“I’m sorry if I startled you,” Malo said, offering me his hand.

  Polite guy.

  I accepted the handshake. “You’re really tall.”

  He gave a pleased smile. “Thank you. You’re, uh-” He paused, searching for something to compliment me on in return. “You must be strong, considering you’re in the tournament.”

  “Eh.” I gave an awkward little shrug. “Probably not as strong as you.”

  “Oh, definitely not.”

  Wow. And he's not even saying that in a condescending way either.

  “But don’t worry,” he added with a reassuring nod. “I’ll make it quick. I’ll try not to hurt you.” He even threw in a thumbs-up.

  I heard Sys stifle a laugh.

  “That’s thoughtful of you,” I said, letting just a hint of sarcasm seep into my voice.

  Malo kept a peaceful smile. “I will show mercy to someone as unlucky as you. It’s not your fault you have to go against me.”

  He's very confident in himself. But he also looks kind of dumb to me. I wonder if-

  “I really am unlucky.” I began. “I got paired up against the biggest guy in the entire tournament.” I glanced at him. "I bet that axe isn't just for show either, is it?"

  Malo nodded.

  I let out a long, resigned sigh. “I guess there’s really no way for me to beat you.”

  “Beat me?” He blinked at me like the thought had never even crossed his mind.

  “Have you won every single battle you’ve ever fought?” I asked.

  “Yes.” He said with no hesitation.

  Great. Just my luck.

  “Then do you think you’re going to win the entire tournament?”

  “Yes.”

  I put on my best pitiful expression. “So, it wouldn’t be embarrassing at all if I lost to you instantly?”

  “None at all.” He set a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “I’m simply stronger than you. It’s okay.”

  This guy’s about to piss me o-No. Calm down.

  I brightened my face with feigned hope. “Then, can you at least grant me one request?”

  “Sure. What is it?”

  “Could your finishing blow, the one you use to take me out right at the start, be an overhead swing?”

  “An overhead swing?” He raised a brow.

  “Yes. I mean, that’s the coolest, most powerful attack you can do with an axe.”

  He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I think so.”

  “Then would you mind using it? That way I can lose in a way that at least looks dramatic and……....understandable.”

  He nodded. “I will do that.”

  I offered my hand this time. “Thank you.”

  He reached his hand out.

  He actually fell for it.

  “You’re very cunning for your age.”

  But before we could shake our hands, a voice appeared.

  We turned to see a skinnier but older version of Malo.

  He was leaner, clearly not as physically strong, yet his presence was just as imposing. His copper hair was streaked with threads of silver, tied loosely at the nape of his neck. His green eyes, a shade deeper than Malo's, carried the weight of age and responsibility, though I don’t know why I knew that. Lines had begun to form at the corners of his eyes and mouth. His skin was tanned to a deeper bronze, the surface marked with old, pale scars. He wore a long, dark-gray coat of weatherproof cloth, with a form of a bandolier of knives crossing his chest. His trousers were sturdy but patched in places, and his boots were scuffed just like Malo.

  “Jain?” Malo asked, glancing toward the newcomer.

  Jain flicked his eyes at him with a disappointed look. “You’ve still got a long way to go, little brother, especially considering how close you were to falling for his trick.”

  Where the hell did he come from?

  Jain closed the distance between us. When he stopped in front of me, he looked me over sharply.

  “He played on your naivety,” Jain answered, “and tried to get you to commit to a specific attack, so he’d have an opening for a surprise counter.” His lips curled into a faint smile. “It's not a bad strategy.”

  “Really?” Malo turned his head toward me. “Why would you do something like that?”

  Why did someone like him have to appear now?

  It's a bust.

  I looked away. "..........To win.”

  “But isn’t it obvious you’re going to lose?” Malo asked with a genuinely puzzled voice.

  Lose, he says. He says it like it's obvious that I'm going to lose here.

