed to take revenge on the continent's greatest Swordmaster, my life had already veered off the track of common sense.
There is only one way.
And there was one fortunate thing.
To reach even the minimum level to oppose that girl, one sword is not enough.
The blood flowing through my body is not ordinary.
You must eat one more sword. Before the match begins.
The blood of steel flows through my body.
"Whew."
I took a deep breath and slowly stepped forward.
Late in the evening, under the darkening sky, the Arena shone brightly with brilliant lights. The spectators were cheering enthusiastically, likely for whatever match was currently taking place.
With the sound of "Waaaaah!" as my background, I walked steadily.
"You've come again, young master."
The place I walked to was the Hall of Fame.
Caretaker Tom welcomed me.
"It seems you've become quite fond of the Hall of Fame."
I grinned, not even bothering to hide my intent.
"Of course. Ah—if it’s not too much trouble, I’d like to ask a favor."
Now, let’s try a frontal breakthrough.