Chapter 127. It Is Called Failure! (1)

Arcana 4th Round.

There were seven people left, so one had to advance with a bye.

After a meeting, the tournament organizers decided that Garcia, the strongest contender for the championship, would advance with a bye.

“Does this mean the Sword Saint's grandson gets a bye twice?”

“It seems so.”

“Man, it's good to have a powerful backer.”

“What are you talking about? He's the strongest contender anyway, so they're just sending him through.”

“Still, getting a bye twice is a bit much, isn't it?”

“If he wins like this, there will be a lot of talk afterwards.”

Although a debate broke out among the spectators watching the tournament, the contestants themselves didn't seem to care much.

The seven people left here were all strong individuals confident in their own skills.

And so, the first match of the 4th round began.

The first to enter was Antorius, the sole remaining representative from the Holy Theocracy.

His opponent was an Elven warrior clad in black from head to toe.

The winner of this matchup was all too obvious.

The Elves' fighting style, which relied on swift movements and knife throwing, was too weak against a Paladin with solid defenses.

Moreover, against someone like Antorius....

“Oh, Yupinel!”

With his powerful shout, a golden radiance burst forth as if it would explode.

The Elf couldn't even get close due to the pressure of that power and fought back by throwing knives from a distance, but....

“Well now?”

“It's no good.”

“The matchup is too bad.”

The knives thrown by the Elf were pushed back by the pressure of the divine power and couldn't even reach Antorius.

Antorius, who was just firmly emitting divine power and not even in a fighting stance.

He spoke without even drawing his sword.

“As long as the goddess' protection exists, your attacks will not reach me.”

“……”

“Resident of the forest. Must we continue this contest any further?”

At the question of whether he would continue the obvious match, the Elven warrior glanced at his side and then readily raised his hand and said.

“I forfeit.”

“Antorius Denar wins!”

The referee immediately declared Antorius' victory.

Antorius gave a slight nod to his opponent, then retracted his divine power and stepped down from the arena.

“Wow... As expected of the Holy Theocracy....”

“He didn't even draw his sword.”

“How can he emit such divine power at that age?”

The audience admired Antorius' overwhelming power.

And Patrick looked at the Elven warrior with a slightly disappointed expression and said.

“A pity. I wanted to see a real fight.”

“Tell me about it. They say he's the youngest Paladin candidate, but he rarely shows his skills.”

At Alex's words, Patrick smirked and said.

“I'm talking about the other side, not that brat.”

“The Elf?”

“Yeah. He's hiding his skills so tightly, it makes me a little curious.”

“You're saying he didn't go all out?”

“Of course not. He didn't use a bow and he didn't use spirits, did he?”

Bow and spirits.

Two clues that symbolized the power of the Elves.

They were the first specialties that came to mind when thinking of Elves, to the point that even Patrick, a noble from a remote countryside, knew about them.

But a bow was not a suitable weapon to use in the Arcana, and as for spirits....

“Why didn't he use them?”

There was no reason not to use spirit arts.

But all the Elves who participated in the Arcana did not use spirit arts.

At that, Alex nodded at Patrick and said.

“Maybe the Arcana doesn't mean much to those Elves.”

“Then why did they come?”

“I don't know that either.”

At that, Patrick said with a sullen expression.

“What do you even know, senior?”

“You don't know either....”

“I may not know, but you should, senior. You're a senior, aren't you?”

“You cheap bastard.”

He's only a senior when it's convenient for him.

Just as he was about to give the slumped Alex an additional scolding, the next contestant came up.

“Owen Batista, forward!”

The first to appear was a representative from the Venator Empire.

The Venator Empire was the only country to have two representatives left by the 4th round.

One was the championship contender, Garcia.

And the other was this man.

A physique a head taller than an average person, a massive muscular body that couldn't be hidden even by armor.

A giant of a muscular man whose forearms were the size of an average woman's head.

He was the 5-star level swordsman from the Empire, Owen Batista.

And the weapon he brought was....

“A battle axe? Didn't he originally use a sword?”

“He must have switched.”

“Why?”

“I don't know? Why would he? I can make a rough guess, though....”

