After the battle between Lucy Allen and Lasha concluded, a short break was announced to repair the half-destroyed arena. During this pause, a church informant hidden among the audience bit his lip, recalling the various miracles Lucy had displayed.
When the High Priest had instructed him to watch Lucy Allen’s fights in the arena and report back, he had taken the order as a sign of caution.
Lucy Allen’s hostility toward the church was no secret.
Starting with the atrocities committed by the church in the Allen territory, and even though she had shown some restraint thanks to the influence of the Holy Maiden’s grace, she still publicly ridiculed the great deity, calling Him worthless. Despite the boundless mercy of the deity, who allowed her to wield divine magic and even gifted her the legendary mace of Saint Ruell, Lucy continued to show nothing but disrespect, earning her the label of a person beyond the church’s reach.
Some radicals in the church raised their voices, claiming that a disrespectful brat like her was unworthy of Ruell’s mace, and they had even garnered some support.
But the problem lay in the fact that Lucy Allen, aside from her disdain for the church, possessed immense talent.
Her prowess was so overwhelming that she single-handedly overturned the public’s disdainful opinion of her, known as “the disgrace of Allen.”
The informant had been tasked with gauging her achievements, determining if she could be swayed, or if it would be wiser to eliminate her early on.
Yet, after witnessing her battle with Lasha, he realized he had greatly underestimated her.
The divine power Lucy displayed when blocking Lasha’s attacks was unlike anything a mere believer could possess.
It was warmer and more comforting, closely resembling the divine radiance that past heroes had demonstrated.
Looking back, it was strange. Would the wise and merciful deity have entrusted the weapon of a hero to a mere unbeliever for the sake of mercy alone?
Lucy Allen wasn’t just an irreverent person—she was a person cloaked in irreverence, harboring something else within.
Perhaps the Holy Maiden had remained close to her because she had sensed this hidden quality.
But that didn’t matter to him now. Such judgments were for the Cardinals and the Pope to make, not him.
While the spectators continued to buzz with excitement over the recent spectacle, the church informant quietly slipped out of the arena to report his findings.
“Hey, scholar. Stop right there.”
As he entered an alleyway, a woman’s voice called out from behind, more like an animal’s growl than a human voice.
Recognizing the voice from earlier, the informant broke out in a cold sweat and turned around cautiously.
“...Stronghunter.”
Lasha. The Stronghunter. A madwoman who would do anything to fight the strong.
Why was she addressing him?
Lasha was known to attack church knights and clerics out of sheer interest in their combat abilities. But he was far weaker than those who had suffered her attacks. There was no reason she should be interested in him.
Why? Why was Lasha...
“You’re with the church, right? What’s your rank?”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t know what you mean—”
“Don’t try to fool me, idiot. Keep this up, and I’ll make you talk. Don’t waste my time.”
Swallowing nervously, the informant realized that if Lasha decided to kill him, he wouldn’t even have a chance to resist.
Ordinarily, he would have welcomed eternal silence, but now he had vital information to report back to the church. For now, he would have to play along and find a way to retreat.
“Your assumption is correct. By the order of the High Pri—”
The informant’s voice cut off as Lasha’s hand clamped around his neck, twisting it without a second thought.
With no chance to realize his death, his lifeless body lay sprawled on the ground, and Lasha stretched before lumbering out of the alley.
"Ah, what a satisfying day."
This chapt𝙚r is updated by freeωebnovēl.c૦m.
She’d met a little brat who would someday bloom into someone even more enjoyable to fight than Benedict. She’d watched that brat surpass her expectations, and she’d even traded blows again with one of the few people who had once bested her—Benedict. Nothing could have been more thrilling.
It was only the vermin trying to meddle with her prize that put a damper on things.
Lasha had noticed those types in the audience from the moment she’d stepped into the arena to fight Lucy. Just as she gauged other strong opponents, she’d spotted people evaluating Lucy from the stands.
They were a mixed bunch: five with the aura of the holy deity, two associated with black magic, and several others with their own hidden agendas.
Initially, Lasha hadn’t bothered mentioning it. Given the worth of Benedict’s daughter, she expected people to be interested, and Lucy wasn’t yet someone worth her complete attention.
