Chapter 15
Chapter 15
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 15
Chapter Title: Even Taking the Exam is Shameful (3)
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[You have picked up a longsword with no owner.]
Material: Iron
Quality: Normal
Owner: None
Memory Retention: Low
Note: An unremarkable sword made by an ordinary blacksmith in the capital. It might break if swung improperly.
'What a pathetic sword.'
Whoever had held the sword before him clearly hadn't used it for long. All things considered, it made sense—one of the swords left out for the participants to choose from freely.
But it didn't matter. The same sword could be used in entirely different ways depending on whose hand wielded it.
Ban looked around. More than a hundred people, each gripping their chosen weapons, were steeling their resolve.
This was Group 1 in its entirety. And from them, only eight would survive.
'...There are probably a few others like me.'
Even so, he couldn't fight while holding back for that reason. It went against the spirit of the tournament, and besides, he had no intention of slacking off.
"Hmph. Using a girly little sword like that. Some backwater eastern bumpkin, huh?"
It was then. A man hefting an axe as big as a person's torso spoke in a mocking tone. Ban stared silently at him for a moment before turning away. Emboldened, the man raised his voice.
"Come on now. Why don't you just pack up and go home before you embarrass yourself in front of tens of thousands? That flimsy sword of yours won't survive a single swing from my axe."
"If you're feeling nervous and want to puff up your chest with some bravado, find someone else. I'm not playing along."
"What?"
"If you don't like that, go warm up right now. I don't care if you pull a muscle and can't even make it to the arena."
Ban stood up as he spoke. The opponent had a physique intimidating enough to cow most people, but size didn't equal strength. Before the blade, all human flesh was equally fragile.
'...Not much formal training.'
A body where fat and muscle mixed clumsily. The scars suggested plenty of real combat experience, but... overall, it seemed more optimized for drinking than fighting.
Actually, there was no need to analyze that far.
The way he gripped the axe. The twitch of his muscles. The direction of his toes alone... Ban was certain. That giant's axe wouldn't even graze his collar. The man wasn't worth his time.
The opponent rose to his feet. Even if it had started as posturing, no one could ignore a direct provocation like that.
And right on cue, the trumpet blared.
"Group 1! Proceed to the arena!"
At the usher's command, the man sneered.
"You're lucky. See you in the arena. I'll turn you into paste."
"Do whatever you want."
Ban chuckled softly in response. All bulk, no backbone—a mere pup. He had no interest in wasting more energy on him.
He had sensed it even from the waiting room, but standing in the arena now, the pressure from the crowd was overwhelming. Tens of thousands strong, they said it could hold up to a hundred thousand.
'Not a single empty seat in sight.'
Even their murmurs hit like the roar of a massive waterfall, pounding against his body and heart. Good thing he wore the mask. Without it, his excitement would have shown plainly on his face.
Despite over a hundred warriors arrayed across it, the arena still felt vast. A relief—cramped spaces made it hard to show one's true skill.
'I can't reveal my full hand here... no.'
It was then. As Ban glanced toward one section of the stands, his heart skipped a beat. The most opulent spot. Not just the seats, but even the surrounding pillars adorned with gold thread... clearly reserved for the highest nobility.
'Those people there... could it be?'
— Hear me.
Before the question could fully form, a voice rang out.
It was soft, like a whisper right beside his ear. Yet somehow, it pierced the din of a hundred thousand voices, silencing the entire crowd.
— Upon that arena stand countless warriors. Beautiful warriors who seek only your love and approval. From bakers to moneylenders, today, by the grace of His Majesty the Great King, you are permitted simply to behold their valor. Citizens of the Citadel.
— Now then, warriors.
— Fight!
There was no time to wonder whose voice it was. As the roar of a hundred thousand spectators shook the earth, every warrior gripped their weapons tighter and glared at one another.
No one rushed in first right away. Anyone with a brain knew: even cutting down eighty opponents alone meant nothing if you didn't make the final eight.
But fools existed everywhere.
"Hahaha! A bunch of scared little rabbits! Raaaaah!"
It was the burly man who had picked a fight with Ban. With a bellow, he began swinging his massive axe in wide circles. Ban clicked his tongue as he watched.
'Idiot brute.'
He fit the saying perfectly: acts just like he looks. But...
"Yawn."
Ban tilted his head slightly to dodge a spear thrust straight at him. A clean strike. Probably the result of years of training. To perfect a thrust with no wasted power, his hands must have blistered countless times.
But it wasn't enough.
Ban closed in and drove his knee into the man's gut. No need for the sword. The spearman crumpled to the ground, gasping for air he couldn't draw, before sinking into the earth.
'Hm. So that's how it works.'
Before the match, the examiner had explained. They couldn't guarantee no deaths, but it was unlikely. So fight with everything you had.
Treatment mages must be waiting below the arena floor. Which meant...
'I can go all out without holding back.'
Once the brute started rampaging, the warriors dove into full combat. Some invaded each other's space, some out of fear, others drunk on adrenaline—the chaos rivaled any war. No, without allies or enemies, it was even madder.
And it didn't take long for the strong ones to reveal themselves.
"Damn, what's with that guy?"
"...Terrifying."
Ban was one of them. After he sent several attackers plummeting below without letting them land a single proper blow, the warriors around him began subtly encircling him.
They had realized it too. As long as someone like Ban remained, their own chances were zero.
A pathetic choice. But a wise one, too.
'Wisdom doesn't always mean victory, though.'
As if on cue, weapons of every type lunged at him at once. Swords. Staves. Axes. Maces and flails.
A moment that would fluster most. Facing multiple attackers was bad enough, but so many weapon types? Few knew how to counter them all.
But Ban knew.
"Crazy...!"
"No way..."
He had sparred more times than meals eaten in the Cho Clan. Countless warriors had challenged him with every weapon imaginable, teaching him how to counter joint assaults along the way.
Compared to the Cho Clan's refined formations, this hasty one was...
'I'd counter it if I could, but I can't even let it land.'
Jeers rose from the crowd. Not at him, of course. Mocking the attackers for failing even after ganging up, pride be damned.
They probably wanted to turn those jeers to cheers... but that wouldn't happen.
'Playtime's over.'
Ban’s eyes sharpened. Mask or no mask, swordsmanship left traces in the memory. For any future rivals in the crowd, he couldn't reveal everything.
So today, he'd show just one thing.
The thrust.
No qi infused. Using qi against rabble like this would only show poor control. A well-timed thrust to the right spot was powerful enough on its own.
First thrust: to the gut of the man swinging a fist at him.
Second: to the arm of the spearman thrusting from behind.
Third: to the wrist of the one counter-thrusting at him.
Fourth.
Fifth.
Sixth.
And seventh.
Cheers echoed distantly like an afterthought. Ban watched as they clutched their wounds, groaning, before vanishing into the ground. By now, his surroundings were clear of foes.
He turned his gaze. Far off, the burly man who had taunted him glared back with bulging eyes. Right, that guy was still around. Size did matter somewhat, it seemed.
Ban stepped forward. With each step—one, two—the man instinctively retreated. He had never felt intimidated by someone smaller before, but Ban's advance pressed harder than the tiger he once met in the mountains.
But he never got to identify that pressure.
The trumpet blared again. Signaling the end of the match. Only then did Ban realize just eight remained in the arena, himself included.
"You're lucky. You."
Even repeating the man's own words back at him left the brute speechless. Ban turned away, removing his mask. With advancement to the main tournament secured, there was no need to hide anymore. The crowd might as well know who they were cheering for.
Ban drew a slow breath, then smiled amid the thrill.
Finally.
He had arrived at the place where he belonged.