Chapter 20

It took a while for Tsubaki to recover after that, after which she begged me to demonstrate sharpening to her again, growing increasingly enamoured and confused by the sheer concentrated bullshit that was Skyrim smithing, her red eye sparkling all the while. It wasn’t like I could explain it either, sharpening was a surprisingly opaque part of my skill set that seems to just work while I have no idea why.

Regardless I stayed up with her trying to explain it for a couple hours, which led to her explaining her dream a bit more seriously. In her own words, Tsubaki believes in using everything at her disposal to accomplish her dream, but it has to be at her disposal. She’d happily watch any more bullshit I do, but she didn’t want to solely rely on that to accomplish her dream, only learn from it.

Which is fair enough.

I did however hint that I might be able to help with that as well. Enchanting and alchemy can both boost smithing skill for reasons that only the developers of Skyrim can comprehend, as well as each other, making them an unholy trinity of power boosting nonsense that I was looking forward to exploiting.

In Tsubaki’s case, I didn’t know if she’d accept the boost to her own skill, but just being able to operate at a higher level temporarily would give her insights into how to improve in general. Knowledge is knowledge after all.

After that we just kinda wound up drinking and celebrating nothing in particular before parting ways in the early hours of the morning. I of course being none the worse for the early hour; hangovers are for people who don’t have cure poison potions and waking up is for people who actually sleep in the first place.

Which led me here, walking into the Guild as it opened with two buckets full of monster crystals in my hands and a great big smile on my face. A certain half-elf spotted me, took in my grin and then immediately groaned.

My smile only got wider.

“I’m here to announce my level up.” I announced cheerfully as I walked up to her counter. The place was empty enough and my voice loud enough that my announcement drew quite a bit of attention, attention which noticed the confused and then strained expression that appeared on Eina’s face.

“...Carne-san, you told me a few days ago you were working on the sixth floor.” She began carefully, clearly making some assumptions. “Are you perhaps mistaken?”

“No, I was just lying to you previously.” I informed her with a winning smile.

She closed her eyes at that and released a long suffering sigh. Admirably enough however, she resolutely held her ground. “I don’t know why you would feel the need to do that, but it’s only been a month since you became an adventurer. Are you sure you’re not perhaps mistaken? Leveling means your familia could become subject to higher taxes.” She tried.

“Well that’s because no one trusts your guild with their secrets, there’s a reason you guys aren’t normally allowed to check falna after all.” I chuckle. She flinched at that, but I unfortunately wasn’t done. “Look, we both know what me leveling this fast means and what’ll likely happen. If I’m not level two then this would be stupid and to be frank, if I could get away with waiting until level four I would. Unfortunately your guild has its rules and I’m here to respect them.”

I could see her composure cracking at that so I decided to push a little further.

“So here, proof.” My two buckets thunked onto her desk, filled to the brim with crystals from the fourteenth floor. It was a mere fraction of the tide that had begun spilling out from Hestia’s broom closet, but it was enough to get my point across.

Eina stared blankly at the buckets, shaking gloved hands carefully lifting one of the casually dumped crystals that was probably worth more than she made in a week.

Green eyes wide with shock barely dragged themselves from the shiny piece of crystal up to meet mine. “You could have bought these…” She tried weakly, her eyes briefly dipping to take in my clearly quite pricey armour and weapons.

Ah, bureaucrats clinging to their narrow worldview, a tale older than time. Who could have seen this coming? Well I did, it’s why I came prepared.

Lifting a hand I ran through the flame spell as quickly as I could and, with my affinity and the addition of mage, that was just a couple seconds. A long time in a fight at my level, but for a regular person that would seem pretty damn fast.

A magic circle lit up my palm filled with familiar symbols and markings as a warm orange flame flickered to life in my grasp. The point of this small show was not the magic itself, but rather the circle; it was proof of the Mage DA and thus proof that I was at least level two. And given where Eina was looking, it seemed like she’d realised it too.

Slowly her unblinking expression morphed into something closer to disbelief and befuddlement.

“...That isn’t possible…” She whispered, and I’ll admit that I enjoyed the moment perhaps a little more than I should.

Eina attempted to lecture me whenever she got the chance. And while I knew she was just doing what she thought best, those lectures were on floors I’d long since been able to sleep walk through and thus a total waste of time. That was partially on me for lying about my level, but it was still annoying and it probably would have been even worse had I not lied.

I highly doubt miss ‘adventurers should not go on adventures’ would have appreciated hearing the shit I’d done to level up in one month.

“But it is.” I closed my hand, guttering out the flame and startling Eina out of her shock. “So how do we do this?” I asked with a grin.

And then she said the words that spell the doom of anyone hoping that dealing with bureaucrats will be quick.

“I-I need to call my supervisor…” She uttered.

Fuck.

-

Two hours.