But as the fight continued and her evaluation of Lucy rose, Lasha decided to do what Benedict, bound by so many constraints, could not.
The ordinary riffraff were no concern. They feared Benedict enough to stay within their limits, despite their interest in using Lucy.
But the vermin from the church and those who dealt in black magic were another matter entirely.
The church, corrupted beyond measure, was full of fools who would denounce and persecute the deity’s apostle rather than praise them, and the black magic practitioners were the vile kind who would sacrifice Benedict’s daughter to further their ambitions.
Not wanting her chosen sapling to be broken by these scum, Lasha killed the church informants and black magic practitioners she found after leaving the arena.
She had no concern for retaliation. If anyone dared to come after her, she’d welcome them with a laugh.
Humming to herself, she thought of getting a drink after so long, but her expression darkened as a voice whispered in her mind.
“Enough with the nonsense already. Who breaks branches before the fruit even grows?”
“Keep pushing me, and I’ll make sure to stomp every other piece of trash in your name, got it?”
“Annoyed? Then come at me. If you regain the strength worthy of your name, I’ll welcome you anytime. Otherwise, shut up and live as a tool.”
Addressing the empty air with her sharp words, she eventually nodded, satisfied, and headed out of town.
“They said there’s an interesting one in the archipelago. Guess I’ll head there next.”
After my match with Lasha, I was granted a generous amount of rest time.
The repairs for the damage from Benedict and Lasha’s clash took ages, giving me ample time to recover my body and replenish my drained divine power.
Though I wasn’t back to full strength, it didn’t really matter.
Most of the truly dangerous contestants had already been wiped out by Lasha. And the insights I’d gained from fighting her made it easier to handle the rest.
My remaining opponents were all ones I’d faced repeatedly during my arena speedruns.
Their attack patterns were so ingrained in my memory that I could counter them with my eyes closed, making my opponents feel helpless against my familiarity with their moves.
Thus, I won the tournament without much difficulty.
...But, just as I was about to celebrate my victory—
“...I swore I’d never stand on the podium agaaaain!”
Who knew there’d be a demonic requirement for a victory speech?
<The champion delivers a speech. It’s common knowledge, isn’t it?>
“I know, but...!”
Do you have any idea how much it pains me to go back up there after that disaster last time?
I’m more nervous now than I was facing my final opponent!
<It’ll be fine. Didn’t you say this place respects the strong? As the champion of the arena, no one will mind if you call them trash or losers.>
“I... guess that’s true?”
<And if anything goes wrong, your father can handle the consequences.>
...Seriously? He tells me not to rely on anyone, then suddenly encourages me to act like there’s no tomorrow? Is this really the kind of behavior befitting a legendary paladin?
<I’m merely answering according to your expectations.>
“Ugh, maybe that’s why nobody liked you back then.”
<I’ve told you countless times, I wasn’t disliked, I...!>
Listening to Grandpa’s outburst somehow put me at ease.
Okay. I’ll be fine. Worst case, I can just make a swift exit.
With that in mind, I stepped onto the podium, where Count Bardronel placed a laurel crown on my head and handed me a bronze badge.
“Your armor took some damage. Use this to visit the forge north of the estate.”
This wasn’t a reward I’d seen in the game. Maybe Count Bardronel made an exception?
With no reason to refuse, I pocketed the badge, and Bardronel gave a brief speech praising my performance.
“And now, as the champion, please share a few words with the arena.”
Taking the enchanted microphone, I took a deep breath and cautiously spoke.
“Hello, everyone. I’m Lucy Allen, firstborn of the Allen family.”
“Greetings, weaklings who got pummeled by a little girl. It’s Lucy.”
Seeing the audience freeze, I hurriedly tried to wrap up my speech.
“I’m honored to have won. That’s all.”
“I’m thrilled I could show you just how pathetic you are. That’s it for now—I’d rather not waste more words on masochistic pigs who get beat down by a little girl.”
Ah. Yep, here we go again.
Just like last time, I opted to run off stage before anyone could fully process my words.
[Quest Complete!] [Rewards have been issued!]