Suhwa and Goliath
Humans have fought since the days when they tied stone shards to sticks and thrust them forward. Dressed in cold armor, swinging weapons. Even now, infusing their will into whispers to conjure the miracle called magic. Humans have always fought.
Sometimes for land, sometimes for gold, and sometimes for blood.
In the history of struggle built on bones piled atop blood, humans instinctively learned one rule of combat.
Fistfights work when it's human against human. But going bare-handed against a beast larger than yourself just turns you into a hearty meal for the predator.
That's why humans picked up tools. Lacking sharp claws, sturdy fangs, tough hides, or massive bulk, humans honed their tools to overcome those harsh disadvantages.
And so, humans ascended to the throne of the lord of all creation.
But what if... what if a being larger than a human started using tools as well? Could humans still cling to their arrogant seat as the pinnacle of life?
Right now, Suhwa was desperately seeking the answer to that question.
A volcano gorilla wielding a staff... is this what that feels like?
The duel began, yet neither side moved. Unlike Suhwa, who held a stance ready to retreat at any moment, the Mobile Patrol Captain simply stood there, lightly gripping his staff.
Unexpected...
He looked like a burly butcher in his pitch-black uniform, but contrary to Suhwa's expectations, the captain's expression was as sunken as clumped rice flour.
The moment Suhwa began pondering whether to revise his plan of humoring a moderate close-quarters brawl—
Whiiish—! A sound echoed through the arena that was hard to believe came from a human swing. The captain, clad head to toe in inky black, seemed to distort as he charged at Suhwa.
Clack! Thud! Suhwa deflected the staff's wide arc downward like water off a duck's back, then kicked off the ground to widen the distance.
A nauseating numbness lingered in his wrist from blocking the strike. At the same moment, both reassessed each other.
Huh? He actually blocked that?
This guy's got some blocking power?
His heart raced involuntarily. The heavy pressure bearing down on his back began sharpening his senses like tempered steel.
This time, Suhwa thrust straight ahead with force.
Crack! The captain blocked it fully without even attempting to dodge, his eyebrow arching upward.
Before he could process the strike, Suhwa slithered in low, targeting the waist like a serpent.
Swoosh— Using his massive frame, the captain nullified the attack and thrust hard from Suhwa's blind spot.
Suhwa ducked chewy as a noble lady's snack, his strike grazing the captain's knee.
The captain had no intention of letting him in, swinging down his hefty foot.
Suhwa crossed both arms over his staff to absorb the impact, then rolled across the ground to create space.
Wooah—!
"Finish him, Captain!"
"Let's make it hotter!"
"I bet on you! Vice Warden!"
Most of the arena favored the Mobile Patrol Captain's overwhelming advantage. But as the outcome grew uncertain, the atmosphere heated up even more.
"They teach rolling like a dog at the Academy, huh, Vice Warden?"
"They teach barking too—wanna hear?"
Wahahaha!
"Vice Warden's got the goods!"
"I bet on the Vice Warden too! Lay that crow flat!"
As the mood flowed differently from what he'd expected, the captain's eyebrow twitched slightly. Beating someone everyone thought he'd crush handily felt unsatisfying if it dragged on like this. But going all-out now would draw the warden's ire.
He didn't know what trick the opponent was using, but if he showed his true power, the vice warden might get hurt.
As the half-moon bear pondered his next flip, a bisected staff came charging.
Whiiish—!
"...!"
Instinctively dodging one and batting away the other on momentum, Suhwa seized a wooden sword from the rack and slipped into the gap.
Five more times... I need to land a direct hit on the captain.
He pressed relentlessly, denying the captain any chance to chain moves, burrowing into gaps. Closing to a range where the long staff was useless—and even Suhwa's own sword hard to swing—inducing ultra-close combat.
"Ngh... Where—?!"
From the stance batting away staff fragments, the captain awkwardly blocked, then swung his upper body wide like swatting a fly.
It was a move that screamed he'd concede a clean hit if needed, but refused to get dragged into Suhwa's rhythm.
"Looking a bit winded there, Warden candidate!"
Wooah—!
As things veered opposite expectations, the crowd ignited. Some who'd bet on the captain looked grim, though.
"That crow boss... those are total balloon muscles?"
"Am I gonna eat a reverse bet in my lifetime? Go Vice Warden—!"
"...I'll admit that much."
"...?"
Discarding the training staff, the captain picked up a riot shield. Lowering his lower body steadily, his unwavering gaze fixed straight ahead—where Suhwa stood.
