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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Xrecker
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Time flew by.
After the archery range, we tried a few more attractions and had dragon steak, a local specialty, for lunch. Before we knew it, it was 3 PM.
We headed to the arena in the center of the village to register for the martial arts tournament preliminaries.
The arena, resembling the Colosseum in Rome, was large enough to accommodate all the demons in the village, with plenty of seats to spare.
This tribal exchange felt more like a fall sports festival.
The crowd cheered for their favorite contestants, munching on popcorn.
We went to the registration desk.
“Welcome. Name of the participant?”
“Ozma Zoroaster.”
The attendant’s eyes widened, but Ozma placed a finger to her lips, silencing him.
He coughed and said,
“Ozma Zoroaster, you’re registered in Block D, number 13. Good luck.”
“Hmm.”
Having participated in the tournament every year to challenge Gav, the strongest demon of the current generation, Ozma seemed to have made a name for herself, even among ordinary demons.
Ozma, nodding, scanned the list of participants posted on the wall, then suddenly called out to me,
“Patrasche.”
“Yes?”
“Your name is on the list.”
“…What?”
Confused, I looked at the list.
She pointed, and there it was, my name.
Block B, number 7, Patrasche.
“Maybe it’s someone else with the same name?”
“There’s another Patrasche among the demons?”
I had a suspicion who was behind this.
Gav, whom I had met at the hot springs yesterday.
He must have used his authority as chieftain to add me to the list.
While I was annoyed by this forced participation, it was better to know now than later.
“I’ll go and have my name removed. There’s no point in me participating.”
Ozma looked at me in surprise.
“You’re withdrawing from the tournament?”
“Yes. Is there a problem?”
Ozma shook her head and explained,
“This tournament is a significant event. It’s an opportunity for young demons to demonstrate their strength before all the tribes of Doom Land. Achieving a high rank brings fame and recognition throughout the Demon Lord’s territory. You’ll regret missing this opportunity.”
She had a point. Perhaps I should participate.
“But if I participate, you won’t win, Princess Ozma.”
Ozma looked at me as if I had said something stupid.
“You seem confident in your victory. Don’t worry. We won’t face each other until the finals, according to the brackets.”
I read the explanation next to the brackets.
Sixty-four contestants would be selected from each of the four blocks (A, B, C, D) for the round of 32, followed by the round of 16, quarterfinals, semifinals, and then the finals.
If I made it to the semifinals, I would be facing someone from Block A. As Ozma had said, since she was in Block D, we wouldn’t face each other until the finals.
“Then there’s no problem. I’ll see you in the finals.”
“Yes. That’s the spirit.”
Ozma nodded, her expression serious.
Her gaze was fixed on Block C, and I quickly understood why.
Gav, the Heavenly Demon Dragon, the dark horse of the tournament, was in Block C.
Even if Ozma won all her matches, she would have to face Gav, a strong contender for the championship, in the semifinals.
It was only natural that she was worried.
I looked at her, then chuckled and patted her shoulder.
“Don’t worry too much. You’ve become much stronger after weeks of magic training.”
Ozma asked, a hesitant expression on her face,
“Was I that obvious?”
“You looked like you had seen a ghost. Like you had just encountered a wolf in the street.”
“…I can handle a few wolves.”
Ozma glanced at me, then nodded.
“I can’t show weakness with my master right beside me.”
“Me? Your master? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“But you taught me magic, so you’re my master, aren’t you?”
She had a point.
I had never taken on a disciple before, so I wasn’t sure if my teaching methods were effective.
Camilla, who had been listening to our conversation, tugged on my sleeve.
I turned to her, and she said, her expressionless face burning with competitive spirit,
“May I also call you ‘master,’ Master Kaldrash?”
Seriously, they shouldn’t get so worked up over such things.
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And so, I, under the alias Patrasche, decided to participate in the martial arts tournament to make a name for myself among the younger demons.
I enjoyed a good fight.
Since I was in Block B, my matches were scheduled early.
As I was warming up in the waiting room, I heard my name being called from the arena.
“Number 7 from Block B, Patrasche! Please come to the stage!”
Let’s do this.
I was wearing knuckles, not gauntlets.
Having broken in my new Stormbringer gauntlets during the journey to Dragon Mountain, it was time to test out my other new weapon.
I admired the knuckles’ perfect fit as I walked onto the stage.
I was wearing my usual clothes, minus the robe, and my dog mask.
The referee, after confirming my presence, turned to my opponent from Block A.
A shirtless, muscular man, resembling a Spartan warrior, wearing only red underwear and a red cape, stared at me intently.
His gaze burned with passion. He was an intimidating opponent.
If I hadn’t been wearing a mask, he would have seen my apprehension.
We stood facing each other on the stage.
The referee, standing between us, explained the rules.
“There’s no time limit. The match continues until one of you dies or surrenders.”
A no-holds-barred match.
A pure test of strength, without any restrictive rules.
A truly demonic martial arts tournament.
We bowed to each other and then picked up our weapons.
My opponent wielded a spear longer than his own body, while I wore my knuckles.
In terms of reach, I was at a clear disadvantage.
A hush fell over the audience.
They were anticipating our fight.
I could have put on a bloody, brutal show.
But that wasn’t my style. Showboating in an easy fight would be disrespectful to my opponent.
So, if possible, I would end this quickly and cleanly, without causing unnecessary suffering.
“Suuh…”
Whirrrr
I took a deep breath, activating my mana furnace.
The referee raised his flag.
Flap!
As the flag swung downwards, I extended my hands, crackling with electricity.
“What?!”
My opponent, who had been about to charge like a leopard, was pulled towards me, his face contorted in surprise.
He tried to resist by planting his spear in the ground, but it was futile. He had been caught in my Magnetization spell.
If my hands were the north pole, his body was the south pole.
Unable to escape, he was drawn towards me, his face inches from my fist.
BAM!
A loud crack, like a cannon firing, as my fist connected with his face.
“Gah!”
The straight punch, amplified by the orichalcum knuckles, knocked the muscular macho man out cold in a single blow.
A stunned silence fell over the audience, witnessing the unexpected, one-sided victory.
The referee, looking back and forth between me and my unconscious opponent, raised his flag.
“Match number four, Block B! The mage, Patrasche, wins!”
A three-second knockout.
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