The First Match - 2

The first match, signaling the beginning of the Sixways Exhibition, was held right as it struck midday.

The craftsmen and merchants all finished up the day's work earlier than usual. In the old town, the stage for the first match, street stalls thronged the area for the spectators looking to grab an early lunch before the match, and all the shops that set up there raked in profits that more than offset the tremendous stall tax levied by Aureatia.

Street performers scattered gaudy rainbows of confetti, and the royal winds band delighted the citizenry's ears.

The uproar was more magnificent than any festival held in Aureatia before, but as the time drew closer, little by little…step by step…it quieted down into what was almost a tense stillness.

The first match. Toroa the Awful versus Psianop the Inexhaustible Stagnation.

It was Toroa the Awful. Most people had heard his name in ghost stories from a young age, or someone from a far-off town would claim they saw the aftermath of some butchery, and if it was caused by a gruesome murderer with a

single sword, there was always the suspicion that the sword was actually one of Toroa's enchanted blades.

Did he really exist? Was this the genuine article? Just what did he look like?

The air was still and silent, as if frozen in terror. Curiosity accompanied with terror.

A special event to wholeheartedly draw the eyes and ears of the citizens from the first day of the competition. Aureatia's strategy had been minutely planned out, starting with the decision to place Toroa the Awful in the first match.

…Amid the tense atmosphere, someone spoke up. "It's an ooze…"

It was the entrance to the battlefield on the opposite end of where Toroa the Awful was supposed to appear.

The creature, protected by Aureatian guards as it walked through the crowd, was a transparent protoplasm with no fixed form—unmistakably an ooze.

No one could believe their eyes. This was supposed to be Toroa the Awful's opponent, Psianop the Inexhaustible Stagnation, then?

"…You fought somewhere yesterday?" the ooze, continuing on to the battlefield, asked Qwell walking behind him.

"Eh?! Wh-what?" the Tenth General replied, puzzled. Doing her utmost to avoid contact with the crowd around her, she was casting her eyes, hidden behind her thick bangs, at the ground more than usual.

"Um. How did you know…?"

"Be stranger not to pick up from someone's mannerisms if they had been in a fight the day prior. Combat is an exercise done with one's full body and soul. More marks left behind than just scars and fatigue."

"Y-you got me... That's right. A little scrap with Mizial…last night…"

The reality that she had, for the past three days, disappeared somewhere for the whole night, did not go unnoticed to Psianop. Her opponent, the Twenty- Second General, Mizial, had been part of Toroa's camp. It was fair to see it as proof that there was an exchange of some pre-match sabotage.

For this past small month, Psianop had been attacked twice by soldiers of unknown affiliation. The other participants were likely in the same situations themselves—so long as they weren't on the side of the perpetrators.

"Then did you lay some sort of trap, Qwell?" "…I—I didn't do anything."

"You sure about that?"

"Th-the Sixways Exhibition…isn't going to be decided by one's skill, but

with trickery, so…," Qwell replied in a high-pitched voice.

However, it was different somewhat from her normal tone, filled with passion.

"I can't think up that sort of stuff, but…I—I can put a stop to it. That's why I stood guard the whole time."

"Schemes are another form of strength. There are times when not fighting is the real victory."

"…But! That's not what real strength is!" Psianop stopped and looked back at Qwell.

The long-handled war ax that she had used across countless battles was trembling as she hugged it close in her arms.

"That's why, Psianop, you…! Y-you wouldn't want to use any tricks, even if they gave you the advantage, right? If—if you're really proud of your mighty strength…th-then all that's, tee-hee-hee...nonsense. B-because, it's not genuine…"

"..."

"…I haven't used any tricks. Please believe me."

It wasn't a coincidence that Psianop had met Qwell. He had left his home believing such a person had to be out there.

Someone who brushed aside the brilliant glory of the past, as well as race or outward appearances resembling themselves…who espoused pure strength, was guaranteed to arise during a long-lasting age of strife. Psianop believed in his own strength, trusting that such a person was bound to choose him.

"Makes no difference."

His enemy was a living legend. He was bound to be strong. There wasn't likely to be anyone who would doubt his strength.

To Psianop, set to challenge the true legend of this age, this "hero," this living legend, would serve as his benchmark.

"I'll win. That's the way I see it."

Slightly earlier in the day.

"Awww… I ended up looking super uncool. A huge failure."

The Twenty-Second General Mizial, returning to the mansion that morning,

had both arms and his right toes brutally broken, and after being left unable to use a carriage, he opened up the door and immediately collapsed.

Toroa, hearing the whole picture of his plans to defeat the ooze, was totally appalled, but at the same time, he was impressed that a child like him would think up such a clever trick.

"Sorry, Toroa. It would've been so fun if things went better, too. Definitely can't hope to beat Qwell, either."

"I don't want an apology. I never knew about any of this in the first place." "That's not what I mean."