Two hours is how long I wasted in the belly of the beast, deflecting questions from a fat elf who apparently runs the guild and reading through meaningless paperwork. Apparently being the fastest leveler required quite a bit of confirmation and protocol that still had to be followed even in the face of the absolute proof I brought to the table.

Have I mentioned how much I hate bureaucrats?

Regardless I finally managed to leave after threatening to just cut a hole in the wall and escape that way. The time had been almost dangerously encroaching on sign up for the arena day I was hoping to enter.

But I was free regardless, free to wander from one bureaucratic hell straight into another.

“...Do I really need to sign all these?”

“Of course sir, the arena wouldn’t be able to run if the Ganesha familia was in any way liable for injuries or fatalities suffered in the arena.” The smiling clerk explained to me politely, her eyes almost definitely alight with dark humour.

…Or maybe I was seeing things in my frustration.

Is this my punishment for taking amusement in Eina’s shock?

…If I do become strong enough to kill the big bad dragon then I could just take over the world couldn’t I? I could abolish all paperwork and just watch as the world descended into glorious anarchy, never again to have my time wasted by paper pushers.

I almost laughed at the thought, but I managed to contain the reaction, probably would have come across a bit unhinged.

“Give me the damn feather.” I grumbled at the still pleasantly smiling woman.

The room was pretty dark on account of it being underneath the colosseum itself, light mostly provided by torches and what little leaked through the massive doors into the equally cavernous room of dark stone. A normal person would probably struggle to even read the paperwork on this side of the desk, and given the unlit magic lamp next to the clerk serving me, that was probably intentional.

A neat little weeding process to double check no civilians were signing up with false papers.

“Thank you for your hard work.” The clerk said pleasantly as I finished the bane of both my lives. And for the record, I was definitely not imagining the inflection she was putting into her words.

Coughing politely, she caught my attention again. “Here is your admission plate, keep it on you until the end of the tournament, if it becomes damaged you can request a new one from my colleagues. Please remember the number on it.”

In clear font the number 412 emblazoned the blue slab of wood.

She gestured towards a set of smaller doors. “Through those doors and on the left is the waiting room for even numbered candidates. Wait there until your number is called, once it is, take the staircase up and wait for the referee's signal. Failure to wait will result in disqualification.” She emphasised that last part and I got the feeling that hot headed adventurers just running into fights was a bit of an issue here.

Can’t lie, a long enough wait would have me tempted as well.

“This tournament is for level twos only and runs on the ‘king of the arena’ ruleset.” She went on, though she was just repeating the paperwork at this point and the advertisements. “Should you win your first match, you will be expected to hold your ground in the arena and fight off subsequent challengers. Prizes are given out to those who can last longer than four matches and the longer you last, the greater the reward is.”

I nodded. That explanation was why I was here in the first place; king of the hill or arena here was practically made for me. The entire concept was based around the strongest eventually getting tired and falling out of the fight to give those weaker than them a chance to shine. I, on the other hand, just don’t get tired, making me uniquely capable of pulling off a massive upset here.

All I needed to do was keep beating challengers until word starts to spread.

“Good luck challenger.” The words were a little put on, like she’d said them far too many times, but there was something genuine in her smile.

So I smiled back. “Thanks.”

The corridor was almost dungeon-like for how dark it was. Vaulted ceilings and heavy brown stone lit by the occasional flickering torch combined to create an atmosphere that flirted with oppressiveness. Exactly the kind of atmosphere you’d want if your goal was to rile up the fighters and, upon seeing the waiting room, I realised they’d been successful.

An odd few dozen fighters waited in suffocating silence, watched over by Ganesha masked adventurers, their eyes snapping to me as I entered. I’d become quite a bit more adept at picking up more subtle intents over the last week, but that skill wasn’t even needed here. This room was filled with a challenging, arrogant air that felt like it could only be sated with blood.

Needless to say, I was right at home, my hand dropping to my new sword as my eyes swept over theirs in challenge. Some straightened and glared back, others averted their gaze and backed down, but the intent reverberating through the room didn’t abate one bit. Instead it just seemed to thicken as those of us with a spine made an attempt at glaring each other into submission.

It was more than enough to get my blood pumping a little as I gave them a lazy grin. A feeling that only increased as one of the fighters, a heavy set dude seemingly made of muscles, took my challenge seriously and slowly stood, looming as he began walking towards me.

The moment stretched on as he came to a stop before me, his frame perhaps a foot taller than my own as he looked down upon me, tension building in me like a gleeful spring.

“Flaming Fist Falcon Punch.” He announced gravely.

For as strong as my game face was, there was absolutely no way I could have contained the bark of laughter that burst out of me in response to this seven foot tall motherfucker walking up to me and saying this shit.

It took me a good few seconds of laughing in his face before I realised he was trying to introduce himself with his God given title and not just sprouting random bullshit. But by that point his fist was already rocketing towards my face.

