No

No.

Come at me.

It was a simple statement. But it took everyone a while to understand what it meant.

"...You mean, in that state?"

As everyone stared in disbelief, one orc stepped forward as their representative — the older orc who had been giving orders to the others. His observation was accurate.

Height: around 140 centimeters. Weight: around 30 kilograms. He couldn't pin down the exact figures, but that was roughly Seyul's build.

Severely underheight, underweight. In reality, this body could still produce transcendent strength, but this was inside a game. There was no superhuman power here at all.

Her outfit was just as wretched. A single rag draped over her, barefoot with no shoes — a slave look, plain and simple. Her hands held no weapon, only chains that restricted her movement, and her ankles were bound the same way. It was a state in which no one could possibly imagine her fighting.

"Are you insane?"

The old orc doubted Seyul's sanity.

"What fight can you put up in that state?! No — if you wanted to fight, why did you refuse when the gods offered you their power just now?!"

He jabbed a finger at her, showering her with blame, and everyone watching agreed with him.

The viewers, driven half-mad with frustration, projected themselves onto the old orc who was saying exactly what they wanted to say.

On the visible side, the old orc. On the invisible side, countless viewers. Both were telling her she was wrong — yet Seyul did not waver.

"It's my choice."

Like a tree standing firm, she simply pressed her will through.

"Whether or not I take power from those things is my freedom. My right! You have no business telling me what to do!"

"If you'd just think about this rationally—"

"Shut up. No arguing with words. I said it clearly: come at me. If you're a warrior too, don't pretend you didn't hear!"

"..."

The old orc fell silent. Being told to shut up by someone ignoring plain common sense was simply too absurd.

The viewers found it ridiculous, as if the words were meant for them too.

While everyone grumbled, a dissenting opinion appeared.

One viewer offered it cautiously, but the rest were dismissive.

Monsters all had stronger base specs than humans of the same level. What bridged that gap was the gods' blessing. Receiving power from a god turned you into a demigod, massively boosting your stats — and with those boosted stats, she was supposed to sweep aside the orcs and stroll out of there.

That was the scenario the story had planned for her.

"...So a mere human, denied the gods' power, is digging her own grave."

But Seyul had kicked her own destined path aside.

The orcs, relying on their superior stats, could face her without a shred of worry. Yet the ones gripping their weapons neither laughed nor traded crude taunts. She had thrown her fate away, true — but she was still a human who had nearly been chosen by a god. Since no one knew when another god might descend, they took her seriously.

Six orcs, murder in their eyes, closed in on Seyul.

And every single attack they made missed.

It was a bizarre sight. The orcs were far faster, swinging their weapons with speed and force. Seyul, by contrast, was slow — moving at an ordinary person's average pace. And yet, every time the frail girl moved, the orcs grasped at empty air.

"What are you doing!"

"This is no time for games!"

The other orcs, sick of watching, joined the fight — but the result was the same. Even with a dozen attackers striking at once, they couldn't catch one small girl. She simply slipped free, like a butterfly escaping from a closed hand.

"Ack!"

She even turned the tables — tripping an attacker's leg out from under him — showing leisure enough to counterattack.

Even to the viewers, it was uncanny. The secret lay not in power, but in technique.

My body may be ordinary, but I am a warrior at the very peak.

Even in an average human body, it was Seyul doing the piloting. The heights she'd reached had been achieved with an overwhelming dragon's body, true — but losing that body didn't lower the realm itself. With her elevated mastery, she read her enemies' movements in advance and judged things a beat — no, several beats — faster, striking first. That was the secret of how she dodged the orcs' attacks, whose speed left hers in the dust.

But dodging alone couldn't bring an enemy down.

Reading an enemy's movement and evading was one thing; attacking was another. To attack, you needed a weapon or something equivalent. Hitting an orc with those adorable bare hands and feet would accomplish nothing. So Seyul too couldn't strike at the orcs, and the two sides could only glare at each other.

Just as a strange standoff was settling in—

With an oddly familiar flourish, five puppets appeared, surrounding Seyul. The ones speaking in turn were the gods.

"You said you were leaving!"

The gods, who had acted like they'd never return, were back in under ten minutes. Both the viewers and the orcs were stunned by this shamelessness — a promise they couldn't even keep to themselves.

The gods quietly held out a single sword — and at the same moment, a system message appeared.

The instant the meaning sank in, the chat exploded.

An event unseen even once in four years. The viewers went wild over the completely unexpected new route.

The gods treated her acceptance as a foregone conclusion and urged her to hurry and take it.

"Get lost."

"Hm?"

"I said get lost."

Seyul was resolute.

"What are you imagining? I'm no 'seeker of the sword' or whatever. I just refused because I didn't want to take anything from you people."

"I won't take that sword either, so just go!"

Her beautiful face full of irritation, Seyul glared at the gods. As far as she was concerned, they were nothing but nuisances — ones who'd said they were leaving only to come back and get in the way.

"Don't interrupt me mid-fight."

"I have a weapon right here."

Seyul bent down, picked up something that had been rolling across the ground, and showed it to the gods. The crude spear the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠orcs had dropped.

"This is plenty."

"The spear was always my specialty."

Seyul gazed at the spear in her hand with fond eyes.

This feeling. It's been a while.

She hadn't held one since returning, but in the Another World she had always carried a spear. The first weapon she'd ever used had been a spear too, and the reason was nothing special. She simply liked it. She liked the spear, so she learned the spear, and so she used the spear. Now she held one again for the first time in this new world — in a frail body, without the dragon's mighty power this time.

And precisely because of that, it felt pure. An excitement beyond even the thrill she'd felt ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the first time she'd gripped a spear welled up inside her.

"Here I come."

Unable ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to contain her excitement, Seyul burst forward. She worked her legs — hampered by the chains binding them — with cunning precision, and with quick strides lunged at the nearest orc.

Startled, the orc swung the club it held. With a two-fold difference in speed, its counterattack came late — yet still faster than Seyul.

But Seyul didn't panic. Without so much as a blink, she moved the spear shaft with fluid grace. Deflecting the club with the shaft, she let the attack slide past — and in the same motion, swept the blade up and across the orc's exposed ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠throat.

Carotid severed, the orc toppled in a spray of blood, unable even to scream.

"Come on! Why are you just standing there watching? I'm right here — your enemy!"

Having killed one orc, Seyul taunted the rest. Gritting their teeth, the orcs charged at her, and a melee broke out between one girl and a pack of orcs.

Utterly dumbfounded by the sight, the gods vanished.

The viewers wailed in anguish over the vanished new route.

And so, amid the chorus of lamentation, the battle raged on — until at last, Seyul alone remained standing, the victor.