Aslay walked toward the sparring arena.
With each step, the determined expression on his face became increasingly obscured by the large shield strapped to his back.
I blinked as the reflected light hit my eyes.
“Do you think Aslay’s father came here too?”
In response to Limberton’s question, I scanned the audience.
I didn’t expect to find him among the crowd, but like Aslay, he had a large build and was easy to spot.
“There.”
When I pointed to a man with thick eyebrows and a face marked by scars, Limberton’s eyes widened in surprise.
“He does look like him, but unlike Aslay, he has a really scary vibe...”
I once wondered if his rough exterior might be misleading, but his personality matched his appearance.
Underneath his calm demeanor lay a fierce temperament, and when it erupted, he would act with dangerous extremity.
“Still, if he came all this way, maybe he does have some hopes for Aslay?”
I gave a faint nod at Limberton’s words.
“Maybe so.”
He didn’t consider the Aslay raised by barbarians to be his own son.
The only thing he ever showed interest in was whether Aslay was useful as a Pathfinder, but now that he had made it to the finals, that had changed.
Even if he lost to Wisdom and the expectations dipped slightly, it didn’t matter.
The stage Aslay had stepped onto was proof enough that he was someone destined for greatness.
“Hm, he has to win this one. There’s still that issue with the tribe.”
“That’s already as good as solved. Limberton, just by making it to the finals, Aslay has earned a say. That’s how much influence this match carries.”
“Then why does he look so grim?”
“Who knows? Maybe because it’s a team match, and he wants to make up for the previous loss?”
Anyway, even though losing doesn’t really matter, he hates causing trouble for others.
Honestly, it would be better for me if he lost...
...
Still, we’ve been through a lot together, so let’s make Aslay the exception.
“I hope he wins.”
“Same here.”
Though to be honest, it’s not just a hope—it’s practically a certainty.
—That’s quite a clever strategy, Aslay.
—I got the idea from you, Boss.
While I chatted with Limberton, Aslay arrived at the center of the arena.
For a moment, I thought his opponent hadn’t shown up, but it turned out he was simply hidden behind Aslay’s massive shield.
The opponent was Orolls, a playable character whose fighting style was notoriously incompatible with Aslay’s—like a mage to a warrior.
Looking up at Aslay, Orolls smirked confidently.
“Did you just pick me at random?”
At his words, Aslay nodded.
“I just chose what was left after everyone else picked.”
“That’s kind of disappointing. I was pretty famous, you know.”
Despite what he said, Orolls kept smiling.
But not for long.
“And I watched how you all fight, wasting no time, studied every move, and ran mock battles in my head.”
His voice turned cold and sharp, his eyes never blinking.
Despite the sudden shift in tone, Aslay kept his cool.
“I don’t know nothing about you. I know your skills are tricky for me. That’s why it’s meaningful—to crush you.”
Orolls chuckled.
“Go ahead. I postponed drinks with some ladies for this, so it better be worth it.”
Aslay narrowed his eyes.
“You’re upset just because I ruined your night with women?”
Orolls nodded without shame.
At the familiar vibe, Aslay glanced sideways at Limberton.
“What’s with that look?”
“Just thinking, if that guy were born good-looking, he’d be exactly like you.”
“Huh? That idiot?”
Veins bulged on Orolls’s neck.
“Take that back. How dare you compare me to that...”
Aslay, oddly enough, thought Orolls might have a point.
“You’re right. Well, aside from the lecherous bit, you’re different. I take back what I said.”
“Damn right.”
“Unlike you, Limberton Belle Delsey is a man of great character.”
Orolls glared with murderous intent.
The tension before the match was so high that even the referee looked flustered.
“You know the rules, right? No killing. Don’t rely too much on the magical safety mechanisms. They don’t always work.”
Aslay nodded.
If a fatal blow is predicted, the magic reduces its power.
The coated spell on the black blade would trigger, resulting in a blunt impact instead.
But if someone uses excessive power, the safety mechanisms can fail.
‘I already heard this from the Boss.’
And the Valients were strong enough to push past those limits if they really wanted to.
Just as Orolls reached for his sword, the referee announced the start of the match, and Aslay smiled quietly in satisfaction.
Surprisingly, instead of charging in, Orolls suddenly backed away and calmed down.
“Hm, I doubt you're going for a kill and a disqualification. So, you’re aiming to wear me out?”
“What? Surprised? It’s obvious. Guys like you try to get on my nerves and wear me down. I’ve seen plenty. Fast moves drain stamina quickly—people always try that.”
Aslay sensed the fight wouldn’t be easy.
‘For someone with mood swings, he’s pretty composed.’
Orolls held his drawn sword loosely as he swayed side to side while approaching.
Aslay’s gaze moved side to side like a pendulum.
And then, Orolls vanished.
By the time Aslay realized he was close, a cut had already formed on his right forearm.
Orolls quickly retreated and flicked the blood off his blade.
“It’s useless. By controlling my speed, I can conserve plenty of energy. And to your eyes—”
This time, a cut appeared on Aslay’s left arm.
“—Even this level of speed is too much, isn’t it?”
It was the same pattern repeating.
‘...Is he only focusing on grapples? He strikes and retreats without even giving me a chance to attack.’
Aslay wiped the cold sweat from his forehead and recalled what he had learned from Hersel (Donatan).
—Your fighting style is too simple.
—You’ve got massive strength, but all your offense is just grappling.
