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Riftan strutted towards the amphitheater, weaving his way like Ruth. In front of the magnificent building, shining against the shimmering sand, there were lines of stalls and vendors, gamblers placing bets, and thousands of people who came to watch the competition.

As they somehow made their way through, he saw soldiers standing guard at the arch’s entrance. Riftan presented his ticket and easily entered the building. Ruth, who was about to follow suit, was held back on the shoulder by the guards.

“Hey, are you also a contestant? Show me your ticket.”

“I-I’m with that person…”

Ruth called Riftan anxiously from behind, but he continued to stride, pretending not to hear him. Guided by the soldier, he passed through a long, dark-shaded hall. At the end of it there was a large waiting room where men of burly physique gathered. As he entered, everyone’s eyes flew to his direction. Riftan could feel their gazes scrutinizing him and gauging his skills.

He looked carefully at his competitors as well under his hood. About 30 mercenaries gathered at the left side of the room, while the knights resided on the right side, sharpening their blades and polishing their armors. After glancing at everyone in the room, he walked into a corner and plumped down to sit and the men’s attention quickly departed from him.

“It seems that a lot of talented knights and swordsmen from all over the world came to compete.”

“The prize is way too valuable, so it will be more competitive than last year.”

“Tch, did you see the matches? We were treated like a side-show. It’s a spectacle made specifically for the knights to shine.”

Rfitan looked out the window, listening to the mercenaries grumbling. Thousands of people were packed tightly in the stadium, the benches surrounding the arena were all occupied. His eyes traveled around the stadium, looking for a trace of the girl. Then, a man who appeared to be a priest came inside the room with an escort guard.

“The competition is about to begin. Before we start, let me give you a few reminders. This competition is an event involving royals, nobles, and high-ranking officials from all over the world, as well as the Pope. Thus, it must be fair and square. Shall the opponent announce his surrender, the attacks must stop immediately. Using magical blades or weapons is not allowed. It is also prohibited to attack someone who is unconscious, injured serious enough that he can’t defend himself, or kill anyone. Assaulting your opponent while he is unarmed is not permitted and excessive atrocities will not be tolerated. This competition was organized in commemoration of the spirit of Sir Uigru and the twelve knights. I hope that all who participate in this competition will show reverence.”

After the priest pronounced the rules of the competition in a solemn tone, he placed the schedule of matches against the wall and exited the room. Riftan checked his turn and then sat by the window.

He would be competing in the fifth match. The knights would be competing only after the battle of the mercenaries, inducing a gossip that the nobles would only start spectating at noon. Riftan frowned despondently and ruffled his hair in frustration. He couldn’t stop thinking about why he was doing something so stupid.

“The first match begins! Kyle Sevon, Dermed Eden! Enter the arena!”

Two mercenaries wearing a helmet over their heads walked over to the soldier who called their names and proceeded to the door that led to the arena. After a moment, ear-shattering cheers began filling the air.

Riftan sat with his head leaning against the wall, waiting dazedly for his turn. Those who glanced at him, curious of his appearance, soon stopped paying attention to him.

…What the hell am I doing in a place like this?

Most of his skills were honed from fighting and hunting monsters, not sword-fighting. Although he did exchange swords with knights whom they have had conflict a couple of times, he fought them using the advantage of the terrain and did not hesitate to attempt a surprise attack nor slash his opponent from behind.

He used all kinds of weapons too, from chains, to daggers, to hooks, and rope to damage his enemies. It would be far different from competing only with swords. The uneasy feeling of being out of place never left his worries.

“Riftan Calypse! Cedric Geiron! Enter the arena!”

After about an hour and a half it was finally his turn. Riftan stood up and wore a steel helmet. His opponent was a giant with formidable build and appeared heavily armed with dark steel armor. Riftan glanced at the huge sword that was strapped to his back. As they walked side by side towards the arena, he flashed his yellow teeth threateningly towards Riftan.

“Well, lookie here. You’re a handsome guy.”

Riftan lowered his helmet’s faceplate and his opponent chuckled resonantly.

“You’re so unfortunate that it is me, Geiron, your first opponent. But don’t fret too much, I’ll be merciful and leave your limbs intact.”

Riftan stared indifferently at the stadium appearing at the end of the tunnel. Flags symbolizing family coats of arms fluttered vigorously in the stands, trumpets and drums rang loudly around the stadium. A vast crowd, consisting of around ten thousand people, cried out for blood in unison. Riftan shed a sarcastic laugh.

