The place I was challenging this time was a test of agility.
It was a game where you had to dodge magic projectiles flying from a distance.
Even if you got hit, it wouldn’t hurt, but the tricky condition was that you had to dodge them all, or you would fail.
I was clad in thick armor and carrying a huge shield over my body. I even had Grandpa with me as I dashed forward.
At that time, I had to slow down to accommodate Arthur and the other students from the academy, but having shed all that weight and boosted my physical abilities through doping, how could my agility be lacking now?
No matter how they flew at me, I was confident I could dodge them all.
“Let’s begin!”
As that shout rang out, I immediately locked my eyes on the incoming magic projectiles and was convinced of my victory.
This pattern.
It was just like what I had seen in the game.
I had once been obsessed with the "Slayer of the Festival" quest.
Why was that?
Because it was infuriating.
A quest I couldn’t win no matter how well I performed.
It was merely a bonus, so I knew I didn’t have to clear it, but being far from rational, I gritted my teeth and headbutted it.
And I got utterly destroyed.
Luck was a variable that mere humans could not control.
Back then, I thought I was wasting time doing something crazy, but now, I would be rewarded for that effort.
Taking a step to the right, then two steps to the left.
Then jumping up and rolling backward.
And...
<Are you seeing the future or something?>
“Maybe.”
<It seems the deity is indeed providing assistance.>
I didn’t like the thought that my past efforts were becoming the deity's grace, but I couldn’t get angry about it.
How could I explain that I memorized this pattern from outside the monitor?
Ah, I want to turn back.
Follow current novels on freewebnσvel.cѳm.
I really hate that what I’m doing becomes the work of that rubbish perverted deity.
Even while my mind wandered elsewhere, my body faithfully executed the memories of the past, and so I emerged victorious in this challenge without any injuries.
Did they really think they would be perfectly outsmarted like this?
The stall owner stared at me blankly, forgetting even to announce my victory.
“Excuse me, sir. It’s over, right?”
“Hey, mustache. Why aren’t you speaking? It’s over, isn’t it?”
“...Congratulations. You have won this match.”
“Thank you.”
“Are you shocked? You thought you could hit me with such a shabby pattern? You’re as ridiculous as that silly mustache, aren’t you ashamed?”
I messed up. I unconsciously expressed my gratitude while lost in thought.
Seeing the stall owner's face turn red, I quickly departed.
Staying there any longer would only burden the stall owner’s veins.
Haa. So now I just need to win two more matches at the stalls.
After finishing the doping, I hadn’t rested and had been going around numerous stalls without a break.
I didn’t know when the effects of the doping would wear off, so I kept sprinting.
At first, things were going well. Thanks to the buffs from Faybi and the knowledge I had gathered during the previous festival, I had won consecutively at several stalls.
I resolved the physical challenges with my physique and knowledge.
For the three stalls heavily influenced by luck, I passed them using the bracelet to eliminate any unexpected variables.
For the stalls that required memorization, I used the log function to breeze through them.
At that moment, I thought I had caught the flow.
Having resigned myself to a few days of illness, I believed I could crush the rubbish deity's schemes.
However, a problem arose unexpectedly.
It was a stall that posed quizzes.
<Incorrect. At that time, that guy’s nickname was the Guardian King. He earned that nickname for fiercely fighting back during the siege of the capital without retreating.>
“Huh? But—”
<Is your memory really accurate? Is my memory, which was alongside you during that siege, reliable?>
While I was writing down the answer to the quiz based on my memorized knowledge, Grandpa interjected with a correction.
It wasn’t that; the correct answer was something else.
At first, I was puzzled, but Grandpa was so confident in his assertion that I began to think I must have remembered it incorrectly.
That was a mistake.
There’s no way my stagnant, decaying memory could be wrong, but I made the mistake of listening to someone else’s words.
<...Huh? Why is that? Why is that guy’s nickname...? >
“Grandpa!”
I shouted in anger at the betrayal of the Grandpa I trusted, but as I listened to his explanation, I began to understand the situation.
The problem was simple.
Grandpa’s memory was from when the king was alive.
What the question asked was how he was named in later generations.
The distortion created by two hundred years had led Grandpa to give an incorrect answer.
<I'm sorry, child. I made such a mistake.>
“It’s alright, Grandpa. But do you know? The Partlan family’s stables are really big. The amount of manure produced there must be quite considerable too?”
<I’m sorry! I’m sorry, child! Please overlook that!>
Perhaps due to the disruption in the flow.
I ended up with two losses at a stall I had deemed relatively unaffected by luck.
Honestly, it was ridiculous.
No matter how bad my luck was, there are limits.
It felt like the Dice God had smashed my skull with the end of a die.
Isn’t it obvious that the rubbish deity is up to something?!
If left alone, it seemed I would win, so they deliberately cursed me with bad luck.
Otherwise, it doesn’t make sense!
I, who would achieve above-average results even when guessing answers, was getting screwed over by luck!
After three consecutive losses, I had blown all my remaining coins and found myself teetering on the edge of a cliff.
The one saving grace was that only two stalls remained, and both were in areas I felt confident about.
Whichever it was, I could succeed if I handled it well, but there was a difference in confidence.
Let’s save the one I’m most confident about for last.
