End of the Preliminaries
Thud. A burly dwarf with a thick beard collapsed to his knees.
"Grgh! So close!"
His body refused to move any longer.
The dwarf accepted his defeat.
"More than that, you! You're something else!"
"Not at all."
The man standing unscathed across from him adjusted his glasses.
"Just got lucky."
Defeat! You will be teleported outside the arena shortly.
"If I were just ten years younger...! Tch. Let's have a rematch sometime!"
The dwarf vanished in a swirl of white light.
You will be teleported to the winner's lounge shortly.
5
4
"Not exactly looking forward to seeing him again."
Leighton, the Republic's executor, straightened his gloves and attire as he watched the countdown.
"That should be the last one."
Fwoosh.
"Congratulations on advancing to the main tournament, Senior!"
Back in the lounge, his junior executor Lenya threw her arms wide and shouted right in front of him.
"It wasn't that difficult. You've advanced too, haven't you, Lenya?"
Leighton picked up a water bottle from the lounge table.
His final match had dragged on so long he hadn't seen Lenya's last bout, but since she'd been waiting here first, it looked like she'd won handily.
She was as wild and free-spirited as a young filly, but she had the skill to never drop out in the preliminaries anyway.
The duel tournament preliminaries had stretched over an entire day.
A total of 32 players had won all their tournament matches and advanced to the main draw.
The two Republic executors representing their nation, Leighton and Lenya, had also secured their spots with perfect records.
"But I only faced easy opponents! Your last guy was pretty tough, right, Senior?"
"......"
Leighton took a sip of water, recalling the dwarf from his final match.
'Do you know the agony of baldness and erectile dysfunction?!'
That squat body wrapped in aura, charging straight at him.
Magic barely fazed him, and the terrifying sight of him barreling forward head-on had nearly made Leighton rip off his gloves without thinking.
Luckily, the dwarf's axes shattered first, letting him win without using that.
Leighton glanced down at his gloved hand.
'Can't use that.'
He had to save it for the day he dragged that guy down.
Leighton clenched his fist tightly inside the glove.
"I got lucky. If his weapons had been a bit better and hadn't broken, I might have lost."
"Hmmm... really?"
Lenya made a skeptical hum.
"Well, if you say so, Senior."
'But can you really suffer from baldness and erectile dysfunction at the same time?'
If he was in that horrific state... would there even be a reason to keep living?
Leighton wondered if the dwarf had just spouted nonsense to psych him out.
"Oh! The main tournament starts tomorrow. The bracket's out too!"
"Good. At least we have time to rest."
The all-day preliminaries had no breaks—rounds flowed straight into the next, keeping victors on edge, never knowing when they'd be called.
"You don't seem like you need rest, Senior."
Lenya eyed Leighton up and down.
His outfit was pristine despite a full day of battles, like he'd just stepped out of his home.
"Haha. I'm human too. Feels like I could drop any second. Shall we check the bracket and head out to rest?"
"Aaaagh, so frustrating!"
During the break before the main tournament, Albus had gone to a nearby restaurant with Valt for a meal.
"If I'd just won that one, I'd be in the mains too! Dropped my sword right there!"
Valt was venting about his elimination mid-tournament.
"That sucked."
"Right?! Buddy! I could've made mains!"
He seemed utterly heartbroken over losing his final prelim match.
In truth, Valt had fumbled his sword by a hair's breadth.
Or at least, that's how it looked.
'That woman... no joke.'
Lenya Arias, was it?
She'd traded blows evenly with Valt, but checking her level, Albus knew she was holding back despite being a top-tier powerhouse.
"She seemed Republic. That accent."
"Yeah, total Republic vibe. Skill level like mine, hot style too. We even chatted mid-duel."
But not my type, he added silently.
Valt downed his glass in one go.
"Kha! Gotta aim for next time. Still, learned a ton today."
"Yeah?"
Sorry, Valt, but Albus was relieved he hadn't advanced.
Considering the main draw entrants' status windows, Valt would've been smashed to bits.
'Though one of them's me.'
As his avatar "Jean," Albus had crushed countless players to advance.
It was weird as the tournament host snagging a main spot, but whatever.
'Didn't cheat, though.'
In every match, Albus copied his opponent's specs for a mirror fight.
Turning their hard-earned aura or mana into instant skills had clinched victories—but unaware, he figured it was pure skill.
"Had fun too."
Watching was fun; competing inside was a blast.
First time feeling this thrilled since creating Luddera.
"Yeah?"
Valt asked.
"Weren't you just spectating? Still fun?"
"Sure was."
Participated too, but secret.
Thud.
Suddenly, a hand slammed onto their table.
"...Perigit?"
Turning, Perigit stood there pouting.
Plop.
She dragged a chair and sat.
"Albus. You cheered for Valt but not me?"
"......Huh?"
"Too much. I wanted your cheers."
"No, Perigit... I mean...!"
"That's the difference. Albus and I are best friends. Got it?"
Whack.
"Gack!"
"Losers who didn't advance, shut it."
"Cough...! Isn't this unfair to just me? Always so nice to Albus...!"
Perigit looked seriously annoyed.
"No, Perigit. I watched and cheered every one of your matches."
"......Really?"
"Yep. From your first against that other beastkin to the last, smashing that human knight."
Albus had monitored her fights while running the tourney.
Her sand powers sweeping players aside in highlight-reel fashion.
"Albus...! You were cheering for me!"
Convinced, Perigit's face lit up.
"Heehee."
More than usual.
"......Hah. See? Favoritism. Makes me wanna cry."
Valt grabbed his glass and chugged again.
"Two Republic executors... a giant... the Beast King..."
The princess floated a massive mana chalkboard, diligently compiling rivals' info and counters.
Scribble scribble.
She drew lines through all their names.
"I'll beat them all."
Continent-top powerhouses, but with the power from GM, she could win.
Claim total victory, become his apostle.
All but one.
"That robed figure."
The weirdo whose abilities shifted every match.
Impossible to gauge.
First match: absurdly destructive magic against a wave mage.
Then swordplay and fisticuffs against assassins and knights.
Not quite swordsman, mage, or even magic swordsman—utterly bizarre.
Powers changed per fight.
"What even is he? How strong?"
She'd analyzed every entrant, but not this one.
If the mystery robe kept winning, finals matchup.
Beat everyone else... but lose there?
She shook her head vigorously.
No.
Can't happen.
Why else would GM grant her this power?
To make her his apostle.
She couldn't lose.
Couldn't disappoint GM.
"I'll win."
I'll defeat the robed one, claim victory, and offer you the glory.
My lord. To become your apostle.