Chapter 117
Chapter 117
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 117
Chapter Title: 50. Laurel Crown (2)
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Rolant's chest split open, and blood spurted from the wound.
But it wasn't just Rolant's problem.
Hasan was bleeding from his arm as well, staggering back.
"As expected, Rolant."
Yuri gave a brief assessment.
Rolant's sword was impeccable.
He never acted recklessly, always wisely carrying out what needed to be done in the given situation.
This time was no different.
Once he judged that he couldn't dodge Hasan's attack, Rolant unhesitatingly abandoned defense and swung his sword in a counterstrike.
His target's arm—the part of Hasan within reach of his blade.
In a fleeting instant, he made all these judgments and moved his body accordingly.
"Is the wound okay?"
"It's not deep. Hasan is the one in trouble. It'll be hard for him to wield his sword properly now."
Rolant and Hasan glared at each other, locked in a standoff for a moment.
Rolant stepped back, then tore off his blood-soaked shirt as if it were cumbersome and tossed it out of the arena.
His upper body, sculpted like a statue, was revealed.
Gasps rose from the stands. Rolant, especially popular with women, sent ripples of admiration sweeping through the entire arena.
Jared muttered,
"Such an innocent face with muscles like that..."
He wasn't bulky, but every muscle was sharply defined.
As Rolant raised his sword, the muscles in his back rippled like waves.
Watching this, Yuri spoke.
"Hasan has lost."
"Pardon?"
"Even if Rolant ends up losing the match by some chance, Hasan has still lost."
"Yes..."
Facing such a Rolant, Hasan clutched the wound on his arm, crouching low and glaring. It contrasted sharply with Rolant's upright, shirtless stance.
He somehow looked pitiful.
Suddenly, Yuri began clapping. The unexpected action drew all eyes around him.
Yuri said,
"I support Rolant, but at this moment, I just want to applaud Hasan."
"Well..."
Jared silently followed Yuri's lead, and soon the applause spread not just through the surroundings but to the entire audience.
Who hasn't been in Hasan's position at least once in life?
It was a kind of camaraderie.
The fight resumed. With his sword arm injured, Hasan could no longer move properly and kept retreating.
Rolant relentlessly pressed him.
Gradually, wounds accumulated on Hasan's body.
Yuri asked Hose,
"Does he still have that trump card left?"
"Yes."
Hose nodded.
"Hasan is biding his time for an opportunity. The match should be decided soon."
Hasan curled up his body to minimize stamina drain.
His opponent looked enormous.
As the match dragged on, Rolant seemed to grow larger and larger in his vision.
"He's strong..."
Hasan muttered.
Rolant wasn't overwhelmingly powerful, nor exceptionally fast. He didn't wield mana with flashy flair either.
He just steadily swung his sword.
Yet with every exchange, losses piled up as if it were inevitable.
Those tiny differences accumulated into a massive gap.
Hasan chuckled inwardly.
Against an opponent with such a sword, reversal was a pipe dream. Without carelessness or overexertion, he slowly but steadily constricted like a snake, leading inexorably to defeat.
"The kind of guy you hate facing."
Hasan looked up.
Rolant approached, sword tip aimed at him. It felt like a death sentence.
Of course, he still had his unused trump card.
But it offered little comfort. Facing Rolant's sword made him feel like a clumsy hack relying on tricks to cover his shortcomings.
"Annoying bastard."
Everything from that kingdom called Brioll was the same.
He glanced sideways at the stands.
He thought only the Third Prince, who hadn't even entered the tournament, was like that. But Rolant here was just as infuriating, albeit in a different way.
Suddenly, Rolant spoke.
"You said something to me before the match started."
"What?"
"That you could beat His Highness the Third Prince."
When Hasan had taken the stage, he'd provoked Rolant to unsettle him. Most jabs were at Rolant himself, with only one mention of the Third Prince.
Yet what Rolant fixated on was the remark about the Third Prince.
"Can you still say that now?"
Rolant smirked faintly.
His eyes brimmed with certainty of victory.
No need to ask more; the meaning was clear. You can't even beat me, so how dare you speak of the Third Prince?
"Damn it..."
Truly annoying.
Hasan advanced, swinging his sword. His arm ached, and the blade didn't obey perfectly, but he could still trade blows.
At this rate, he'd lose.
He had one chance left.
To seize it, he began rebuilding his setup methodically.
As if refusing to accept defeat and lashing out, he exaggerated his movements, wasting strength with oversized swings.
"Hey, do you think you've already won?"
Hasan gritted his teeth and slashed Rolant's thigh. It left only a shallow scratch.
"Your master is a coward who didn't enter the tournament for fear his lack of skill would be exposed."
Since Rolant seemed more sensitive to insults about the Third Prince, he tried provoking that way.
"Even his exploits in the Allied Forces were all your doing, right? A wastrel like the Third Prince couldn't have done that."
Rolant's eyes cooled sharply.
Some types react oppositely to provocation. Instead of falling for it, they crush their foe even more coldly.
Rolant seemed to be one of them.
Hasan smiled bitterly and spat out the blood pooling in his mouth.
"Rolant. Rookie. Come here."