—You only handle two types of aura well: Force, which enhances power, and Bulwark, which specializes in defense.
—But when it comes to Rapid—arguably the most important—you’re terrible.
He lacked confidence in his speed.
He had always known that.
And since it was a matter of talent, it wasn’t something he could fix in the short time before this match.
—Seems like your training method needs to break away from tradition.
And so, he learned something new.
Aslay dispersed the Bulwark aura around his body like a mist.
Perhaps sensing something strange, Orolls—who had looked ready to attack—halted and waved his hand.
His hand passed through the fog-like aura without resistance, like brushing away mist.
“This is aura? I don’t feel any force in it. Are you sure you’ll be okay? Without Bulwark, your bones might snap. Or I might accidentally slice your limbs clean off.”
Aslay gestured for him to come.
The moment Orolls disappeared again, Aslay grabbed his shield.
Clang!
When the shield blocked the strike, Orolls’s eyes widened in shock.
Aslay didn’t miss the chance—he grabbed Orolls by the collar.
As Orolls slammed into the ground, he quickly slashed his own collar to escape and regained balance.
“What the hell just happened?”
Orolls asked, while Aslay recalled his training.
—Think of the dispersed aura as a neural net.
—When your opponent steps into it, your skin will receive a signal.
—Why bother with that?
—To sense your opponent’s attack path in advance.
—It’s how you make up for your lack of speed.
—Of course, it won’t be easy.
—Combining Bulwark aura with nerve detection isn’t something you can do with ordinary training.
If you’re slow, just act one step ahead.
Using this opportunity, Aslay provoked his opponent.
“You’ll see when you try again.”
But Orolls, now wary, glanced at the collar he had sliced.
“Hesitating? You’ve got to attack, but if you get grabbed again, it’s over.”
Even as he said it, there was a relaxed look on Orolls’s face.
“Well, guess it can’t be helped. This’ll be tiring.”
Orolls’s determined attitude made Aslay realize it was now or never.
‘Boss said the moment I show this, the opponent will start bringing out their full skills.’
Aslay instantly converted the dispersed aura back into Bulwark.
Just as expected, this time when Orolls vanished, the shield couldn’t block him.
And it wasn’t a single attack—it was a flurry of strikes, almost shredding Aslay’s skin.
Unlike before, Orolls wasn’t backing off, suggesting he was confident he wouldn’t get caught again.
—If you use this method to counter speed, be careful afterward.
—If your opponent still has energy left, the tactic becomes useless.
The faster you move, the harder it is to control your body.
Because you’re moving faster than you can perceive.
But once someone like Orolls reaches a certain level, even that limitation gets overcome.
The secret lies in the optic nerves.
‘He’s trained his visual tracking to the limit.’
Aslay gritted his teeth and squeezed all he could from Bulwark, smiling quietly.
It was exactly the situation he’d hoped for.
‘In that state, he’ll react to even the smallest stimuli.’
Aslay reached out with an open hand, trying to grab him.
Naturally, it only swept through air—not even brushing Orolls.
Then came the moment of delay.
Aslay caught a glimpse of Orolls grimacing.
The cause was the sunlight reflecting off the shield.
‘No matter how fast you are, you can’t beat the speed of light.’
Aslay didn’t miss his chance.
Though Orolls had prepared for such a scenario and took a solid defensive stance, it didn’t really matter.
Because from the beginning, Aslay had been aiming for something else.
—Do you really think I can’t throw a punch?
—I almost died once because I tried punching at the wrong moment. My accuracy’s terrible.
—You’re thinking too narrowly.
—There’s a way—especially in a special arena like this one.
—The floor. You can’t miss that.
The arena floor.
Boom!
Aslay slammed his colossal strength into a punch that cracked the ground open.
The resulting tremor even caused some in the stands to flee.
And Orolls, at the epicenter, was launched into the air by the blunt shock.
Aslay stretched out his hand toward him and said,
“Think you can use your fast footwork in the air?”
“Y-Yeah, no way.”
“Then I guess you’re getting caught.”
Aslay’s huge hand clamped down on Orolls’s shoulder.
Orolls desperately swung his sword toward Aslay’s wrist, but it was too late.
Aslay’s free hand seized the arm that held the blade—and with that, Orolls was slammed into the ground.
“S-Surrender—”
Boom!
Aslay looked down at the embedded Orolls and said,
“You should’ve said that a little sooner.”
The referee, stunned, announced the result.
For a moment, the crowd remained silent—then people started cheering at the unique and exhilarating comeback.
No one called him a barbarian.
Likely because he no longer looked the part, having adopted the empire’s ways.
Even so, Aslay loudly declared his identity.
“Areho.”
A blessing.
***
Aslay walked back in right after his win.
Watching him, I was struck by an odd sense of admiration.
It must’ve been his refusal to avoid even his worst matchups and how he overcame them.
He’s always quiet, so it’s not obvious—but he’s been steadily growing.
“Hersel, look over there. That guy stood up from his seat. He keeps staring at Aslay.”
Just like Limberton said, Aslay’s father had his full attention on him.
And judging by his surprised expression, he definitely hadn’t expected that result.
“What, now he suddenly wants to recognize him as his real son or something?”
“Who knows. But Limberton, looks like the next match will be delayed.”
“Hm?”
I simply pointed in response.
At that moment, the arena collapsed into rubble.
If he could just improve his accuracy, his strength would be near broken-tier.
