Chapter: 359
When I decided to gather experience in the arena, I imposed one restriction on myself.
Unless it was a dire situation, I wouldn’t use the taunting ability from my Mesugaki skill.
The taunting ability of the Mesugaki skill is so powerful that it could destabilize the balance of the game. It can provoke not only people at my level but even those much stronger than me, and even the Evil Gods.
And the situation when someone is provoked?
This ability obliterates a person’s reason, turning them into something akin to a game NPC. It forces them to move instinctively, thinking they need to teach that arrogant brat in front of them a lesson.
Of course, there’s a limit to it. No matter how powerful of a skill it is, since it’s essentially a status effect, a person can resist depending on their strength.
Just like how the Second Queen maintained her composure even in anger.
In other words, only someone as strong as the Second Queen can think clearly in a situation where their reason has flown out the window.
But seriously, isn’t King Soladin’s taste a bit peculiar?
The First Queen appeared as a threatening foe even in the game. According to Benedict, had the Second Queen not become a queen, she would have likely become a knight commander in her original family—quite the formidable woman.
Strong women. Distorted desires.
…Could it be that King Soladin found it amusing to hear Lucy’s mockery?
Ahem. Anyway, returning to the topic, if I freely use such a powerful skill in the arena, I wouldn’t get accustomed to the rapid calculations of fighting against multiple opponents while clashing weapons—it would just prove once again that I’m a rotten fish in a barrel.
So, unless it’s an urgent matter, I planned to keep my mouth shut and fight.
[Look at that face, turning red. Reason has already flown away.]
‘…Maybe just a bit flustered?’
“I hope you have the strength to back up that arrogance.”
[And you call that a ‘bit’ given the voice full of resentment?]
I couldn’t quite refute the old man’s words. The anger palpable in his grip on the axe was anything but light.
Hah. Now, I decided not to say anything at all—no greetings, just shut up. Otherwise, things wouldn’t end well.
[This looks like it’ll be fun.]
‘Watching my reputation crumble in real-time, huh?’
Look at the audience’s reaction; they’re glaring at me like I’m a girl who deserves to die.
It must be so annoying to see a weakling like me throwing a tantrum at Bawt.
[How do you see yourself? That’s not it.]
‘Then what is it?’
[Why didn’t you just explain earlier? They worship strength around here.]
‘Why’s that?’
[That means if you smash that bald snob, they’ll naturally flip their attitudes. Isn’t that a delightful sight?]
The old man’s mischievous laughter quickly infected me.
He was right. Imagining the faces of those who would be left speechless in embarrassment as they spat out critiques was quite enjoyable.
“Both sides, are you ready?”
“Ready.”
‘Yep.’
“Can’t you see? Is that a face mask you wear?”
“…Then let’s get started.”
As soon as the referee declared the match underway, Bawt charged at me with frightening momentum.
Confident he could overpower me by sheer force.
Watching this straightforward and dumb attack was worth less than the price of admission, and I smiled as I infused my shield with sanctity.
With a crushing strike packed with incredible power, his attack seemed capable of splitting a person like firewood.
Any cowardly person would close their eyes, anticipating the horrifying sight to come.
But not me.
I knew that such an attack wouldn’t even scratch my shield, so I stood my ground.
Clang!
As the shield met the axe, I heard a collective gasp from the audience.
It wasn’t shock at the horror created by the axe, but rather astonishment at the result created by a small kid.
The moment I saw the bewildered expression in Bawt’s eyes beyond the axe that had bounced into the air, I felt a giggle bubbling up, but I forcibly held it back.
If I kept talking, I felt like that bald guy’s eyes would go crazy with rage.
Ah. I accidentally called him a “bald guy” again.
But come on! That shining head under the sunlight stood out way too much.
While my mind whimsically wandered, my body didn’t miss the chance.
As the axe bounced away, my mace crashed down against Bawt’s waist, accompanied by a sickening crunch.
“Ugh!”
Bawt bit his lip in pain but withstood it. However, his body didn’t share the same strong will.
With the ribs shattered, the sudden impact caused him to stagger, creating a new opening.
Not missing a beat, I raised the mace again.
With a blow to his knee to bring him down, I swung the mace toward Bawt, who had fallen to his knees.
Facing that scene, Bawt closed his eyes tight, anticipating a gruesome future, but his expectations were way off.
What would normally have smashed his face halted perfectly in front of him.
“Puhuh.”
Seeing that burly guy, who looked like a bandit, trembling and unable to open his eyes, I couldn’t help but laugh.
I shoved the mace against his forehead, knocking him backward as I turned my gaze to the referee.
Only when our eyes met did the flustered referee regain composure and hurriedly raised his voice.
“Winner! Lucy Alrn!”
Why on earth were the people who had cheered for the winners before so quiet now? Even the audience at a theater would be rowdier than this.
“That’s my girl! Well done, Lucy!”
…
Ahem.
Oh, just one shout from Benedict filled the arena. At this point, other compliments were unnecessary.
*
On the second day of the arena, Count Bardronel’s expression truly soured as he watched the fighters clash weapons below.
It wasn’t due to any accidents.
This round’s arena was proceeding more smoothly than ever before.
Those gathered upon hearing Alrn’s name wished to present themselves honorably in front of their idol, and because of that, smiles adorned the faces of those managing the matches.
It wasn’t because the arena had failed to attract attention, either.
