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Chapter 6: The Swordsmanship Prodigy Saintess
🕑 Added 2025-05-19 04:19:07 +0000 UTCMartial Arts Tournament (2)
1.
Northern Breezera Town.
A packed coliseum.
Swordsmen.
Mages.
People of all kinds, who were confident in their skills and ready for battle, were warming up on the field.
The tournament was about to begin.
Currently, there were 70 participants in total.
The first round was a survival match: All contestants enter the arena, and the match continues until only 16 remain.
Tension brewed in the air as everyone sized each other up.
Who looked weaker?
Who might be stronger?
Some were already forming temporary alliances in the corners of the coliseum.
It was technically a free-for-all, but teaming up in the first round gave you better odds of surviving the chaos.
That uneasy tension hovered in the air near the registration booth, until it was broken by—
“Hah…! Hah…!”
A young girl stumbled into the registration area, out of breath.
A new contestant?
All eyes turned toward her.
Short.
Delicate frame.
She didn’t exactly scream “fighter.”
And her outfit? A nun’s robe.
Not exactly the kind of person you’d expect to be signing up.
More likely she was there to assist the wounded during the matches.
People were already beginning to look away—
“Is registration still open?”
The girl looked up at the receptionist and asked.
The desk was taller than she was, so she stood on tiptoe to peek over it.
Kind of adorable, actually.
“You’ve got ten minutes left.”
“Whew, perfect.”
She clapped her hands cheerfully.
“Then I’d like to register, please!”
At the word ‘register’, everyone stared again.
“Um… you do know this is the Martial Arts Tournament, right…?”
“I know.”
She nodded confidently.
“Here you go.”
The girl handed over a completed registration form she had prepared beforehand.
“Uh… what?”
The moment she submitted it, the signup was official.
There were no restrictions on who could enter.
Age, gender, profession, it didn’t matter.
Anyone could sign up.
And being a pint-sized nun didn’t disqualify you.
“You’re… really going to participate?”
The receptionist leaned in, whispering out of concern.
“Yes.”
Was she stupid? Or reckless?
Technically, registration was open to all, but most kids backed out the moment they felt the brutal, bloody atmosphere of the real thing.
Plenty of curious brats had joined before.
Full of curiousity and adventure, only to run away crying after getting hit once.
This was not a playground.
This was real combat.
You could get stabbed.
You could have your arm burned off by magic.
“Maybe reconsider?”
The receptionist tried to talk her out of it.
She’d probably be the first one to fall.
She was far too cute to get mangled in something like this.
“No matter how many times I reconsider…”
The girl looked around at the other competitors and grinned slyly.
“…Why bother? I’m going to win anyway.”
It was a full-area taunt.
With that one line, most of the contestants silently agreed:
Let’s teach this smug little brat a lesson first.
“Can I borrow a practice sword?”
Oh dear.
She didn’t even have a weapon.
“We do have some you can borrow, but…”
The practice swords were exactly that, just for practice.
They are useless in real combat.
Looking at the flashy weapons the other contestants had, it was obvious that if she clashed head-on with one of those blades, this thing would probably snap in half on impact.
The receptionist handed the girl a one-handed sword.
No way they were going to give her a two-hander — she was way too small for that.
“Hmm… not bad.”
She gripped the hilt a few times and nodded in satisfaction.
“When does it start?”
“It’ll start soon.”
“I’ll step out for a minute, then.”
The girl headed toward the exit.
That’s when it happened.
“Hey! Little nun!”
Someone called out.
The girl realized that they were calling her and turned to look.
A group of adventurers, drinking off to the side, looking like a mix of Gold and Silver ranks.
One of them, a huge man with a giant double-headed axe, waved at her with a sleazy grin.
“Don’t run off now. You gotta win, remember?”
The men around him burst into laughter.
Other contestants nearby snickered.
“Sure.”
She replied flatly and walked off without another glance.
*
2.
I’d snuck out of the cathedral, signed up, and made it in.
Now the mission was simple:
Finish the tournament before Sister Bertina finds out.
Or… maybe she already noticed I was gone.
Either way, I had excuses ready.
“Alright then…”
I pulled my robe tight around me.
“Let’s see how strong today’s youth really are.”
I stepped into the arena.
A roar of cheers slammed into my ears.
The arena was already swarming with participants.
Everyone had finished preparing.
The air buzzed with mana, waves of energy crashing into one another like chaotic tides.
So full of fire, these kids.
I raised the practice sword I’d borrowed from registration.
It wasn’t well-maintained.
There were patches of red rust here and there.
But it didn’t matter.
A true craftsman doesn’t blame their tools.
That phrase exists for a reason.
To a Sword Saint, the type of sword is irrelevant.
The only thing that matters is whether or not you have one.
