The Ten-Second Terror
The Winkan Festival hosted by Elan featured all kinds of competitions, but the most popular by far was the martial arts tournament.
People went crazy for blood-splattering battles.
They gathered warriors in one place and got drunk on the strength those fighters showed off.
The martial arts events came in many flavors. There was the gladiator arena that only gladiators could enter, and there were brutal adult tournaments where anyone, regardless of rank or profession, risked their lives in savage combat.
The winner of each tournament claimed both fame and a massive cash prize. If they were lucky, they might even get scouted as a noble’s personal guard.
Anyway, the crueler and more stimulating the event, the more popular it became.
The winner has been decided!
Strangely enough, though, the most popular event of all was the so-called “graceful” tournament Quipon Kobe, where killing was strictly forbidden and any injury that threatened a contestant’s life meant immediate disqualification.
It was also the tournament I was competing in.
This match’s victory belongs to the tournament’s only Spirit Master, Miss Jeanie Crowell of Drike Academy!
Wow. At the start, nobody expected this player to dominate so completely.
Most of the contestants were minors, and the fights weren’t particularly brutal, yet this tournament drew the most attention because it was a prestigious, time-honored event where the Emperor himself attended and personally awarded prizes in his name.
Since it gathered the geniuses each nation bragged about, the tendency to fight with national pride on the line definitely played a part in its popularity.
Plus, the winners of Quipon Kobe were practically guaranteed to seize real power in the future. It was tradition.
Winning Quipon Kobe was, to exaggerate only slightly, an achievement that raised a country’s prestige as much as winning a war.
That was why this pathetic, purely skill-based tournament was so popular.
Miss Crowell! Could you share a few words with us?
“Thoughts…”
You’ve advanced to the finals. How do you feel? Your goal must be the championship, right? If you have any secret one-hit-kill techniques, what would they be?
The host, wearing an obnoxiously flashy hat, climbed into the arena and shoved an amplification-magic staff in my face, firing off questions without pause.
Instead of answering, I slowly turned and surveyed the circular colosseum.
It was about the size of a soccer field, but the stands were packed so tightly I could practically hear the seats groaning.
People were standing everywhere just to watch, and scattered among them I spotted the relaxed noble boxes and the Emperor’s personal viewing platform.
Excuse me? Just one word, please?
At the host’s prompting I only scowled harder.
There were way too many people here. I felt like a monkey in a zoo. I had zero interest in being someone’s entertainment.
“Sorry, but I’m a little shy around crowds.”
You don’t look shy…
“I have nothing to say. Can I leave now?”
The only reason I was doing something this out of character was because of Ash.
That idiot had saddled me with a debt and then run off.
Just wait until I catch him.
Wait, wait just a moment. Then please answer a single question. Everyone’s dying to know.
“What is it?”
I snapped back irritably. I just wanted to get back to the waiting room and rest.
The commentator let out an exaggerated laugh and waggled his eyebrows, probably hoping for some showmanship. It only made him look ridiculous.
Your opponent in the final will be Lasshamu Pedri, the promising star of Wintid Academy… What are your thoughts?
“About what?”
You’ve ended every match in under ten seconds so far. Do you have confidence you can finish this one in ten seconds as well?
I had won every match by ending it in ten seconds or less.
It wasn’t so much that I was overwhelmingly strong; it was more accurate to say my internal injuries still hadn’t fully healed, so I couldn’t afford to drag fights out.
Every time I circulated mana, vicious stomach pain and headaches assaulted me. I had no choice but to use fast, precise, and downright vicious techniques.
Instead of fighting my opponents with any sense of honor, I’d been winning by throwing them straight out of the arena in one go. It was a little dirty, sure, but effective.
I summoned Undine, wrapped their heads in water, and hurled them outside the ring.
It was a relief that Quipon Kobe counted being thrown out of bounds as a loss.
“Uwaaah, what is this?!”
“Glub glub.”
Contestants who had never fought a Spirit Master before turned into the easiest prey imaginable.
Mages were the simplest targets; once trapped in water they couldn’t chant spells. The quick physical fighters sometimes managed to dodge the water droplets surrounding them, but all I had to do was wait until they got close, then use the water I’d scattered on the ground to seize their ankles and drag them out.
Water couldn’t be cut, so once caught, they were helpless.
Spirit Masters could manipulate nature far more precisely than mages because we commanded spirits that were nature itself. That was what made these techniques possible.
At some point, ending matches instantly had become my trademark.
“Who is that guy?”
Lasshamu? Weird name.
When I asked, the host looked utterly stunned.
Think about it. How would I know some celebrity from your country?
You don’t know him?
“Nope.”
He is the second son of Sword Master Duke Pedri, who represents Elan. He is also the younger brother of Lord Robenin Pedri! You truly don’t know?
“I know about Sword Master Duke Pedri. He comes up in noble genealogy class. He’s even on the tests.”
And Lasshamu…?
“I already said I don’t know him. I’ve heard of Robenin Pedri, though.”
Robenin Pedri was famous as a genius among geniuses.
He was the kind of celebrity no academy student could possibly miss.
I smiled sweetly and kept going.
“Do I need to know about the younger brother too?”
There was something that rang a bell.
The Pedri family was a prestigious swordsmanship house that had produced the most champions in this tournament’s history. Their influence was so great it nearly rivaled the royal family.
But he is your next opponent. A strong favorite to win the championship… Have you never once considered Lasshamu a rival, Miss Jeanie?
“How can I consider someone I don’t even know?”
It sounds like you’re confident you’ll win again.
“It doesn’t matter who the opponent is. I’ll throw them out in one go just like before, and I’ll be the champion. I’ve answered your question, so can I go down now?”
His face clearly said he thought I was an arrogant brat. I could read it plain as day.
Haha! Thank you for your answers. Then let’s move quickly to the next match. This is the youth division semifinals!
Finally freed, I headed straight for Drike Academy’s waiting room beneath the stands without looking back.
“Good work, Jeanie!”
When I returned to the waiting room, Teacher Irito handed me a green juice that was supposedly excellent for internal injuries. It tasted disgusting, but the effect was real.
“Here, you must be tired. Sit over here.”
“Need anything?”
“Jeanie! Eat this!”
For obvious reasons, the entire delegation—kids and knights alike—had suddenly started treating me way too well. It felt strange.
Whenever I arrived they gave me the seat with the best view of the arena. If I looked warm, they fanned me. They kept trying to cater to my every whim.
I wasn’t used to this kind of kindness. It was burdensome, but for now I was arrogantly enjoying it.
“If you’ll excuse me.”
I claimed the best spot, stuck a straw in the green juice, and drank it down.
It was so nasty I thought I might puke, but if I didn’t drink it I’d definitely puke, so I forced it down anyway.
Stupid internal injuries.
Undine: Master! You’ve worked hard.
Rai: My stomach hurts.
Undine: That’s what happens when a patient with internal injuries uses mana! It hurts because you’re forcing it, yet you keep using mana anyway. How stupid can you be?
Rai: Did you just call me stupid?
Undine: What? I absolutely did not. Do you have proof?
Rai: After I went through all the trouble of coming along, you act all cocky…
The only one I could whine to about the pain was Rai, but right now Teacher Irito had stuffed him inside a small birdcage.
She had suggested leaving him at the lodging, but when I stubbornly insisted on bringing him, she somehow produced that cage.
She seemed worried I might take Rai into the arena with me during a match.
As if I’d bring a snake up there.
Of course I would have if I thought I wouldn’t get caught.
I watched the matches with the birdcage containing Rai tucked under my arm.