All the matches of the Quadrennial Contest Round of 16 were over.
Aside from the first-round fight between Cloud and Chastity, there had been no major upsets.
The tournament favorites, as well as other well-known fighters, had all advanced to the quarterfinals.
And for the gamblers, the real game was just beginning.
The main tournament matches were all held on a single day. The only time to recover stamina or heal injuries from a previous match was during the short break that followed. Even then, healing was each individual's own responsibility.
The tournament organizers provided nothing for the participants but a room to rest in.
"Tania was hurt more than I thought in her last match. She might struggle in the next one."
"So what? Her next opponent is Grexus. That guy couldn't beat a one-armed Tania."
During the break before the quarterfinals began, gamblers gathered at the betting stalls, exchanging information.
Who was stronger than whom.
Who had learned a new technique.
Who was seriously injured.
Using this information, they ran simulations in their heads, predicting the outcomes of the next matches.
Among those gamblers was Annie. She was pretending to go to the restroom, walking back and forth to eavesdrop on their conversations.
Tania. Palik. Cloud. Donite.
Those were the four she thought would make it to the semifinals. She grinned and placed scattered bets with the more than 200,000 gold she had won in the first round.
The merchant lord tried to stop her, but an old man's lecture was no match for Annie, who had already gotten a taste of easy money.
Maybe all my predictions will be right. I might actually have a talent for gambling...
She was filled with baseless confidence.
The third match of the quarterfinals had just concluded.
In the first match, Grexus had won, defying everyone's expectations. The injuries Tania had sustained in her previous fight had been more severe than anyone realized.
In the second match, Taru was victorious.
Faced with his sharp spearmanship, Palik couldn't even get close and ultimately surrendered.
In the third match, Cloud won.
Just as the gamblers who had watched the Round of 16 predicted, he had been hiding his true strength. It seemed he couldn't keep it hidden in the quarterfinals, as he finally revealed his real skills and defeated his opponent.
All that remained was the fourth match of the quarterfinals.
The barbarian Gallid and the Blue Rose, Donite, stood facing each other.
Gallid... he's as barbaric as his nickname suggests.
Disheveled hair and a face caked in grime.
The only thing he wore was a scrap of cloth covering his loins.
He was a true barbarian, with no trace of civilization's comforts.
That was what Donite thought as he looked at Gallid.
I'm different from a man like that.
Unlike that savage, he had noble blood flowing through his veins, even if it was only half. The pommel of his sword was proof of that.
Mother told me to go find them right away, but...
Donite had other ideas.
It was his father's family, a family that had never once sought him out his entire life. If he just showed up with nothing but the pommel his father had left behind, he wouldn't be treated well.
He'd more likely be assassinated for being a disgrace to the family name.
That was why he hadn't sought out his paternal family immediately after his mother's death. Instead, he had trained with the sword and traveled the continent, focusing on making a name for himself.
If he one day became a hero whose name was known throughout the continent, even his father's family wouldn't be able to deny him.
They would probably welcome him with open arms.
Gallid. You are nothing but a stepping stone for that purpose.
Thrum—! Thrum—!
The match began.
Donite rushed toward Gallid and struck out with his sword. Gallid, in turn, swung his fist at Donite.
The two began to exchange blows.
That bastard's fists have no technique.
Mere strength can be overwhelmed by technique. Just as Donite thought, Gallid couldn't keep up with his swordsmanship.
He was too busy defending against Donite's dazzling swordplay to avoid a fatal blow.
But that didn't last long.
As he dodged a strike aimed at his side, his neck was left exposed.
"It's over, barbarian."
Pivoting on his left foot, Donite spun and thrust his sword forward.
The final blow to silence the barbarian's breath.
Squeeze.
The barbarian's thick palm caught the strike.
Donite's eyes widened.
"How..."
CRACK!
Gallid's fist slammed squarely into Donite's face. The Blue Rose's body snapped back, but he didn't fall.
Because he hadn't let go of his sword.
This sword was his mother's keepsake, his very life.
Nothing could separate him from his sword.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRUNCH!
Nothing except death.
With the sound of breaking bones, the Blue Rose's body flew into the air for a moment.
The corpse, after a brief moment enjoying the blue sunlight, slammed into the ground and rolled over a dozen times. Gallid walked over to Donite's body and stomped on his neck, confirming the kill.
"Foolish bastard. If you'd let go of the sword, you might have lived."
Ptui.
Spitting on the Blue Rose's ruined face, Gallid calmly walked out of the arena amidst a mixture of boos and cheers from the crowd.
And watching him, one girl was screaming the loudest, most vehement jeers of all...
"You son of a bitch!!! Why the fuck did you have to win?!"
It was Annie.
In the quarterfinal betting, she had gotten every single match wrong, except for Cloud's. Thanks to that, her assets, which had exceeded 200,000 gold, had plummeted to 50,000. And that was only because Cloud had won.
