War Games in Orario were often treated as a kind of spectacle, but for the people actually fighting in them, they had to be hell.
Though discord between Familia members was usually the spark, in truth they took on the character of a confrontation between the gods themselves.
How miserable the lives of the members fighting one another were.
A single mistake could crush their dreams and even destroy the community they had belonged to all that time.
That was why they tried to kill their opponents without hesitation.
No matter how kind one’s nature might be, it was no easy thing to sacrifice one’s own Familia for a complete stranger.
In that respect, Zar, the captain of the Tyr Familia, had donned full battle gear even against a Level 2 who should have been far weaker than him.
"The one-on-one duel between the Loki Familia and the Tyr Familia! Who will grace the opening act of this magnificent tale?!"
The announcer’s magically amplified voice thundered loudly enough to fill the entire arena.
Since this was a War Game between Tyr and Loki, two gods who had been the subject of much talk since their days in Heaven, the amphitheater was packed with spectators.
Unfortunately, among all those onlookers, the only ones convinced of the Loki Familia’s victory were the Loki Familia themselves.
"Our first contender! The captain of the Tyr Familia! The Level 5 [Red Lion]! Zar!"
A heavily armored man entered the amphitheater, clad in armor that looked sturdy at a glance over green cloth, with a helmet pulled down over his head.
Having investigated the Levels and Statuses of his potential opponents before the battle, Zar knew that whoever he faced would not be at his Level.
Even so, there was one reason he had armed himself completely: this Game was a slaughter match where killing one’s opponent was permitted.
Surely Zar himself would not die, but if he was to kill his opponent, he owed them the respect of meeting them fully armed.
Like his god, Zar was a warrior who could rightly be called proud.
At the very least, he was not the sort of degenerate to mock an opponent for daring to stand and fight without fear, even against someone stronger.
"And the card the Loki Familia has chosen to face this first-class adventurer is! The Level 2 [O'Hail]!"
In that instant, snickering erupted throughout the arena.
It was only natural.
Neither the Loki Familia members nor Ian himself particularly cared, but that did not make it any less unpleasant.
[O'Hail]. It meant misfortune, didn’t it?
Ian remembered Loki returning from the gathering of gods and telling them his alias with a sorrowful expression.
Even the gods who claimed to cherish potential apparently could not bring themselves to predict Loki’s victory. The alias itself carried the meaning of pity—or ridicule.
No child of the Lower World would forgive those who treated their own god that way and made her wear such an expression, no matter how rotten her personality or pathetic her conduct might be.
With a grimmer expression than ever, Ian climbed onto the arena floor with his sword in hand.
"That is an unusual way of holding a sword. Don’t you have a scabbard?"
Before the match began, the contestants were given a brief time to exchange a few words.
Nothing especially meaningful would be said, but a few pointless remarks were bound to come out anyway.
Zar asked about Ian’s peculiar grip.
Having lost his scabbard in the Dungeon recently, Ian held his sword near the base of its blade. It looked as though the sword were sheathed, yet carried the pressure of a weapon ready to cut down its opponent at any moment.
"What newly formed Familia has the money to buy a scabbard? Every coin we have goes into buying potions."
"Well, I suppose that is true."
Zar’s question ended, and now it was Ian’s turn to ask one.
Ian was not particularly curious about Zar’s grip, nor did he care what feelings had brought the man into this bloodbath.
"...Are you prepared to die?"
"Ha. Surely not."
"Is that so?"
One look at Zar’s equipment told Ian that he was prepared to kill him.
He was ready to kill his opponent, but not prepared to die himself?
Then I’ll make you ready.
"Let me make a prophecy. During this match, you will certainly be prepared to die."
"Heh. Funny joke. I’ll stake my life on that not happening."
Ian shifted his head slightly in mockery and pointed at Zar with one hand. Zar answered with a snort of derision.
That was the end of their small talk.
There was nothing more to say.
"Then the War Game between the Loki Familia and the Tyr Familia begins... now!"
The announcer’s declaration fell with the cold indifference of a guillotine, yet brimming with a peculiar heat... and two swords flashed in the same instant.
Boom! A sound like cannon fire rang out, and sparks from colliding steel scorched Ian’s face.
At the heat that seemed to herald the beginning of a contest of strength, Ian’s entire body awakened.