Every seat in the audience was filled, not a single empty spot, with people even crowding onto the stairs, demonstrating how much interest this arena was capturing.
“Is that the daughter of the Alrn family?”
“She’s beautiful!”
“They say she’s incredibly strong? She doesn’t look it.”
“Just watch. You’ll see.”
The only reason Count Bardronel’s expression was gloomy was because of that girl—the girl who stole all the attention simply by showing up. Lucy Alrn.
When Lucy participated in the arena, Count Bardronel never believed she would rise to a high rank.
While many rumors claimed she was tanking with astonishing talent for her age, she was still just a kid who hadn’t even graduated from the academy—Soladin’s brat at that.
How could she possibly survive among the powerful of the Terushah Empire, who made battle their lifelong pursuit?
He hoped she could at least last until his son arrived, but it wouldn’t be too disappointing even if she fell before then, that was Count Bardronel’s thought process.
But his expectations shattered on the first day.
Bawt, who had consistently performed decently in previous matches, fell to Lucy without managing to land a single proper attack.
Those who hadn’t seen the match might have thought it was merely lucky, but Count Bardronel, who witnessed everything, could not believe that.
He had seen Lucy casually deflect Bawt’s powerful attacks with her shield.
He had witnessed the mace flying at breakneck speed.
And he had inadvertently gasped in amazement at the continuous combos.
Count Bardronel acknowledged that Lucy’s reputation was not exaggerated, and perhaps all the commotion surrounding her was a case of her being underrated.
Separating personal feelings, Lucy Alrn’s capabilities were undoubtedly worthy of recognition.
After that, Lucy Alrn continued to win.
While Diar, known for handling multiple spirits, faced scorn for saying, “Winning is all that matters,” he was easily overpowered before Lucy’s shield.
Hanan, who was from a renowned noble family and only lumbering about with a sword while using training as an excuse, managed to launch a meaningful attack but fell short of breaching her shield.
Gab, famous for his power, made the mistake of targeting Lucy’s defenses. Despite his onslaught, he ultimately collapsed against Lucy Alrn’s relentless healing.
As the final match of the first day’s battles concluded, Count Bardronel was certain he had underestimated the bloodline of the Alrn family.
“Oh, Bawt finally meets Lucy,” he noted.
“Indeed.”
Count Bardronel watched as his son stepped into the arena, forcing a smile while feeling agitated inside.
After observing Lucy Alrn for a day, he couldn’t help but believe in the overwhelming talent she possessed as the child of the Alrn family.
Arial powers that were hard to imagine from her petite frame.
Abundant shield mastery that left other participants in despair.
A mace that delivered lethal blows the moment it found an opening.
None of her skills were insignificant. Yet, the most threatening aspect was her composure.
Her arrogant and aggressive tone. The contempt in her gaze that could boil blood just by hearing it. Beneath that laughter, which felt extremely frustrating, Count Bardronel felt convinced that Lucy Alrn’s true prowess lay in her calm demeanor.
No matter whom she faced, she never rushed.
She never leapt heedlessly into battle.
Her ability to architect victory from behind her shield looked more like something out of an experienced knight than a young girl. Hence, Count Bardronel could not confidently envision his son walking away victorious.
Sure, physically, his son was superior.
And with far more combat experience.
Thus, it should have been advantageous for his son, but why could he not picture his son in a winning scenario?
“Damn it! That damn shield!”
“Pfft. You look quite anxious. But what difference does it make? Swinging that sword like a kid playing knight won’t scratch her shield!”
Minutes after the battle had started, Count Bardronel couldn’t bear the humiliation of watching his son falter and lowered his head.
The result was obvious, even without looking. As long as Lucy Alrn had her wits about her, all of his son’s advantages would be rendered meaningless. Bawt would wear himself out trying to hit that shield.
“Give it your all. Maybe your earnestness will lead you to throw the match on purpose, huh?”
“Shut up! My sword’s just getting started!”
“Does that annoy you? Then see if you can stay quiet. Can’t? Then just listen up, like the pathetic one you are.”
As the battle dynamics swung overwhelmingly for Lucy, even Benedict, who initially cheered her on, began to glance nervously at Count Bardronel.
“Uh. B-Bardronel. Our daughter means no ill will, she just gets emotional during battles.”
Each effort to console him only deepened Count Bardronel’s melancholy, but he forced a smile nonetheless.
Benedict Alrn was a person who deserved endless respect.
“It’s fine. Alrn, you don’t need to comfort me.”
“…However.”
“It’s quite alright. Our son is lacking while your daughter is extraordinarily strong; how could I need comfort?”
While Count Bardronel pretended to be calm, the outcome had already been decided. The winner was Lucy Alrn, while the loser lay sprawled on the ground—Bawt, the eldest son of the Bardronel family.
“…In this case, I must wish for your daughter to take the victory.”
This was Count Bardronel’s sincerity. Her strength should be proven to ease the humiliation destined for their family.
“I wish so too, but that might prove difficult. Our daughter is certainly brilliant, but there are many areas where she still falls short.”
“No need to be humble, Alrn.”
“No, no, Bardronel. This is not humility; it’s merely stating the truth.”
Usually, Benedict would be overly animated, but today, he wasn’t.
He surveyed the match-ups with a cool demeanor, one differing from when he glanced at his daughter.
Amongst them, he saw a name he recognized—a name belonging to someone he battled in the past.
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