“Welcome, one and all! I’m your host and commentator, Nell Plant! Now! The moment you’ve all been waiting for—the Martial Arts Tournament: Advanced Explorer Division—is finally here!!”
The commentator’s voice, projected through an Amplification Magic Tool, thundered across the colosseum. The spectators erupted in a frenzy, their cheers and shouts blending into a deafening roar.
God, it’s loud...
“They’re really getting into it.”
“They are. It seems this tournament is drawing even more attention than the annual Magic Exhibition, which is usually the crowd favorite,” Sophie added, catching my muttered thought.
I was currently seated in the spectator section reserved for the Silver Rabbit of the Night Sky.
Since the matches were starting with the bracket containing Wil and Oliver, and my own match was in the final block, I’d decided to stick around and watch with the others for a while.
“There’s no guarantee the public will actually get the kind of blood-pumping battles they’re expecting, though,” I noted. “In fact, the tournament held during the first half of the festival might have actually been more exciting.”
“Hmm? Why is that?” Carol asked, tilting her head. “I mean, these are top-tier Explorers, right? Shouldn’t the fights be incredible?”
“I think you’ll understand if you put yourself in their shoes. First, magic is prohibited, which means no Buffs. That alone makes every participant significantly weaker than they are during a regular labyrinth dive.”
“T-True...”
“Second, Explorers specialize in hunting Magic Beasts. While there are humanoid beasts, we rarely have the chance to fight other people. Under tournament regulations, who do you think has the edge: an Explorer trained for monsters, or a soldier trained for interpersonal combat?”
“That would be... the soldiers.”
“Exactly. That’s why a soldier won the earlier tournament.”
“But everyone in this division is a Senior Explorer,” Sophie interjected. “Since no one here specializes in interpersonal combat, as you put it, Master, doesn’t that keep the playing field level?”
“Technically, yes. But that just means there isn’t much to make this more exciting than the first tournament. If they’d allowed Buffs from an Enchanter in the same party, we might have seen the kind of high-level displays the crowd is looking for.”
Personally, I was grateful my opponents would be effectively weakened, but I kept that to myself.
“Orun-kun, I appreciate the analysis, but this is a festival. You should try to just enjoy the show, okay?” Rain-san, sitting in front of me, gave me a playful look of warning.
“...You’re right. It’s as you say, Rain-san. I suppose I was overthinking it because I’m not fond of being made into a spectacle. Sorry for being a killjoy.”
“No, I shouldn’t have put it that way. You and Wil are carrying the reputation of the clan on your shoulders; it’s only natural that you can’t just turn your brain off. I’m the one who should be sorry.”
“And now, we would like to hear a few words from the host of this tournament, the Lord of Tsutrail—Marquis Forgas! Marquis, the floor is yours!”
The previously rowdy stands fell silent as the host took the stage.
“The Martial Arts Tournament grows more spirited every year, but I am certain you have all wondered the same thing: just how powerful are the Senior Explorers who serve as the backbone of our nation’s economy? I am no different. Whenever I read of their exploits in the papers, I often found myself dreaming of how they truly fight. And today, finally, we shall see! My thanks to the sixteen Explorers who have stepped forward. A reward awaits the champion. I expect you all to fight with everything you have. That is all.”
The Marquis’s speech sent the crowd into a fresh fever pitch.
“Thank you, Marquis Forgas! Now, without further ado, let’s begin! The first match of the first round features the leader and ace of the Hero Party: the ‘Hero,’ Oliver Cardiff! His opponent is Bertram South, a member of the A-Rank party, Crimson Blaze!”
The two men stepped into the arena as their names were called. The cheering reached a crescendo.
If they were this worked up for the opening match, I wondered if everyone would be half-dead by the time my fight started. Not that I minded—I preferred a quiet environment for concentrating anyway.
“The A-Rank guy uses a spear! If he shows any good footwork, I’ve got to steal it!” Log exclaimed.
Among the Explorers active in the Great Labyrinth of the South, Bertram was likely one of the premier spearmen. He was a regular in the newspapers, and if I recall, his party had reached the 83rd Floor.
Normally, I would have agreed with Log and told him to learn everything he could. But I didn’t think there would be anything to learn from this particular match.
“Both combatants are ready! First round, first match—begin!”
The gong echoed through the arena, signalling the start of the fight.
Oliver charged straight ahead the moment the sound faded.
Bertram naturally attempted to strike from outside Oliver's range, but just before the spear could connect, Oliver’s speed surged. From the spectator seats, we had a bird’s-eye view, but to Bertram, it must have looked like Oliver simply vanished.
Oliver circled to the flank and swung his longsword in a wide horizontal arc. Bertram reacted with impressive reflexes, catching the blade on the shaft of his spear. However, blocking a heavy strike from such an unstable posture was impossible; his stance buckled immediately.
“A devastating strike from Oliver! Bertram desperately tries to break away—but he can’t find an opening! He’s completely on the defensive! This is looking bad; what can Bertram do?!”
Bertram tried to put distance between them, but it was futile. Oliver was reading his every movement before he even made it. After weathering several more heavy blows, Bertram’s spear was finally sent flying. In the next heartbeat, the tip of Oliver’s sword was at his throat.