My left hand was moving from the moment I felt his intent spike, the hilt of my mostly drawn sword stopping the blow dead.

Fun fact, Skyrim blocking can be done with a single sword, as this man's soon to be very sore fist will attest. 

“Something funny to you!?” He snarled, face reddening with rage and probably no small amount of pain. 

“Nothing you did my guy, I was just…” I swallowed a half dozen insults and just grinned. “Appreciating the work of the Gods.”

“YOU-!”

“-Enough!” A sudden voice cut in, as a pair of Ganesha familia adventurers approached us at full tilt. “Stand down or be disqualified!”

My sword clicked shut as I hummed to hide my disappointment. “I guess we'll just have to settle this in the arena.”

The man growled, much to the tension of the Ganesha familia members. “You got lucky. Don't expect to be saved again.”

I laughed at that, which almost set him off again. But a repeated warning was enough to send stalking back to his corner, where he proceeded to try and glare a hole into my head. 

“Pre-fight tension is good and all, but try not to start any fights.” The Ganesha boys warned me before leaving as well.

Which left me with nothing to do but wait and goddamn was I not built for standing still, especially not when this much bloodlust is being thrown my way. Fortunately the rules said our numbers would be called randomly so perhaps my late entry wouldn’t bite me in the ass.

If it does, I’m breaking into that fat elf’s house and moving all his shit around… probably Eina’s too.

-

Fortunately for my sanity, that didn’t come true and thus the elves were safe, for now. My number called shortly after my confrontation with the glorious Falcon Punch, and so I found myself making my way up to the surface with much merriment.

The walk kind of reminded me of a game I played as a kid, Oblivion’s arena was a pretty memorable part of the world and obviously one more relevant to me now than ever. It was almost a mirror of the real thing, with that building sense of anticipation as you got closer to the arena floor, and the din of indistinct noise growing louder and clearer until you could at last make it out.

“...No title!?” The announcer's voice reverberated down the tunnel, some kind of magical sound system? ”I'm getting word that… Yes! Our next challenger has only just leveled up today and came straight to this very arena! I AM NOT GANESHA!”

The commentator was definitely trying his best but as I stepped into the light I realised something that probably should have been obvious. These tournaments were held every two weeks. A spectacle to be sure -more than half the stands wouldn’t be filled otherwise- but still a common one. And in line with that, the crowd was fairly low energy as they drank, ate and chatted with friends, one eye on the entertainment.

It was a chill atmosphere, but not really what I needed to make an impression. That could be solved however, I went looking for a king of the hill tournament for a reason. Under these rules I could stay the focus of things for as long as my strength held up, and thus the hype would come naturally.

I just needed to start breaking arena records.

Striding across the hard sandy floor of the arena, I eyed up my first target on that front.

Fairly tall, handsome but with a bit of a smarmy expression and with some scuffs littering his form from the previous fights. He seemed… like he was trying too hard to be casual if I had to sum him up. Though the katana he was leaning on seemed like a bit of a mismatch for that.

They normally inspired more rigid wielders.

Outside of that there wasn’t much notable about him, his armour -if it could even be called that- was a standard Danmachi affair that boiled down to a few disparate pieces that ultimately wouldn’t do anything. No hidden weapons that I could see and no indications of magic.

“Now, shall we find out if our flagging king, the Moonlit Stabbing Blade, will be able to defend his place against this new challenger!?” The announcer roared and the man across from me winced, annoyed eyes cutting across the arena up to where a man in traditional Ganesha attire was standing in front of a crystalline contraption.

A wasted effort really, it’s not like I couldn’t plainly see the tiredness weighing down his form.

“Hey you're new right?” My opponent called out as I got close, close enough that the referee probably couldn’t hear him. “Any chance you wanna throw this round real quick? I'm on my fourth win and I kinda want that prize money yeah. Whadya say, help a guy out? I’ll give you a cut.”

I made a show of considering it as the referee closed in. 

“Sure.” I agreed with a laugh. His face lit up, though the uncertainty in his eyes at my quick agreement certainly didn’t match his smile. “Tell you what; I won't use any of my weapons alright?”

My smile may have turned a little vicious, and that uncertainty doubled. Unfortunately the ref was too close to say more, so the man just settled for eying me cautiously, clearly not knowing what my game was. 

“Fighters, are you ready?” Referee called out, notably not standing close to us as his hand raised. I nodded and my opponent made a show of smiling, though notably he didn’t take a stance.

I took a moment to observe him seriously and immediately I could tell something was off, and not with him, but rather me.

Predicting an opponent was something of a specialty of mine, it was much like reading a person’s intentions in a way, and that was something any good liar knows how to do. Sure the tells were different and pace was off, but both ultimately come down to observation in the end.