Ian was fairly large and tall, so he had never been pushed back in a contest of strength before. At least, not against a human.
"Hup!"
"Ngh...!"
But a first-class adventurer was a monster among monsters, one who had long since surpassed the bounds of humanity.
Ian’s feet began scraping across the ground as he was forced backward.
"Ah! As expected of the [Red Lion]! With the ferocious force of a lion, he drives [O'Hail] back!"
"Crush him!"
"I didn’t even bet on this fight! Hurry up and finish it!"
The announcer and spectators’ noisy shouting rang in Ian’s ears.
Why was it that his hearing seemed especially sharp today?
Perhaps it was an effect of ranking up, Ian thought.
So that’s why my body has felt strange lately! Angling his sword to deflect the attack, Ian slipped behind Zar.
Ian had never been overpowered in a contest of strength, but he had often reached a stalemate when strength met strength. As a result, he was adept at handling such situations.
And based on Ian’s experience, he could infer Zar’s next move: a strike using the sword’s pommel.
"Where do you think you’re going?!"
"Just as I thought."
Ian leapt high into the air and swung his sword broadly, trying to cut down into Zar’s shoulder.
Naturally, Zar’s pauldron stopped the slash, but Ian had landed the first blow nonetheless.
Clicking his tongue in frustration, Ian twisted his body and landed on the ground.
A heavy silence settled over the stands at the acrobatic movement that looked like a feat of circus artistry.
"W-What...? Did the Red Lion just get hit?"
"Is that even possible? His opponent is only Level 2..."
Ah, enough.
In the midst of battle, Ian did not want to hear his opponent’s appraisal of him, even if it was praise.
So Ian shut out the noise.
Right now, he wanted to focus only on the opponent crossing swords with him.
"You are... quite skilled."
"I hear that a lot."
For a moment, Ian thought of the Empire’s Red Knight.
That man’s splendid blond hair had also resembled the golden mane of a male lion.
He had been the enemy of Ian’s benefactor, so Ian had exchanged only the barest words with him and killed him as quickly as possible. But if he had not harmed Porit, Ian surely would have formed some kind of relationship with that Red Knight.
"But there are three whole Levels between us. You have no chance of winning."
"How about you land one hit before saying that?"
Ian spun his sword once, then settled into his stance with a relaxed smile.
Ian bore no particular grudge against Zar, but every one of his gestures carried the meaning of an outrageously rude provocation.
The reason was simple.
Ian was angry right now.
Because the Familia he had chosen was being looked down on.
That was why he wanted to overturn this whole affair in spectacular fashion.
Just as his captain had declared, he wanted to trample the Tyr Familia mercilessly.
"You little brat, you sure talk big!"
"Heh... Well, they say the tongue is mightier than the sword."
It was a vulgar saying, though.
Watching Zar’s sword sweep in wide, Ian drew one foot back slightly before lunging in with a thrust.
Sensing that he would be pierced in an instant, Zar halted his advance and hurriedly took up a defensive posture.
The thrusting blade was blocked and knocked away by armor as sturdy as an iron shield, but it immediately began tracing short arcs, battering against Zar’s armor.
Yet there was no gap in the armor.
No, there was precisely one.
The front of his helmet.
Zar’s helmet had no visor.
However, striking at the face—the place where his defense would be strongest for that very reason—was a gamble akin to throwing away one’s life.
But Ian had plenty of experience fighting enemies in heavy armor, and he had a way to attack Zar’s face that Zar would never anticipate. It would not be fatal, but still.
"Here, catch this!"
With a spirited shout, Ian’s sword took a broad trajectory, pierced through Zar’s defense, and rushed at the open space where his visor should have been.
Even a single stab would have been a fatal wound, so naturally, there was no gap in the defense.
The guard Ian had thought he had surely breached bent like a snake and knocked the thrusting blade aside.
Ian’s sword buried itself in the ground, naturally restricting his movements, and the initiative passed to Zar.
Ordinarily, it would have.
"Got you, idiot!"
"What the—?!"
Ian let go of his sword and spun once through the air.
A swordsman throwing away his sword in the middle of battle—at the very least, it was an insane act far beyond the bounds of Zar’s common sense.
Even a first-class adventurer who had fought countless monsters in the Dungeon and predicted the next exchange whenever blows were traded could not match the ability of a mercenary who had spent over ten years on the battlefield to create unexpected variables.