With that decision made, I immediately moved my feet and spotted a familiar face.
Frey.
A talented swordsman destined to become the next sword master.
It seems to be because of me, but she looks a lot more approachable than she did in the game.
She was performing challenges at the stall, holding a sword in one hand.
The duel taking place at this stall involved cutting down all the objects that flew at you.
The speed, size, and solidity of the objects were all different, making it a tedious duel, but Frey appeared completely relaxed.
The style of Frey's swordsmanship was heavily reliant on her talent, bordering on brute force.
However, now it was different. The foundation of Frey's swordsmanship remained the same, but how should I put it?
It had become refined. Perhaps "polished" would be the right term.
<You've taken a step further in these past two months.>
She had indeed mentioned returning to the Kent territory to train in swordsmanship.
It seemed she had realized something.
Anyway, Frey truly is a remarkable talent.
By the second semester, it would become even harder to compete with her.
“Congratulations. You’ve won.”
“It was easy. Really easy.”
“...As expected of Lady Kent.”
As I turned to leave the stall owner who was chuckling to himself, Frey suddenly locked eyes with me and dashed over.
“It’s been a while.”
“Hello, Frey.”
“Yeah. Foolish swordsman.”
Frey’s expression was as neutral as ever, but the moment I called her a fool, the corners of her mouth lifted slightly.
Is being called a fool really that enjoyable?
“Are you participating here too?”
“Yes.”
“Can’t you tell just by looking?”
“It’s a competition.”
Frey clenched her fist as if determined to take me down, but it wasn’t very intimidating.
If it wasn't something she could solve with physical strength, she'd probably fail.
“I’ll see you later.”
As if she knew my thoughts, she took a few steps back but suddenly stopped and turned back towards me.
“What is it?”
“Hey, foolish swordsman.”
“Bye-bye.”
Then she delivered her farewell in a tone that lacked energy and dashed away again.
Uh... what was that all about?
What happened to Frey during the break?
“Next person!”
As I was blankly staring at the spot where Frey had left, the stall owner called me.
“Lady Alrn, do you need an explanation of the rules?”
“No, I’m fine.”
“There’s no way someone would need an explanation for a shabby stall like this.”
With a stiff smile, the stall owner nodded and handed me a sword.
<You’re clumsy with holding the sword.>
“Of course. I’ve never trained with a sword before.”
I’ve learned a bit through observation, but that’s all. I’ve never had proper training, and I have no skills related to swords.
<Can you do it?>
“Of course.”
But it’s alright.
This isn’t a life-or-death battle; it’s just a game. Winning here requires agility, strength, reflexes, and a mind that remembers the types and trajectories of the incoming objects.
Having easily triumphed at the slashing stall, I moved toward the last remaining stall.
Haa. If Grandpa hadn’t said those weird things, I could have been relaxed by now.
What a pity.
<How long do you plan to dwell on that?>
“For life.”
<If that’s the case, just punish me!>
“I don’t want to.”
You never know when another of Grandpa's mistakes will occur, right?
So I plan to milk this for a lifetime.
Every time Grandpa says something, I’m going to bring this up.
<You’re quite vindictive.>
Listening to Grandpa's lamenting voice, I couldn’t help but chuckle as I spotted a crowd of people up ahead.
It was only natural for people to gather near the stall, but the composition seemed strange.
There were soldiers, knights, and nobles, and at the center stood...
The first prince.
Rene Soladin.
What’s he doing here?!
...For now, let’s get out of here.
I’ll retreat to another place until the duel at the stall is over anyway.
“Lady Alrn, is that you?”
As the first prince's voice reached me, all eyes turned in my direction.
Damn. It was too late.
“Are you enjoying the festival?”
“Yes, of course!”
“I like the sunlight more than anyone else, so I’m having a great time.”
“Ah, really?”
I could see his brow furrowing.
Haa. This is why I didn’t want to meet him.
“I’m curious. How many stalls have you won? Since you were so confident, you must have won many.”
“Thirteen.”
“Thirteen? The gloomy outcast prince must have won more than me, right?”
“...What? We're tied, then.”
Wait, did I really win thirteen stalls?!
I, who barely managed to win thirteen with all the doping, items, and cheat-level knowledge.
Is the final boss truly the final boss? Impressive indeed.
“Just to check, is this your last stall too?”
Nodding absentmindedly at his question, I belatedly understood what the first prince had said.
The “you too” was certainly indicating...
“I see. That’s good timing. It’s perfect because I was thinking about challenging you here.”
As he said that, the first prince stepped closer and continued.
“I have a proposal. The results here will determine the winner; how about we have a duel?”
His dark eyes looked down at me.
The determination in those eyes was clear.
In front of numerous spectators, he would personally destroy me.
While it was a cowardly and petty proposal from someone older and more accomplished than me,
“Shall we?”
“If the gloomy outcast prince insists so much, I suppose I have no choice.”
Without any hesitation, I accepted.
There was no reason to refuse.
After all, this stall’s duel was in a field I felt most confident about.
Virtual dungeon strategies.
It was about presenting strategies based on the conditions given by the stall.
Hey, first prince.
No, Rene Soladin.
You picked the wrong fight.
Your opponent is not a mere first-year student from the academy, but a rotten brain that has memorized all the strategies for every dungeon in this world.