Wasn’t this competition made to honor the spirit of Uigru and the twelve knights? It doesn’t seem like noble purposes are running in the crowd’s thoughts.

The reason why people came here despite the expensive admission was simple: to find amusing violent entertainment. Riftan slightly relaxed his stance in reverence.

“Ready in your respective positions!”

The soldier in charge of the tournament shouted and pointed to the middle of the arena. Riftan slowly walked to the indicated area and stood facing his opponent. Amid the tense atmosphere, the soldiers raised their flags high, signaling the beginning of their match.

At the signal, Riftan drew his sword from his waist. His opponent scoffed audibly, mocking his bastard sword and then pulled out the sword from his back. Geiron’s one was wide and its length reached around 6 kvets (180 cm). He had to be a well-known man in Osyria as Riftan could hear the crowd chanting his name.

“Gei-ron! Gei-ron! Gei-ron!”

He pumped his chest and took a deep breath like he was sucking energy from the crowd’s cheers.

“You hear that? I will be the winner of this competition. I’m a real scoundrel who has experienced all kinds of battlefields. Even the knights who are busy kissing the nobles’ asses are no match for me.”

“…”

“I would have let you off the hook if you were smart and announced your surrender, but you didn’t. So, I’ll have to live up to people’s expectations and show them a good match. Well, then. Come on, kid. I’ll give you a special chance to go at me.”

“…If you insist.”

Riftan ran without hesitation. His opponent’s expression changed in an instant feeling the threat of Riftan’s sword flying at a blinding speed towards his head. Geiron immediately swung his claymore in defense but his heavy weapon that weighed much more than Riftan’s bastard sword, bounced off like a twig at contact.

A young look of astonishment was painted clearly on the man’s face. He quickly collected his sword and tried to gather his stance, but it was already too late for him to react to the next attack. Not missing the opening under the man’s arm, Riftan relentlessly thrusted his sword into Geiron’s side. His blade pierced through the armor’s gap, penetrating the flesh and muscles as it protruded sharply on his back

“Uck….!”

The opponent gasped violently and opened his eyes widely. Riftan immediately pulled out the sword, dark red blood gushing down the armor. Geiron tried to step back and secure a safe distance between them but Riftan didn’t give him that moment. As he swung his sword near the opponent’s neck, Geiron, who was stumbling while clutching his bleeding side, finally knelt down and exclaimed.

“I, I sur… surrender!”

Their match expired in less than three minutes after the flag signals were raised. The soldiers, who had been standing idly in awe, scurried to blow the trumpets to announce the end of the match. Tremendous roar of cheers erupted from everywhere.

Riftan watched dryly as the priests cast healing spells over the loser and then turned his eyes to look around the stands. The Duke of Croix’s coat of arms stood at the top of the stands, next to the seat where the Royal Flag was erected. However, it was difficult to verify the faces there as the distance was quite far and so many people were gathered.

Also, the women wore veils and crowns over their heads which made it more difficult to recognize them. Riftan squinted, then looked down in resignation. As the other mercenaries had said, the high nobles could not be spectating yet. He then trudged out of the arena.

***

On that day alone, Riftan competed in four matches. And because all his matches never went over five minutes, he gained the odd title of “One Strike Killer Calypse.” The next day, Riftan scrunched his face as he heard sleazy titles being shouted at him by the crowd of people gathered at the amphitheaters’ entrance. From hybrid to dragon hunter, all sorts of nicknames were thrown at him, but the odd title that seemed to glorify him so coolly was the worst and most embarassing of them all.

“Hey, is it true that you were a famous dragon hunter in Livadon?”

As soon as he entered the waiting room, he received more severe looks than the previous day. While sitting on a bench, ignoring everyone’s hostile gazes, a middle-aged man with a tanned face suddenly approached to talk to him. Riftan frowned as a man, dressed neatly but carrying an air not refined enough to be a knight, sat next to him and gave him a friendly smile.

“I went to the bar yesterday, everyone’s buzzing about you. Rumors have already spread that you were a ruthless monster hunter who caught ten half-dragons by himself.”

“… what about it?”

The man, who blinked as if he were taken aback by his blunt tone, continued to speak calmly.

“I was curious about you and your character, so I came here to find you. From a distance, you appear to look like you’re in your mid-twenties but seeing your face up close, you are younger than I thought. How old could you be?”

Riftan looked at him like it was none of his business. The man smiled, stroking his neatly trimmed beard like he found him interesting.