He beckoned with his fingers. Rolant approached—not because of the taunt, but because he'd been closing in gradually anyway.
Hasan activated his Mana Circulation Method.
A pale aura coated his blade.
The moment Rolant crossed the mental line he'd drawn, Hasan swung like lightning. Sword energy detached from his blade, striking at Rolant.
Rolant raised his sword to block.
Hasan charged immediately after.
Mana enveloped his body, coursing through his meridians to swirl around his right shoulder.
His arm grew hot.
"Hoo..."
Hidden by his clothes, a long tattoo ran from his shoulder to his wrist on his right arm. A magic-infused tattoo.
There were no rules banning magic in the tournament. And since it was etched into his flesh, it counted as his own ability.
"Die!"
Hasan shouted exaggeratedly as he swung. His sword clashed with Rolant's, sparks flying.
Without closing his eyes, he pushed Rolant back, twisting his blade. Hasan's sword slid down along Rolant's blade.
Rolant released his sword without hesitation and dodged sideways. Hasan pursued, swinging again.
Rolant tried to block with his sword from an unsteady stance.
Their blades were about to meet.
Now.
Hasan activated the magic. His shoulder burned hot. In an instant, his sword grew faint and semi-transparent.
His blade passed through Rolant's sword.
For that briefest moment, his sword could phase through objects.
Nothing blocked his blade now.
Since he hadn't reduced his power, Rolant might die if struck.
But that was fine.
Accidental deaths happened often in tournaments.
That's what fights were, after all.
"Die."
As his sword descended toward Rolant's body, Hasan looked into his eyes.
They were serene.
That gaze hadn't changed since stepping onto the stage.
Rolant wasn't flustered or reckless.
This time was the same.
Hasan instinctively knew something was wrong.
Just before the blade touched, Rolant's body slid sideways. It was as if someone had pulled him from behind.
With the faintest gap invisible to the naked eye, Rolant slipped past his sword.
Incomprehensible.
How could he perceive and react in such a split second, and move like a ghost?
It was as if he'd anticipated the move.
With his sure-kill strike foiled, only one option remained.
A cold sensation touched his throat.
Rolant's sword pierced his skin, drawing blood. It trickled down. The strike somehow carried emotion.
Hasan said hollowly,
"I lost."
To lose not to Brioll's Third Prince, but to one of his lackeys.
Yet it didn't feel that bad.
By now, he understood.
Rolant was several levels above him.
As the sword left his throat, Hasan collapsed to the ground.
After using magic, he couldn't move for a while. Watching Rolant's back recede step by step, he shook his head.
"Annoying Brioll bastards..."
Rolant won.
The outcome flipped in an instant, leaving most unable to grasp what happened.
But those who caught the moment marveled at Hasan's bizarre technique and were doubly impressed by Rolant's calm response.
"He has no shortcomings as the tournament champion."
As Hose murmured, Yuri nodded.
"Exactly."
Rolant had faced his foe gracefully, never once faltering.
Not like a fellow competitor, but as if a champion graciously accepting a challenge.
Hasan staggered offstage, and the referee quickly climbed up to tidy things. He pulled Rolant to center stage, turning him once to bow to the audience.
Using an artifact, he bellowed,
The crowd erupted in cheers.
Rolant wasn't just skilled; his demeanor was impeccable too. Even Empire folk who'd rooted for Hasan held no grudge against his victory.
"Rolang deserves the win."
"He was impressive even as a kid, and he's grown into it."
"Can't we naturalize him into the Empire?"
"Forget it. He's utterly loyal to the Third Prince."
"Brioll has so many talents..."
Amid such chatter, the tournament neared its finale.
As the victor, Rolang ascended the stairs and stood before the Emperor.
Ivar beamed broadly.
Not just Rolang, but everyone in the stands bowed toward the Emperor.
After holding the bow for a while, the referee sprang up and declared,
Applause and cheers exploded.
The laurel crown was placed on Rolang's head.
Ivar turned back, fumbling for something.
What he finally raised was a gleaming golden medal.
Anticipation laced the referee's voice.
Ivar personally hung the medal around Rolang's neck, patted his shoulder, and said something. Rolang bowed his head.
The arena gradually fell silent.
The next step wasn't set in stone.
Rolant could simply bask in victory's glory with the medal around his neck.
But given the Emperor's pre-tournament proclamation, all eyes focused on what he'd do.
Would the Empire's treasure—the Imperial Princess—have her groom decided here?
Gazes naturally shifted from Rolang to the princess.
Ekaterina, seated in formal attire, was dazzlingly radiant.
Her beauty was such that once seen, eyes lingered, momentarily silencing the entire arena.
A scene formed in minds: Rolang kneeling before her, offering the medal.
That's why.
When hurried footsteps echoed, the arena's occupants fumbled, momentarily unsure of the source.
"Huh?"
The audience's eyes followed one person belatedly.
Rolant was descending the stairs.
Everyone stared blankly.
He crossed the arena toward the front row of the stands.
There, he dropped to one knee and proffered the medal to someone.
Rolant's voice rang out.
Silence fell.
Yuri let out a long sigh.
"Ah, I told him not to..."