7. Though Attending the Birthday Party Doesn't Appeal to Me (2)
“Next. Room 13's opponent is...”
It was time to decide Room 13's matchup in the inter-room tournament for invitations to Elijah di Bebel's birthday banquet.
As Thomas spoke, I locked eyes with the guys from Room 15. They were the ones who'd badmouthed me during the last hunt. The same bunch who'd gotten smoked by the smoke from my poison mushrooms while chasing the moon deer.
“Room 8.”
Room 8. Room 8. Up front, Dillon repeated it like a mantra.
Hmph. The giant who'd been glaring at me snorted in disappointment and turned away.
That mountain of a guy—what's his problem, anyway?
Richard sidled up before I knew it, eyeing the Room 15 crew.
“Why're they so pissed?”
I explained what had gone down at the last hunting contest, skipping the part about their backbiting. Felt too much like tattling.
“...So basically, they screwed themselves? You didn't start that bonfire just to screw 'em over?”
“Exactly.”
“What a bunch of clowns.”
“But who's the tall one?”
“Tch...” Richard clicked his tongue like a sigh and said, “Gelliet. Passed up to the sixth exam. Came in pretty recently but shot straight to the top. Tenth intake, I think. Got some family training as a kid.”
“I see. Older than an adult, with years of training under his belt—makes sense he's strong...”
“Huh? He's not an adult.”
“Pardon?”
“Like sixteen or something? Older than us, sure, but not a full-grown man yet.”
“......”
That face is sixteen? Middle school?
Time's been rough on him too...
I felt a pang of pity. But then I remembered he was one of the backstabbers. Pity gone.
“Heard he's even started mana training lately, with real results. See? Born into a good family, and you're set.”
He had a point. I hadn't scoped out every trainee here yet, but the top contenders usually had solid backgrounds. Richard was an exception—decent middle-upper rank despite no pedigree and being on the young side. And in the future, he'd earn the moniker “Lion Knight.” Even now, you could see he was something special from the sprout.
Mana training, huh...
Thanks to the moon deer, I'd unlocked my mana, but I had no clue how to use it. Or even practice it.
“Is there some requirement to learn mana training?”
“They start separate classes after the sixth exam, I think?”
The sixth exam. Not keen on passing any exams. Getting too close to Elijah was a no-go.
I'll escape this place someday.
But life after escaping mattered too. In this brutal world, survival meant power. At minimum, enough to protect my own body. Training mana was essential for that.
With mana, you could reinforce your body. Master it, and shape it into swords or armor.
There've gotta be ways to practice mana outside formal training. Don't get greedy.
Thomas announced Room 13's fighters and events. All randomized, with a mix: free-for-all with any weapons, sword-only duels, bare-knuckle brawls, and more.
“Lucky us—Room 8's doable.”
Facing rooms with real heavy-hitters meant early elimination. Our draw was solid.
After morning training, we checked the bracket. Gelliet and the other studs were all on the opposite side. We'd need at least two wins to face them—which meant two rounds against weaker rooms.
Afternoon training was scrapped for the full-on Elijah birthday banquet qualifier. Every trainee gathered. The usual field was too small, so we used the massive indoor arena. Made me realize just how huge this camp was. Who knew?
Though it was “training,” the vibe was electric. Open combat beat lectures and drills any day. Elijah wasn't here today, but it was still a shot to impress her directly. Plenty to get young blood pumping.
Wonder if Elijah's skipping.
She'd shown up every morning lately. Her absence felt oddly off.
...Wait, what? Am I nuts?
Did that mean I missed her? No way. This was just... absurd. A massive event for her, and she's a no-show?
“First inter-room matchup—begin!”
Gawain's booming voice scattered my thoughts. Hundreds packed the stands—murmurs alone made it noisy, but his voice cut through clean.
Mana-enhanced throat too?
Probably. No normal human could project like that.
“Room 15 versus Room 2.”
Room 15 right out the gate. Their first fighter: Gelliet. Built like a tank, posture screaming elite.
“Ooh... versus Room 2.”
“We get to see Boros in action?”
“Gelliet and Boros...”
Boros. New name. Context said he was Gelliet-tier.
Dillon caught my confusion. “Fourth intake, passed seventh exam—top trainee. Had a little run-in with Gelliet before.”
Cheers erupted. “Boros!”
Out stepped Boros, matching Gelliet's bulk but with a fiercer face.
This guy's been chewing time face-first too.
Before the match, Gelliet raised a hand to Gawain. “May I use mana?”
Boros's face twisted. Gawain stroked his chin, then nodded. “Normally no. But I'll add a rule: mana users can. Helps for real combat anyway.”
Boros smirked—grim on that mug. “Why not ask for live steel? I'd happily split your skull with my axe.”
“Apologies. No urge to kill in a mere spar.”
“......”
Boros stiffened; the crowd went wild. Was this really training? Felt like a coliseum outing. Even Richard next to me was hyped. Only Dillon seemed studious like me.