“You must be terrible at socializing. I’m guessing it will cause a lot of problems when you join a group.”

“…”

“How about your horse-riding skills? It seems that you have been living as a mercenary for so long, but have you ever been to battlefields? Can you ride a horse?”

“… If you don’t have any business with me, please don’t talk to me. I don’t really fancy people who act like they have a close friendship with me.”

Riftan did not hide his displeasure and responded coldly. The man smiled faintly, shrugged, and stood up.

“Excuse me, as I have bothered a person who was just about to compete. Please take my gesture as a sign of support, I’m looking forward to your future performance.”

“…”

“Well then, see you next time.”

The man then strode to the area where the knights had gathered. Riftan raised an eyebrow when he saw the man striking a conversation with the knights who were in the competition. He didn’t appear to look like a contestant. He wondered if he only poked around him to cheer his colleagues up.

…I see, you’re checking out opponents.

A light snort came out of his nose and Riftan turned his attention away from the man. Just then, a soldier called out his name loudly. He grabbed his helmet and stood up. His first match was with the Royal Knight of Arech.

As he took the steps toward the arena, the eyes of his opponent appeared full of disgust. It was like it insulted him that he had a pagan-blooded mongrel as an opponent. Riftan wore his helmet, as he passed through the knight who was giving an icy glare through the gaps. Riftan squinted at the arena surrounded by bright light. Standing in the middle of it, he looked for the Duke of Croix’s flag. Then, he turned his head as he heard a belligerent voice speak.

“Hey, you! You’re not sincerely after the Knight’s Sword, are you?”

Riftan lowered his gaze and the knight wrinkled his eyes with contempt.

“That sword belongs to knights. It’s not something that mercenaries like you should covet.”

Riftan, who frowned at his nonsensical words, turned his eyes to the seat where the Pope was. A sword was erected in front of the altar and was surrounded by Holy Knights. Come to think of it, because of that sword, knights from all over the world came to compete. Riftan drew his sword and smirked.

“Are you worried about losing the prize to a mercenary?”

“How dare you…!”

“You talk too much. If you have anything to say, speak with your skills.”

The knight coldly hardened his face and pulled out his sword. “Fine! I’ll explain it to you with a sword!”

Riftan lifted his bastard sword to block his incoming attacks. Their swords clashed and sparks flew out in the air. The man’s face slightly contorted in discomposure. The knight took a step back, thinking that it would be disadvantageous to attack forcibly head on, but Riftan didn’t give him any chance of striking again.

Stupid idiot, how many chances do you think I would give you to wield your sword against me? Once you step back, you’ll die in that moment.

Riftan mercilessly pushed the man’s sword aside, not missing the chance when the knight shifted his weight slightly back. A look of embarrassment passed over the knight’s face.

Riftan swiftly gained his speed and slammed the man’s face with his sword’s handle. The faceplate of the knight’s helmet was crumpled, blood gushing out of the man’s nose like a fountain, but he didn’t stop there. He flipped his knife and swung it towards the knight’s forearm, his blade gleaming blue as he penetrated the armor and embedded it halfway the knight’s thick arm. A shrill groan escaped from the man’s mouth.

“…If you don’t want to lose an arm, declare your defeat.”

The knight’s face was distorted in pain as he glared at him fiercely. Riftan pushed the blade deeper into the man’s arm. Then, the knight who bit his lips like he was swallowing a scream, spoke inaudibly through his gritted teeth.

“I su… surrender.”

Riftan pulled out his sword and fixed his posture, taking a straight stance. Shortly thereafter, the crowd shouted in loud voices, “One Shot Killer Calypse” echoing from all directions. His face wrinkled in displeasure. When he found out whoever gave him that title, he was going to slap that person across the face.

Even though his opponents were knights, his winning streak continued without fail. Even he himself was surprised, he had always thought it took a big deal to be a knight and he didn’t expect his skills to be this overwhelming.

“The results are certain! How can Sir Calypse, who vanquished a drake, be defeated by a mere human being?”

Ruth gulped down and exclaimed triumphantly. Riftan had only two matches left to win, then he would be the champion of the competition. The wizard, who won handsomely from bettinga lot of money on him, was smiling from ear to ear.

“Sir Calypse is invincible! From now on, I will suuuurely follow him around!”

Note – LF: I can feel it in my bones that it was Ruth who made “One Shot Killer Calypse” HAHAHAHA

Nymeria: I was literally going to say the same thing, it was Ruth for sure lmaoo