Ian’s elbow, given the momentum of that full rotation, smashed into Zar’s face.
Blood spurted from Zar as he staggered backward. Ian pulled his sword from the ground, slung his beloved weapon over his shoulder, and sneered.
"Looks like you’re the rookie when it comes to fighting."
"...Fine. I’ll kill you. For real this time."
"Only now?"
A vicious fighting spirit boiled up from Zar’s body, and Ian saw a lion in the opponent standing before him.
A predator with a red mane.
"Hyaah!"
"To the sky...! Huh? He flew?!"
Zar’s greatsword soared skyward as if flying, then crashed down onto the ground.
A sound like thunder striking filled the arena.
If that hits me, there won’t even be bones left to collect.
He’s no longer an opponent I can casually trade blows with.
Sighing inwardly, Ian began focusing on his opponent’s movements rather than moving his sword.
He intended to infer Zar’s next attack from the principles behind his movements, learned through their exchanges so far, and from the experience Ian had accumulated throughout his life, all to find the timing for a counterattack.
Until he minimized the variables and maximized the constants leading to victory.
He would wait until Zar’s movements no longer contained any irregularity.
When the wait ended and Ian’s attack began.
That moment would be when Zar’s breath was cut short.
"...Ah, you should have used this sooner. Then you would have died without being able to infer or analyze anything."
"Even now, you..."
Zar could not finish his sentence.
Ian’s gaze changed, and his sword seemed to move just slightly.
In that instant, countless sword blades unfolded before Zar, gleaming with murderous intent.
For the first time, Ian revealed his specialty to Zar: lightning-fast sword strikes with murderous power.
They were too fast to follow with the eye, filled with too many variables, and thus impossible to predict.
It took Zar barely two seconds to realize that. In that brief time—short enough to call an instant—Zar’s armor, which had seemed absolute and unchanging, was cut apart, and countless wounds began appearing across his body.
Once he settled into a firm defensive stance, the frequency of the wounds decreased, but the more attacks he received, the more Zar felt as though his sword would break.
The speed was excessive, yet the force was murderous.
The paths of the swords looked needlessly ornate, but the attacks that came crashing in like lightning could not be seen at all.
Then a single great slash skimmed past Zar, and countless rapid strikes unfolded along its trajectory.
Was this what it felt like if lightning struck in a straight line? Zar’s side was carved open, and he grimaced as he swung his sword broadly, but Ian’s blade unfolded in three dimensions as though unbound by the limits of space, toying with him.
With sword strikes rushing at him from every direction, it felt as though he were facing a storm itself, and Zar’s five senses began to scream.
What stood before him was death.
The King of Ravens, who would only come after death, had come now to take his breath.
Tyr’s Red Lion had been overwhelmed by Loki’s Raven, and he envisioned death.
Ian’s hair, reflecting the sunlight in scattered rays, glimmered deep blue.
"So this is what it means to be prepared to die."
Who could have known that words he had taken for mere bravado were a true prophecy?
He had certainly said he would offer up his neck if Zar ever became prepared to die.
Unfortunately, Zar had no intention of doing that, but a sense of defeat nonetheless wrapped around him.
Having suddenly become a liar, Zar bit down on his lower lip and let out a shout.
More precisely, a chant.
"Mark of extinction, crimson fighting spirit engraved upon this flesh—by fighting spirit sharper than any blade, I shall fight, O lion! Let the Red Lion know no defeat!"
"Magic?! Damn it, I’m jealous!"
I can only use magic when I die.
Angered by the unfairness of the seal on his magic, imposed by the special Skill granted only to him, Ian was about to shift back into a defensive stance.
"Raaagh!"
"Oh, fuck...!"
Ian hurriedly blocked Zar’s sword as it tore up from the ground, but...
His sword shattered into pieces, and Ian’s body flew faster than a cannonball before slamming into the arena wall.
"Ian!"
For an instant, he thought he heard the voices of his companions.
He had decided not to hear even the voices of his friends. Yet the fact that their worry-filled cries reached him was proof that his concentration had broken.
"...Urgh."
Ian groaned at the sensation that his body had been split in two.
It was truly dizzying that one of his arms had no feeling at all, as though it really had been severed.
As his consciousness began to fade...
Blood mist began to rise.
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