Still, kinda exciting. Love a good fight.
Gelliet: sword and shield. Boros: blunted axe—like a hammer. Gawain dropped the gauntlet; Boros charged. Axe whistled for Gelliet's head.
Bang! Shield crumpled. Shockwave rippled toward the stands like wind.
That's when I felt it. Something weird.
...What was that?
Heart tickling oddly. No—whole body itching? Mild, but uncomfortably strange. Instinct said...
...Mana?
The duel was fierce. Axe snapped the sword; they went bare-handed. Every power clash tickled my heart more.
This is mana.
Sensing others' mana. But wielding my own? Clueless.
It ended razor-close. Gelliet's win. As Gawain declared it amid roaring cheers, Gelliet—panting in the center—locked eyes on me.
Here we go again.
“What's that prick staring at? You?” Richard asked.
“Feels like it.”
“What a dick.”
Richard leaned into my view, flashing Gelliet the bird. “Eyes down.”
Lip-read distance, but he got it. Gelliet just bowed and left. Prideful prick—bent even if stronger.
“Weird dude. That beef worth this much hate?”
“Kinda curious myself. Why so obsessed?”
I stood out, sure. Annoying, maybe. But hate without cause? And I was younger, lower intake, zero passes.
What's his damage? Self-esteem that low?
Whatever. Avoid him, problem solved. Hoped to never cross paths.
But we would. Somehow. My life track record.
*
Days passed. Still stuck at Elijah's mansion. The doc's yellow parasol mushroom safety check dragged on. Had to commute from there.
Elijah and the moon deer warmed up a bit. Hoped it'd bond before results, so I could bail.
No dice yet. Oh well—not bad. Touching its antlers flooded me with mana. Cool rush like summer rain veins. Nice. But using it? Still fuzzy.
Tournament finals day arrived.
“Lord... grant us our daily bread and heavenly flavors...”
Room 13. Richard prayed to the windowsill. Lindel, Argon, and the rest knelt, murmuring wishes.
“Those butter cookies last time...”
“I want chocolate...”
And there I sat on the sill, having scarfed Elijah's cookies and chocolates.
They'd lost it since. Polytheistic world—no heresy executions.
“Grant us heavenly taste again...”
Even I couldn't demand more from Elijah without rudeness.
“Sorry, not my call.”
“Argh! The god has fallen!”
I eyed the crier sternly. “...Fetch the lost lamb who blasphemed.”
“Sacrifice! Sacrifice!”
“The god demands tribute!”
“The tribute flees! Blood and flesh!”
Chaos erupted—till the door slammed open.
“What the hell's this?!”
Dillon, the sane one. “Causing a ruckus over snacks? On finals day?!”
Richard fired back. “Snacks? You mock Dessert God Judah? When you can't even snag a crumb?”
“Yeah! Room leader more useless than Judah!” Lindel and Argon booed, thumbs down.
“But today's the crucial finals!”
True. We'd lucked into finals—good draws plus a bye.
“And opponents: Room 15.”
Room 15. Gelliet's crew. Everyone knew about their gossip now.
“We know, but what can we do? Events and matchups are random.”
“Still, some tension...”
“Dude. Chill. Can't control it.”
Richard was right. All random. No prep possible.
I'd dodged every match so far. Lucky—weak overall, despite beating Lindel.
Finals are big; hope I sit this out too.
...Flag planted?
Ignored the dread, headed to the arena.
*
“Room 13 fighters: Esmo, Dyke, Pelin, Dillon, Judah.”
...Ah.
“Next, Room 15's fighters.”
Shouldn't have flagged.
Regretting as I heard theirs. Then the last name hit.
“...Gelliet.”
I looked up. Met Gelliet's eyes in Room 15's stands.
“That's the ten. Rest, stand down.”
Richard slapped Dillon's and my shoulders. “Go kill 'em.”
Dillon sighed. “Intentional killing's against rules...”
“Shut up and go.”
Dillon grumbled off; I smirked. “I'll win.”
“Lose and see. Argon can write— we'll start a cult on the spot.”
“...Definitely winning.”
Pressure on. Down to the vast arena. Dry sand scent. Hard floor. Stands' cheers pierced like fireworks.
Finals drew Elijah—top seat overlooking all. Our eyes met; she smiled, waved.
I nodded back, faced forward.
Five foes. Room 13 vs. 15. Front: Gelliet, head-and-shoulders taller. Both fifth slots.
Winners stay and fight on. We'd clash eventually.
Could I win? Dunno. Others maybe, but Gelliet? Top of the trainees. Beyond even Richard.
Still, I'll win.
Mind cleared. Body burned with win-or-nothing fire. Focused solely on that.
“First fighters, forward. Rest to benches.”
Gelliet stared leaving; I matched it till benches.
Gawain dropped the gauntlet—stands exploded. Finals begun.