And frankly, even that’s optional.
“Thank you all for waiting!”
A voice echoed across the arena from a magic crystal floating in the air.
It’s a magical engineering amplifier.
Wow. The world’s really changed.
Back in my day, even when we used these things, all you could hear was mumbling static.
Now it’s crystal clear.
Yet another reminder that the world kept moving even after I died.
“This year’s tournament has 71 participants!”
Last year had only 50.
Apparently the number went up because of this year’s prize.
The Potion of Growth.
To anyone who dreams of getting stronger, it’s basically liquid gold.
Just drinking it is said to permanently double your mana and strength.
I plan to win… and snag the prize while I’m at it.
I already consider myself strong, but stronger is always better, right?
“Round 1 will be a survival match! All participants will fight until only 16 remain! You must battle until your opponent is either dead, or nearly dead!”
As soon as the word “death” was mentioned, the arena’s tension cranked up a notch.
People love violent spectacles.
Even though, when actual death stares them down, they freeze like cowards.
Whatever.
Looks like the game’s about to begin.
I shifted my eyes around the field, casually surveying the area.
Some contestants were being cheered on by the crowd.
Some genuinely looked skilled.
And then…
That guy’s been staring at me for a while, hasn’t he?
The big guy who mocked and smirked at me earlier from the waiting room, he was waving at me again.
Ugh. Please don’t tell me…
Is this his type?
Nope. Nope. That’s illegal.
Back off, you bastard.
“And now! Let the Martial Arts Tournament… Begin!!”
The crowd erupted in cheers that shook the coliseum.
*
3.
The match began.
In the stands, spectators whispered predictions to each other.
“This year, it’s gotta be that ghost from the Eastern Marsh.”
“Nah, he’s just fast. Doesn’t hit that hard.”
“Then who do you think’s gonna win?”
“Obviously that guy over there. Look at his chest. That’s a Platinum rank badge.”
Out of all the contestants, there was only one Platinum-ranked adventurer.
Based on objective combat stats, he was clearly the top dog.
Platinum adventurers are the kind that can solo a dungeon.
“Or maybe that guy, the Axe Giant.”
A finger pointed across the field.
There stood a massive man, over two meters tall, wielding a huge two-handed axe.
The Axe Giant, Hawkron.
Officially, he was only Silver rank, lower than Platinum.
But he used to be Platinum.
Until he was expelled from the Adventurers’ Guild for trying to rape a female member from another party and nearly crippling three people who tried to stop him.
Now, Hawkron bought his way back into the Adventurers’ Guild and was lazing around in the Silver rank.
But considering his strength…
And his brutality…
He was easily one of the top contenders to win.
“By the way, who’s that little kid?”
A lone figure stood by the entrance of the arena.
Boy or girl? Hard to tell.
The hood was pulled low, obscuring their face.
But the long hair cascading down to the chest suggested it was a girl.
“Happens every year, huh?”
“Yeah. Some kid thinks they’re hot stuff and enters.”
“Last year one of them lost an arm. Some creep got to her.”
“Right. Think that’ll happen again?”
“Hawkron’s been eyeing her all morning. Wouldn’t be surprised if she gets smashed to bits. Maybe not killed… though with him, you never know.”
Someone in the crowd muttered a preemptive prayer for the girl.
Whatever happened, it was her decision and her responsibility.
“Let the Martial Arts Tournament… Begin!”
The crowd roared as the contestants sprang into motion.
Everyone lunged toward the opponents they’d already marked.
“As expected…”
Hawkron charged.
Boom!
The ground split beneath his feet as he thundered forward like a boar.
He barreled toward the girl.
Just one hit from that beast would flatten a person.
Krrrrrrrk—!!
His massive axe scraped the ground behind him, shrieking like the cry of a beast.
Big as he was, the man was fast.
That girl will suffer a miserable fate without knowing anything.
That’s what everyone thought until…
The girl jumped up.
Her cloak flared like butterfly wings as she leapt gracefully into the air.
Hawkron’s charge missed entirely, passing beneath her.
While suspended midair, she rotated her body, and slowly — almost lazily — swung her rusted sword.
Too slow.
It's definitely slow.
Anyway, that’s how it looked.
The flat of her sword tapped Hawkron’s head.
Tap.
Just a light hit.
Hawkron reached up, touched his head, and let out a chuckle.
“Oho… Quick, aren’t ya? Let’s see how long you can—huh…?”
His eyes slowly rolled back.
Thud!!
The giant collapsed backward.
Seeing that, the girl clicked her tongue.
“How disappointing.”
The entire stadium fell silent.
A promising candidate for victory was defeated by a girl half his size.
In a single strike.
With the rusted sword still in her hand, she looked at him like trash.
“Too weak.”
And with a tired sigh, she exhaled.