"I'll concede you didn't just graduate top of the Academy and puff up your neck on that alone."
Slowly, but without gaps. Not attacking with staff or sword 'lines,' but squeezing with the shield's 'plane.'
"But that's as far as it goes."
Suhwa's eyes darted as he casually lowered his wooden sword.
No openings...
"Shield—forward!"
It felt like an enraged rhino charging right at him. Tossing any arrogant notion of deflecting with his sword, Suhwa hurled himself sideways.
"Don't get up if you don't wanna see worse. Or it won't end with a light injury."
Utopia's black rhino snorted.
"Hoo... didn't expect him to grab the shield that fast?"
"Should we stop it or what?"
Jepeto and Ilka sat overlooking the entire arena, cracking peanuts.
"Eh... I'm starting to guess who'll be left standing at the end."
"Fair. Can't imagine the captain losing with that shield up."
"Bet against it."
Ilka paused mid-peanut, shell neatly cracked, face puzzled. Brushing off the look, Jepeto roughly poured liquor into his glass.
That's less magic and more... shamanism. Where the hell did he learn that?
The liquor, embracing the world's gravity without resistance, filled and overflowed the glass. Muttering curses too quiet for Ilka to hear, Jepeto set it down.
His gaze fixed on Suhwa's right hand, where something like heat haze seeped out.
"Knock that cocky punk flat! Mobile Patrol Captain!"
"Do something! I put this month's canteen money on you!"
Wooah—!
Thud! Thud! Thud!
Cheers blending passion and greed harmonized perfectly with the Mobile Patrol team's shield chants. Matching the rhythm, the shield lunged at Suhwa faster.
Having discarded his sword, Suhwa breathed raggedly, bare-handed. He hadn't dodged every shove perfectly—his legs trembled.
In contrast, the captain's shield-ready stance showed no change.
"Lasting this long is impressive enough. Proving your skill in close quarters with me is more than enough—give up now, Vice Warden."
"You think... huff... so? Hah..."
Suhwa straightened his back amid beastly breaths. The captain, interpreting it as acceptance even if standing meant breaking, readjusted his shield.
"It's over."
His calm pronouncement of the end resembled an executioner's.
Yeah, it is.
Suhwa stood motionless, as if conceding defeat.
Thanks to you bulldozing in like an idiot, I've filled the shamanism 'cost.'
The black mass hurtled like a guillotine blade, filling Suhwa's vision—
"—Stop."
Thud!
Like a puppet with cut strings, the captain toppled mid-charge. His freshly reeled-in eyes shook like a just-caught hairtail, brimming with bewilderment.
"What... the hell...?!"
His voice leaked out in shock, consciousness intact but horrified.
Suhwa trudged over, dragging his weary body, picking up the discarded wooden sword from afar.
"You're ridiculously tough, Captain. Gave me a real workout."
"What did you do?! No way—!? You wouldn't use magic in a sacred duel! Gahk...!"
Tsk. About to spill a shaman's secret trade? Can't have that.
Suhwa lightly chopped the nape of the fallen captain, knocking him out. The veteran seemed to have quickly figured out Suhwa's trick from real combat rolls, but the match was decided.
No need to hear the loser's excuses at length.
Suhwa stared intently at the referee, frozen in denial of the scene. Catching the gaze, the referee pried open trembling lips.
"W-Winner! Suhwa Romanov, Vice Warden!"
Woooah—!!!
Relief and betrayal, joy and despair, canteen winnings and premium smokes swapped hands, filling the arena with roars.
In the center, where doubt turned to cheers—
Suhwa forcibly moved his battered, heavy body, raising the wooden sword high.
"Anyone else?"
"What? What'd he say?"
"Vice Warden lost it?"
"Makes sense, he's beat."
Doubt became cheers, then question marks aimed back at Suhwa.
"Anyone else against me becoming warden?!"
Silence sliced like a blade through noise. Only occasional groans from the captain—nape inexplicably tough—as he stirred.
Suhwa eyed the frozen crowd contentedly. No one told them to stop, but they had, statue-still.
Then he approached the captain, rubbing his neck as he rose.
"I lost. No excuses for my defeat. V— no, Warden Suhwa."
"Good work. And I'm still Vice Warden."
They say in Manrmursk, the ground hardens after rain—or snow.
Hot applause poured for Suhwa and the captain, smiling awkwardly at each other, shaking hands.
Jepeto forgot his glass, clapping like a child; beside him, Ilka gaped, dropping peanuts.
Coo!
And Cynthia, petting an unusually large pigeon, flashed a cold smile.