Having advanced to the finals tournament, I received a detailed briefing on the rules from the management.
Because prize money would be confiscated in the event of a disqualification due to a foul, the tournament was structured so that competitors received their accumulated winnings in a single lump sum after all their matches had concluded.
Normally, withdrawal was permitted at any point, whether inside or outside the ring, and competitors still received the prize money for every victory earned up to that time.
However, the finals tournament was the centerpiece of the entire event. If fighters dropped out one after another, the spectacle would lose all its excitement. As a result, those who qualified for the finals were, in principle, barred from withdrawing in advance.
That said, the prohibition applied strictly to pre-match withdrawals; yielding mid-bout or intentionally stepping out of bounds remained entirely valid options. In practice, an identical escape hatch was readily available.
With some time to spare before my match, I watched the other competitors fight, but those remaining in the finals were thoroughly green.
Only a few caught my interest—namely, the martial artist Zack Power and a swordsman named Bly.
The bout between Zack and Riku, however, defied expectations. As martial artists, the difference between them was night and day—a grown man against a child. I had assumed Riku would surrender immediately, yet despite being battered and bloody from head to toe, he fought on until he lost consciousness. Perhaps he possessed some measure of a warrior's pride after all. Well, he was still young. Whether he grew from this or fell away entirely was up to him.
Regardless, Zack was my scheduled opponent for the second round. I would fight him, convince him to serve as Rose's Royal Guard, and then withdraw mid-match.
At present, I was making my way toward the arena for my first-round bout.
Even now, spiteful whispers buzzed from every corner of the hallway. It was baffling how people never grew tired of passing judgment on others.
Immediately following the preliminary finals, Assistant Instructor Shiga—who had accompanied Riku and the other disciples as their chaperone—formally accused me of cheating. When the officials dismissed the claim, he began spreading rumors out of sheer spite, claiming an incompetent like me had only won the preliminaries through the use of banned items. Thanks to his efforts, the charming tale had spread across the entire city, officially crowning me the villain of the hour.
The management had evidently decided they could no longer turn a blind eye, altering the rules to ban all accessories like rings and bracelets while mandating tournament-issued garments.
I couldn't have cared less about the public outrage, but Rose was on edge over the whole affair, which proved far more troublesome for me.
Upon reaching the venue, I changed into the attire provided by the management, tossing everything I was currently wearing straight into my Item Box.
"Oho. So these garments are stat-reducing items, are they?"
The clothes I was required to wear were enchanted to randomly lower Strength, Endurance, and Agility by anywhere from 5 to 15 points. Alas, against me, they had no practical effect whatsoever.
Still, was it truly wise to appear before the public without any restrictions on my abilities? The gap between the strong and the weak ran extreme in this world. Then again, I had practiced holding back extensively on the journey to Luzahal; as long as I recognized an opponent was fragile, I likely wouldn't end up killing them.
If anything, given that my strength likely ranked near the pinnacle of this world, having it laid bare through appraisal—much like what had happened with Asta—would be far more troublesome.
In any case, the fact that the management had prepared such clothing proved they were desperate to see me lose. I had intended to step down midway through the tournament, but I changed my mind. Come hell or high water, I was going to take the championship. I have always been a contrary soul.
The moment I stepped out into the arena, surrounded by towering stands, a storm of boos erupted with enough force to shake the very air.
In stark contrast, when my opponent—a sharp-eyed man with a wild crown of spiky hair—entered the venue, an unnatural silence fell over the crowd.
Hmm. It seemed this spiky-haired fellow was disliked in his own right. I hadn't seen him fight, but judging by the recovery mage stationed directly beside the martial ring, his combat style was likely crude and vicious.
Hm? The host had changed from that blonde woman to a man dressed in black. The management had certainly been busy preparing their stage.
"And now, for the fifth match of the finals tournament! First into the ring is the Gift Holder of [The Most Incompetent in This World], Kai Heinemann! Not merely the most useless man in the kingdom, but in the entire world! Amidst rampant suspicions of illicit item use, he has somehow clawed his way into the finals!!"
A deafening deluge of jeers crashed down upon my head.
For a host to openly attack a competitor like this—especially when it was bound to spark controversy later—there could only be one explanation. The bad blood between Rose and that Prince Gilbert was pulling the strings behind the scenes.
"Rest assured, ladies and gentlemen! The management is no fool! In light of these recent allegations, official garments have been provided to every competitor! Cheating will no longer be tolerated!"
The crowd roared in approval. The host in black gave a satisfied nod, sweeping his right arm toward the thick-lipped, spiky-haired brute.
"Tasked with putting down this incompetent is a man with a seventy percent opponent destruction rate! A fire-attribute Gift Holder and a thoroughbred crusher—Dick Balm! His power is the undisputed real deal!