First you saw. My opponent was definitely making a show of casually leaning on his blade, the tip planted into the ground, but his feet told a different story. They were wide in stance, tense against the sand and ready to push him off in a surprise charge.

And that was where the ‘something off’ came in.

Trying to see through an enemy’s intentions isn’t something new for me obviously, but the sheer clarity of understanding that I was reading from him was definitely new. I could see every strike he could possibly make from that position and as I read more of his stance, of his eyes and intent, those possibilities narrowed greatly until I was left with only a handful of options ordered by likelihood.

It was me -my knowledge and mind certainly- but the sheer depth of insight took me off guard for a second. And yet the reason was obvious in hindsight.

Of the few human opponents I’d fought since becoming an adventurer, the bulk had used weapons I wasn’t really familiar with, and the few who had used swords had been so far beneath me that I barely spared them a moment of my focus. The closest had been Glasses with his knives, but even that feeling paled in comparison.

It reminded me of an old saying I knew from somewhere, that the world does not end with you and understanding allows you to see that world for what it truly is.

I understood the sword better than anything else I knew, and through that I could understand him.

“Then begin!” The ref called, and I immediately set off, striding towards where my opponent was waiting with poorly hidden concern on his face. That concern only grew as I stepped closer to his little trap.

If I had to guess, he was probably more used to people underestimating him and charging in, or perhaps having to bait them into thinking that he was giving them the ‘first strike’ with words. Whatever the case, my casual walk was setting him increasingly on edge.

Seven paces away, then six, then five.

‘Moonlit Stabbing Blade’ broke first, the tension getting the best of him as he triggered his trap early and exploded into motion. The katana scythed out of the ground in a wide slash, the motion perfectly aligned to rake it across my face as long as I took one more step.

So I just didn't.

The blade whistled past as I paused, its wielder’s eyes widening. Then I stepped into his guard and he panicked, frantically trying to yank his sword back around. I was too close though, and backhanding the hilt before the blade could pick up momentum was almost too easy.

Wide eyes flashed up to meet mine as panic truly started to set in, his guard entirely intruded upon. And for that split second those eyes pleaded with me, right up until my fist slammed into his nose.

“You fucker!” His almost nasally voice shouted out as he staggered back from the blow, then realisation appeared in his pain-narrowed eyes; I was still walking towards him.

Panic returned and he lashed out wildly. I leaned under the blade gracefully, my right hand grabbing the hilt as it passed and throwing it wide, my left clenched into a fist as it plowed into his kidney.

He crumbled back under the weight of my blow before stumbling back even further himself, finally taking the threat of my advance seriously. A hand gripped at his side as he tried to put his sword between us.

“Incredible!” The announcer’s voice cut into the brief lull in our fight. “For a rookie to overcome the Moonlit Stabbing Blade’s trap bare-handed no less! Simply incredible!” He was hamming it up a bit, but it certainly seemed to work as an interested cheer rang through the crowd, the people looking notably more engaged than they did before.

And for a moment I paused, letting the atmosphere of the arena wash over me.

This wasn't bad at all. Hell, in another life I could see myself as an arena fighter, basking in the cheers of the audience, and eventually their adoration.

“You’re open!” My opponent roared.

Unfortunately I was not, in fact, open.

And ducking beneath my opponent’s clearly frustrated stab, I proved that simple fact by stepping around him and casually yoinking his carving knife as I passed. 

It was a thick, fairly long blade, more rugged and used than basically anything I'd touched since coming to this world. But despite that it was fairly well tended to and in my hands, more than enough to finish things.

“Is he? He isss! This Elric Carne intends to use his opponent’s own knife against him! The sheer disrespect!” The announcer yelled, seeming to love the development. “I AM NOT GANESHA!”

As I turned to face my opponent I couldn't help but feel like I’d have to do something nice for this not-Ganesha man. I had a feeling that he was going to be my greatest ally for the next few hours.

Deflecting the man’s next few swipes was basically child’s play at this point. He was not someone who took losing well and every motion he made only gave me more insight into his style. By the end of the exchange I felt like I could predict every single one of not only his initial moves, but also his responses to my counters.

It was honestly fascinating, like looking into the future and seeing nothing but inevitable victory. Every step, every cut predicted. And to be frank, this wasn’t even the most efficient path, this was more just me playing with the feeling than anything. Dragging things out so I could experience it a bit longer.

The steps ended as many of them did, my opponent’s blade spinning through the air and his own dagger resting against his throat.

And for a long moment silence reigned, only to be shattered by cheers, the audience gobbling up the stylish ending.

“Victor! The titleless rookie, Elric Carne!” The announcer cried out, his excitement almost infectious as I felt a grin taking my face, one my opponent was certainly not happy about.

Well that was fine, he’d probably be happier about it when I eventually wound up drawing my sword and blowing someone across the arena. Being held back against for style points is a much easier pill to swallow than a hospital trip after all.