No sooner had Patrick finished speaking than the referee called the name of the opposing contestant.

“Cierion Baisus Yusef, forward!”

At that, from the opposite side, Cierion came up, carrying his bizarrely large two-handed sword.

“It turned out just as I hoped.”

At Patrick's words, Alex also nodded and said.

“Indeed, they are a good match.”

“The organizers must have thought so too when they paired them up.”

Cierion, who had advanced by blowing away his opponents with his giant two-handed sword.

The organizers had pitted Cierion against a heavy-armored knight of the same type.

“Ooooh….”

“That's a good picture.”

“A battle of strength versus strength?”

Thanks to that, the audience seating immediately heated up.

Just the appearance of the two men drew interested gazes from the audience.

Cierion, who came up lightly swinging his giant two-handed sword.

And Owen, who faced him, also looked like he wouldn't fall behind in terms of strength at a glance.

No, in terms of physique alone, Owen was overwhelming.

Cierion also had a sturdy build, but standing opposite Owen, he looked small at a glance.

Facing each other, Owen smiled and said.

“It is a pleasure to meet a comrade who pursues the same path, Prince Cierion.”

“The same path?”

“That's right. For a man, isn't it all about strength and physical power?”

Saying so, Owen flexed his forearm, showing off his hard muscles.

At that, Cierion smirked and said.

“You seem confident in your physical strength.”

“That's right. I will be different from those who flew away like insects when I hit them.”

“Is that so?”

“That's right. I brought this fellow to have a direct strength contest with you.”

Owen stroked his giant battle axe with his hand and said.

“It's a weapon that's too crude to be used in the Arcana, but I thought you wouldn't avoid a strength contest, so I brought it.”

Cierion did not answer Owen's words.

Instead, he smirked and called the referee next to him.

“Referee.”

“What is it?”

“Just start it quickly.”

“Ah... alright.”

Owen was slightly flustered.

He had shown goodwill in his own way, but he hadn't expected the opponent to react so overtly unpleasantly.

Regardless, Cierion turned his back and returned to his spot.

And as the contestant stood in his place, the referee commanded.

“Begin!”

Simultaneously with that signal, Owen gripped his giant battle axe tightly with both hands.

His beloved weapon, made much larger than a typical battle axe, should be able to sufficiently deal with that bizarre two-handed sword....

“Hmm?”

For a moment, Owen's brow furrowed.

His opponent, Cierion, had committed a bizarre act.

Crack.

He forcefully stabbed his two-handed sword into the ground.

And with his bare hands, he walked towards Owen, step by step.

At his bizarre act, both his opponent Owen and the audience were greatly flustered.

“What? What is he trying to do?”

“Is he crazy?”

“Why is everyone in the Arcana like this this year?”

Among the murmuring audience, only Patrick smirked and said.

“He's pissed.”

“Huh? What about?”

“When you're challenged in your own specialty, don't you want to stomp your opponent so miserably that they regret being born into this world?”

“No, I don't.”

“You'd go that far?”

“Are you even human?”

“Worse than a demon.”

At his companions' consistent condemnation, Patrick said.

“Hey, honestly, you all agree, right? Tell me honestly. Huh?”

“……”

“Huh? You really don't?”

“……”

“Was I the weird one, by any chance?”

Not weird, but evil.

Patrick, who was confused for a moment, soon managed his expression and said.

“Well, whatever the case, that prince named Cierion is pissed. He's decided to show that brat who challenges him in his field a lesson.”

“Then, in your opinion, is that Prince Cierion's strength much greater?”

At Alex's words, Patrick chuckled and said.

“Just watch. Then you'll know.”

Cierion walked straight up to Owen without hesitation.

He had approached defenselessly to a distance where he could be split in two in an instant if his opponent swung his weapon.

“What is the meaning of this?”

Owen shouted, his face red with shame.

At that, Cierion said.

“What are you doing?”

“……”

“Are you just going to watch?”

“Keuk….”

In the end, Owen swung his battle axe.

Attacking a defenseless opponent went against his conscience, but this was a match, and this was something his opponent had brought upon himself.

He would make him pay the price for insulting a knight's honor.

Woooooosh!

With that thought, his battle axe flew towards Cierion without hesitation.