Now, just how will he break this despicable incompetent today?!"
At the host's theatrical proclamation, the arena erupted into an even louder frenzy of cheers.
So the master of ceremonies openly encouraged crippling competitors. These people clearly lacked any shred of professional pride. Worse still, the audience reveled in it. Frankly, they were the exact sort of people I despised most.
As I walked to the center of the martial ring, the other man approached.
"Well, well. Never met a guy more hated than me before."
The spiky-haired fighter, Dick Balm, smirked as he closed the distance, sneering his appraisal.
"Is that so? Then consider it a valuable learning experience."
"Ain't you scared of me?"
Dick twitched a thick brow, glaring down at me.
"Of what, exactly?"
"Of me! I'm overwhelmingly stronger than you'll ever be!"
"Hmm. I wonder about that. One never knows until fists are crossed. Still, given your confidence, perhaps you'll offer some modest amusement."
To my senses, Dick's power registered as barely below that of a gnat, though judging humans by raw stats alone often left room for error. A warrior's worth was never determined by numbers alone. With extraordinary technique, one could bring even an overwhelming titan to their knees. That was a truth etched into my very soul back in that dungeon for the weak.
"Big words for a small fry! I'll paint the ring with your blood! Hey, ref! Ring the damn bell!"
The host in black nodded heavily and stepped down from the platform. A formally dressed, bald man who appeared to be the referee took his place. Crossing his arms before his chest, he called out.
"Fight!"
With that shout, he snapped his arms outward.
"Burn to ash, you worthless piece of trash!!"
Flames erupted across Dick's arms and legs as he charged forward with a feral roar.
I effortlessly slipped his straight right punch and evaded his low kick with minimal footwork. When he followed with a flame-wreathed spinning backfist, I avoided it by lightly arching my spine.
Appalling. His technique was even cruder than the fledgling Riku's. Worse, he lacked the basic stamina essential to any serious fighter. It was painfully obvious he had never trained with discipline. This wasn't martial arts. It was a cheap street performance.
It was almost hard to believe, but if the announcer spoke the truth, this puppet had permanently crippled countless warriors with such mindless parlor tricks.
"Damn it! Why can't I hit you?!"
Panting heavily, Dick glared at me with bloodshot eyes.
"Because you are no martial artist."
I stated a truth so plain it barely warranted the breath.
I held no prejudice against arts that incorporated fire Gifts or skills.
However, that only applied when such abilities were tempered into a true discipline. A raw amateur who merely swung his weight around relying on a Gift he was born with would never earn my respect as a warrior.
"Shut your mouth! I am... the grand master of the Engai Janen Style!!"
"Enga-ja...? I know nothing of a school with such a clumsy name. But everything about you proclaims that you are a fraud."
I closed the distance with measured strides.
"Don't screw with me! I'll—"
Using my own footwork, I vanished from his sight, closed the gap instantly, and seized him by the face with my left hand, lifting him effortlessly into the air.
"Wh-what?!"
As he shrieked, I steadily tightened my grip.
"Gyaaah! H-hurts! L-let gooo!!"
Dick flailed frantically, unleashing geysers of flame point-blank against me. Against someone with flame assimilation, however, the heat was entirely meaningless. Ignoring the fire, I increased the pressure in my fingers.
I had taken the full measure of his strength. He was no different from the common thugs who had crossed my path before. Even without the God-Sealing Gloves, as long as I treated him like the fragile creature he was, I wouldn't kill him.
"Do not fret. A grip of this measure will not shatter your skull. I have spent the last several days practicing restraint on fruits and animal bones, so I am quite confident in my control."
I curled the corners of my mouth into a broad smile, looking up at him.
"Eeeek!"
A pathetic squeal escaped his throat, his face draining of color as pure terror took hold.
"Listen well. What I am doing to you right now is not martial arts in the slightest. It is merely a crude display of strength that even an amateur like you could muster. Nothing more than worthless violence. And yet—it is more than enough force to crush someone of your caliber."
I clenched my right fist tight, drawing back my elbow.
"I-I yi—"
"I will grant you one chance. Go back and start over from scratch!"
Spitting those words into his face, I drove my fist into his body.
I tossed Dick's battered, swollen frame onto the floor of the martial ring.
"Referee."
I shifted only my gaze toward the official, who stood frozen with his jaw hanging open.
"W-Winner: Kai Heinemann!!"
Jolting awake, he thrust his right hand toward me, bellowing the declaration to the stands.
My business was finished. There was not the slightest reason to linger in a place like this.
Leaping down from the martial ring, I turned my back on the venue, walking away into a silence so profound it was deafening.