I-It's fine... I just need to win my money back in the next round. I can do it.
Annie had become a professional gambler.
But the girl would not recoup her losses in the semifinals. The only match she called correctly was the one between Cloud and Gallid, and the odds for both were low.
In fact, having bet more heavily on the other matches, she ended up losing even more.
Now, all she had left was 10,000 gold.
The only match remaining in the Quadrennial Contest was the final.
Annie looked at the odds for Gallid and Cloud.
Gallid: 33
Cloud: 1
No matter how you looked at it, the odds suggested Cloud had no chance of winning. Based on the performances she'd seen so far, he didn't stand a chance.
This was an impossible bet.
She should quit now and go home with her 10,000 gold. That was the only way to return to her normal life.
So...
"Little miss? Are you gonna bet or not? If not, hurry up and move. The match is about to start."
"W-Wait! Cloud. 10,000 gold on Cloud!"
With a trembling hand, she handed over the 10,000 gold.
She was a girl who had briefly tasted a happy future with 200,000 gold. A mere 10,000 gold and a life of inn work no longer held any appeal for her.
"Wow... she's just throwing away 10,000 gold."
"High odds are one thing, but there's a limit..."
"You can tell just by looking. She's got nowhere left to retreat. Pathetic."
Watching her hand over the money, the gamblers around her either smirked or shot her looks of pity.
The merchant lord sighed and shook his head.
I was acting.
I was imitating those common tricksters the old merchant lord had mentioned—the ones who hide their skills until they have no choice but to reveal them.
And this was the result.
'33 to 1.'
It wasn't a complete jackpot, but I could call this a success, couldn't I?
If I put in the 100,000 gold I'd earned from betting so far, it would become around 3.3 million gold. It'd be less after the commission, but still.
In any case, for the mid-game, it was an undeniable fortune.
Clank. Rattle.
The sound of the pulley-operated iron gate opening, a sound I'd heard several times today alone.
As I walked toward the arena, I felt a heat on a completely different level than before. Even though the tournament was nearing its end, the crowd showed no signs of fatigue.
They chanted as one.
"Gallid! Gallid! Gallid! Gallid!"
The name of the barbarian standing twenty meters in front of me.
Are barbarians the same in every world?
Seeing the barbarian clad only in a loincloth, I let out a small laugh. The face of a dear friend had suddenly come to mind.
A guy who, true to his barbarian nature, was crazy about fighting, booze, and meat.
A thieving bastard who would secretly steal his comrades' liquor at night.
A valiant warrior who declared armor a disgrace to a warrior and went to battle wearing only a scrap of cloth.
A pathetic bastard who, after getting a taste of the 7th Legion Commander's spear, sneakily started wearing mithril armor.
A true man who, while everyone else was retreating, would charge at the enemy, declaring that warriors know no retreat.
A useless piece of baggage who always had to be knocked out and carried on someone's back during a retreat. The son of a bitch would then wake up and spout bullshit about how he was knocked out in battle, so it didn't count as retreating.
And a friend who never stood behind us in any fight.
A comrade I could never forget, who valued a warrior's honor above all else, but in the end, cast that honor aside for his friends.
A great warrior who laughed heartily even in the moment of his death, and the vanguard commander recognized by me and all our comrades.
The Barbarian King, Asgarth.
My dear, eternal friend.
...Should I give it a try for old times' sake?
I once asked Asgarth how I could fight as fearlessly as a barbarian.
For once, he had answered with uncharacteristic seriousness.
"First, take off your clothes. Feel nature with your bare skin."
I took off my armor and my shirt. I could feel the heat of the sun and the coolness of the wind. I couldn't bring myself to take off my pants, though.
I'm not a true barbarian, after all. Even he acknowledged that much.
"Cut or push back those girly bangs of yours. And smear blood on your face. It doesn't matter if it's the enemy's blood or your own."
I sliced both my palms with a dagger.
Washing my face with the flowing blood, I pushed my bangs up.
The sharp scent of blood filling my nostrils tensed my body. My relaxed muscles bunched up, growing hard.
"Breathe raggedly. Make your head spin with just your breath. So much so that you can't think of anything but the fight."
I breathed through my mouth, not my nose.
As I shortened the intervals between breaths, my head grew dizzy, and it became difficult to think. I could only focus on what was right in front of me.
"This is the last and most important part. Shout the name of the Warrior God to the heavens. He will recognize your valor and grant you strength."
I squeezed the air from my lungs and roared.
"KARNOK----!!!!!!"
In my narrowed vision, I see only the enemy.
The only words echoing in my mind are 'battle' and 'victory'.
My wildly beating heart speaks to me.
Telling me to charge out right now and smash that bastard's head in.
In this moment.
I am a barbarian.
Bring it on, you fuckers.
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