And....

Thwaaaack!

The sound of something colliding rang out.

The spectators, imagining a gruesome scene, instinctively looked away.

But the revealed result was completely different from their imagination.

“Ut….”

Cierion had caught the handle of the opponent's flying battle axe with his bare hand.

That alone was surprising, but this wasn't the end.

In that state, Cierion said.

“Did you say you were confident in your strength?”

“Keuk... you?”

“Go ahead, try me.”

At Cierion's words, Owen's face turned red.

“Don't regret it!”

And from Owen's entire body, aura exploded forth.

An aura focused on strengthening his own body rather than his weapon.

When that met with his muscles, which had been trained over and over, it produced an unbelievable effect.

Owen had even beaten a troll to death with his bare hands before.

He was determined to swing his battle axe with all his might and send his opponent flying.

But....

“Uut... heuup….”

“What are you doing?”

“Keeeeeeuuuuuh….”

“Is this you trying hard?”

Even while hearing Cierion's mockery, Owen had no room to retort.

‘N-no way.’

Despite putting in all his strength, the opponent didn't budge at all.

At a glance, the opponent seemed smaller than him, but the battle axe held in his one hand did not move at all.

As if it were stuck in a giant rock.

‘How can this be?’

“Thousand-Pound Drop. Not bad. He's using it quite skillfully.”

Patrick understood the current situation perfectly.

Unlike Owen, who was just trying to send his opponent flying using only his enhanced muscle strength, Cierion was using his strength with a clear purpose.

A slightly lowered center of gravity.

Unwavering legs as if rooted to the earth.

He added weight to the nature of his aura.

This was the so-called Thousand-Pound Drop.

In fact, it wasn't surprising.

In the Central Plains, the Thousand-Pound Drop was a technique that anyone who handled ki a little could use once they surpassed the second-rate level.

They could even do it without learning it.

In a broad sense, it was just a way of operating ki that was an extension of the Horse Stance.

It wasn't difficult to use with a little bit of know-how.

So, it wasn't strange for a knight of this world to use it.

But to use it so naturally was something quite commendable even in Patrick's eyes.

‘Was it effort? Or talent? In any case, he's quite something.’

He had been keeping an eye on him since the previous match, but that Prince Cierion was no ordinary person.

‘A contest of strength? That's already meaningless.’

This was something that was impossible from the start.

“Keeeeeuuung!”

‘Damn it, this is so humiliating….’

Owen, who was at a loss against Cierion who wouldn't budge no matter how much strength he put in, finally let go with one hand and tried to punch Cierion in the face.

At this point, he didn't care about a contest of strength or anything; he just wanted to land a punch on that smug face.

But....

Thwaaack!

Even that failed.

Cierion lightly caught Owen's fist with his hand, then added pressure to the hand holding his fist.

Squeeeze!

“Kuaaaak!”

Owen screamed as he felt the bones in the back of his hand being crushed along with the gauntlet he was wearing.

And to him, Cierion said.

“Let me correct you on two things.”

“Wh-what….”

“If you're going to show off your strength at this level, give it up. You're far from it.”

“Keuk….”

“And one more thing.”

Cierion's eyes became fierce.

“I, Cierion Baisus Yusef, will never walk the same path as the trash of the west.”

“Wha... Kuaaaak!”

Now, the crushed bones in the back of his hand were protruding.

Blood flowed from the sleeve of Owen's gauntlet, and he knelt down, unable to overcome the pain.

“W... Winner, Cierion Baisus Yusef.”

The referee hurriedly declared the winner, and only then did Cierion let go of his opponent's fist.

When he let go, a clear handprint, squeezed into the steel gauntlet, remained.

To Owen, who was in continuous pain from the steel digging in, Cierion said.

“Remember this well, trash.”

For a moment, Owen choked up and tried to retort, but....

“Ut…?”

In that moment, he met Cierion's eyes.

The cold, contemptuous gaze of a being with absolute superiority in strength looking down on him.

Overwhelmed by it, Owen couldn't even retort for his honor and had to avert his gaze.

“Hmph.”

Cierion looked at Owen as if he were insignificant, then turned his back.

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