“And there it is! Bertram surrenders! The ‘Hero’ is a force of nature! He claimed victory without letting his opponent land a single blow!!”
—He’s incredibly strong!
—Wait, who said Oliver was a fraud?!
—Is it just me, or is he even better than the guy who won yesterday?
—Ugh, I should have put my money on Oliver!
Snippets of the crowd’s reactions drifted up to the stands.
Recently, the nobles—including the Silver Rabbit of the Night Sky’s sponsors—had been using the newspapers to systematically tear down the Hero Party’s reputation. For the commoners who had taken those reports at face value, this fight must have been a revelation.
“That spearman... even when I’m fighting you, Master...” Log started to say, but he caught himself, realizing it might be tactless to finish the thought.
“You’re right. If it were you against Oliver, you probably would have lasted longer than Bertram did,” I told him.
“Really?” Log’s eyes lit up.
“Yeah. You’re used to people closing the distance on you because of our mock battles. But don’t get cocky. It’s only your close-quarters response that’s better; Bertram’s overall spear technique is far beyond yours. Not that there was much for you to use as a reference in a one-sided match like that.”
“I know. I’ve realized the hard way that there are plenty of people stronger than me out there.”
The matches continued, following the trajectory I had expected. Wil also made it through his first round without much difficulty.
“Alright, I’m going to head to the waiting room.”
With the matches in the other bracket finished, I stood up and addressed the group.
“Good luck, Orun-san!”
“Master, you’d better win!”
“Master, show everyone here that you’re the best!”
With their cheers ringing in my ears, I left the stands.
I was guided by a staff member to a waiting room where the other participants were already gathered. Since there were only two rooms, it was crowded. The door at the back led straight to the arena floor.
“Hm? Well, if it isn’t the trash explorer. Entering this just to show everyone how pathetic you are? I’d be too embarrassed to even show my face! I can’t believe you actually had the guts to sign up.”
Great, I’m in the same room as this headache. My mood just hit rock bottom.
“It’s been a while, Derrick. Isn’t that a bit uncalled for as a greeting?”
“Hah? I’m just being honest.”
Think about the people around you for once.
Actually... was he always this bad? He’d always been a man driven by emotion, but he wasn’t usually the type to start a loud, senseless scene in a place like this.
I’d felt a similar sense of cognitive dissonance recently—right, with Pascal-san. The common thread between Pascal-san and Derrick was that the discrepancy between the person I remembered and the person standing before me was far too wide.
And they were both connected to the Hero Party.
Between this and Marquis Forgas suddenly cutting ties with the Flockhart Trading Company, I had to wonder: what exactly was going on with the Hero Party?
“Hey! Don’t you ignore me! You’ve got no manners!”
While I was lost in thought, Derrick continued his verbal assault.
“Ah, sorry. You were asking why I entered the tournament? Marquis Forgas asked me to.”
“The old man did? So you’re just here to fill a slot as a sacrificial pawn.”
“Maybe. I wouldn’t know.”
I was tired of dealing with him, so I cut the conversation short and sat down in a corner away from him.
To kill time until my match, I pulled out the book I’d been given as a birthday present from my Storage Magic Tool and began to read. It was a text on magical theory published in the Principality of Hitia, a major magical power. While I knew most of the concepts, there were a few new perspectives. Digging into new knowledge was always when I felt most excited.
I see. If I apply this theory, then...
“Hey! What are you reading?! Reading doesn’t suit a piece of garbage like you!”
Derrick was back to pestering me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him reach out to snatch the book away. I instantly manifested a Reflective Wall between the book and his hand.
Derrick’s hand was violently repelled.
“What—?! What do you think you’re doing?!”
“That’s my line. This book is a precious gift from my disciples. Don’t touch it with your filthy hands.”
Can’t he just sit still and wait like everyone else?
“Disciples? You? You actually have disciples? Hahaha! Anyone who’d study under a failure like you must be a complete joke! They clearly have no eye for talent and must be worthless nobodies!”
...Why did those kids have to be insulted like that?
“—Shut up.”
“Huh? You say something, trash?”
“I told you to shut your noisy mouth. Insult them one more time, and I’ll make sure you never speak another word.”
I spoke with enough bloodlust to freeze the air. Usually, that was enough to make him back down.
Or so I thought.
“Hah! I’ll say it as many times as I want! Your disciples are garbage who made the wrong choice—!”
I drove my fist into Derrick’s face while he was mid-sentence, catching him completely off guard. At the moment of impact, I activated a low-output Impact.
Derrick was sent sprawling across the floor. He lay there with a dazed, moronic expression, unable to process what had just happened.
I walked over and checked his condition. He was still conscious, so he’d be fine. His nose was bleeding, but it didn’t look broken.
I cast Heal on him as I spoke.
“I don’t care if you insult me. Laughing at their current lack of skill is... well, I’ll overlook it for now. Because as of this moment, you are stronger than they are. But I will not allow you to dismiss them. If you understand, stay away from me. You’re making me sick.”
I felt much better after saying that.
I didn't care if it caused a stir. The other participants in the room looked like they wanted to applaud, so I figured it would likely end with Derrick just throwing a tantrum.
After finishing the treatment, I left the waiting room. Staying there would only bother the others.
...Though I suppose I’d already done plenty of that.