Since Mizial's broken arms were in a fixed position, he couldn't even get out of bed with his own strength. The fact that the tone of his voice was completely unchanged from the night before came as a result of his innate impudence.

"Toroa, you came here because you wanted to fight Alus the Star Runner, right? You can't afford to waste your time fighting someone like Psianop, then." "…That's true. That's the meaning of my existence. I won't die until I can

get Hillensingen back."

"It really would've been better to have you fight in the first round, but Hidow had to go and get in the way. I'm not really good with that stuff, to be honest...never have been."

"...…Is that what it was?"

He had thought the tournament chart was almost too convenient for him. If he defeated Psianop the Inexhaustible Stagnation, he'd be able to face off against his destined opponent in the second round.

It was all the result of Mizial's pressuring. All for the sake of Toroa the Awful's sole objective. He gave a grim smile. Even given all of that, the idea of trying to easily skip past the first round's fight was an all-too-childish one.

"Psianop…apparently holed up in the Gokashae Sand Sea and spent the whole time on his own, training and disciplining himself."

"…That's not a big deal."

"It is. Since I did the same thing."

How many times had he actually crossed swords with his father? When it came to enchanted sword combat, the answer was zero. If one wielded an enchanted sword, one's enemy would die. Both he and his father didn't want to cut down their only family.

Without any opponents to fight, the days he spent practicing his swings with an enchanted sword all by himself still lingered in his heart.

The tree leaning slightly to the right. The sun rising up, then sinking below,

the Wyte Mountains' ridgeline.

Drenched in sweat, and thinking back over the day's results, he'd travel back home with his father, the setting sun lighting the way.

…Within it all was the loneliness found from the spiritual search for truth.

Whether he was facing a lone ooze or not, Toroa was never going to look down on a martial artist like him.

"Will you be able to see the match?"

"Hmm... I wonder. I'm all banged up like this, and I'd look super lame if someone was carrying me around, too, but…"

"But you want to see me fight." "…Yeah. Guess I'll go watch."

Toroa gripped his sword. All the swords he held were enchanted, killing any enemy they were brandished toward.

Against an opponent that he bore no malice, would he be able to use them to cut him down?

I can do it.

He had already confirmed he could do just that amid the swirling Particle Storm.

I am Toroa the Awful.

The masses were silent as they watched the two fighters facing each other. They both stayed silent, but the scene was impossible to look away from. The crowd gazed at one fighter with dread, and they were perplexed by the other.

A clear, resonant voice broke the silence.

"Both sides shall agree to the accords of the true duel!"

Standing between both combatants was a solemn woman who appeared rigid and sturdy.

She was Aureatia's Twenty-Sixth Minister, tasked with observing the match, Meeka the Whispered.

"If one of the combatants is knocked down and doesn't get up, or if one of the combatants forfeits the match on their own, the match will be decided. All matters beyond these two conditions will be impartially judged by me, Meeka the Whispered, as one of Aureatia's Twenty-Nine Officials. Any objections from

either of you?!" "Perfect."

"No objections."

The pair, facing each other at close range, responded. Toroa the Awful hadn't drawn his sword.

Meeka looked over the two of them with a scowl and withdrew to the top of the recently installed stone staircase.

However, for this true duel…given it was between two fighters like Toroa and Psianop, masters of combat at close quarters, an adjudicator like her wasn't necessary to begin with. For this battle, the final outcome was guaranteed to be clear to all who saw it.

"At the sound of the band's gunshot, you may begin." Everyone took a big gulp and observed the pair.

Someone began counting off in their mind. Two, three, then—

"Half a step slow." "..."

Psianop let out a bizarre murmur.

Toroa the Awful hadn't yet drawn his sword— A gunshot.

Both of them stepped forward, and a cyclonic dust cloud flew up in to the air.

Toroa appeared to have swung his enchanted sword and missed, long before it would reach Psianop. However, Psianop dodged, far beyond the sword's reach. It was if he could see the slash's elongated trajectory. Maintaining the same movement speed, he slipped through and struck.

Hit soundly in the liver, Toroa's large body was sent flying two whole houses' distance away. Flipping himself upright in midair, he landed on the ground, his feet leaving behind lines on the ground.

"…Your movements just now."

Though he knew it would leave him disadvantaged, he couldn't help betraying his amazement. Toroa was certain there were no records of any other minian race using this enchanted sword, nor should the ooze have had any opportunities to hear about its abilities.

"Do you know about this sword?"

"You were a half step slow to get in your stance. Therefore, the sword's range was a half step's worth in front of you."

It was the Divine Blade Ketelk.

An enchanted sword that elongated the trajectory of its invisible slash beyond

the outer edge of its actual blade, disrupting the range of combat at close quarters.

It was impossible to see the whole attack without being aware of its abilities. Psianop had dodged it.

"Jab punch."

The name of the ultrafast move, sent out at a speed that outstripped the magic sword, was spoken as though he was centering his mind for the next attack.

The martial artist was the one to connect first.