  Why do I feel offended by that? Actually, why have I even felt offended at all whenever he spoke of me in a weaker way? Do I actually think I can beat him?

  Did I seriously grow an ego just because of what my teachers said?

  “It might be obvious,” I said slowly, “but I’m still going to try, even if it means using less than respectable methods.”

  No, it’s not their fault. I’ve always had this ego. The ego that makes me think I’m more than what I actually am.

  Malo frowned. “Why?”

  Jain answered for me. “Because, Brother, not everyone is blessed like you. Not everyone has your absurd strength and speed. Not everyone can swing that massive axe around as if it were a dagger.” He paused, turning his eyes back to me. “That’s why people without such gifts, people like Beric here, have to use their wit to catch up.” Jain pondered for a bit. “Still,” he continued, “that’s exactly why you almost lost to him.”

  Malo was taken aback by that. “I almost lost?”

  Jain let out a small sigh. “Since you were about to agree to his request, you’d have gone in with a predictable move. Such a move would allow him to prepare, perhaps for a move that could knock you out in one hit.” He looked at me again. “Am I right, Beric?”

  This is the first time I’ve met someone who’s somewhat sharp, besides Death...........and Elaine.

  “You’re right.”

  “A one-shot move?” Malo’s eyes widened. “Someone as small as him has something like that?”

  Jain lifted his shoulders in a lazy shrug. “I doubt he’s just going to tell us, but sure, you can assume that.”

  Malo looked genuinely baffled, as if the thought of me being able to take him out in a single strike was some kind of fairy tale.

  “So, Beric, now what?” Jain asked.

  I narrowed my eyes. “What do you mean?”

  “Now that your little scheme’s been exposed, are you going to forfeit the match?”

  Forfeit?

  Jain tilted his head slightly. “Actually, what I’m really asking is, do you still have the confidence to fight Malo?”

  I turned toward Malo, letting my eyes trace the sheer physicality he carried so effortlessly. I envied the way he handled that massive axe as if it were nothing more than a stick, the towering, mountain-like stature that could only come from a rare, unattainable blessing.

  And I couldn’t help but imagine, that if I’d been born with those same gifts, maybe I—

  Nothing would change.

  You’d still be the exact same even if you had the same gifts.

  How do you know that?

  Because you’re still the same after everything that’s happened.

  I formed a fist.

  “I’ll still fight him.”

  Jain’s brow lifted ever so slightly. “I see.”

  “What?” Malo’s confusion deepened. “I don’t understand why you’d want to. Wouldn’t it be less embarrassing and a lot less painful to forfeit rather than actually fight me? Why even try, when you already know how it’s going to end?”

  I find myself asking the same question.

  Since, as a whole, I've long since known how weak I am.

  But there’s still this small, stubborn part of me that insists that it's possible. Maybe that part is an idiot. Maybe it’s the voice of a dumbass who’s too easily convinced to chase things that are way beyond reach.

  But it’s still me.

  “Throughout all of your battles in your lifetime,” I asked, “what’s been the deciding factor in your victories?”

  Malo didn’t even have to think. “My strength.”

  “Wrong.”

  His brow furrowed. “Wrong?”

  “There’s one thing every victorious person in every battle shares,” I said. “It’s not strength, because you need speed to win a race. It’s also not speed, because you need strength to win an arm wrestling match. And it’s not intelligence, because in gambling, you need luck more than smarts.”

  I let my gaze sweep between the two brothers. “Do you know what it is?”

  Neither Malo nor Jain answered.

  “Every victorious person,” I said slowly, “has won their battle. That’s the only thing they all share.”

  Malo blinked. “............Isn't that obvious?” He turned to his brother. “Right?”

  But Jain didn’t answer right away. His eyes widened ever so slightly, and there was something new in his expression. He was re-evaluating me.

  “Brother,” he said at last, “you should for a bit.”

  “Huh? But we haven’t finished talking with Beric yet. It’s not polite to leave so soon.”

  Jain’s gaze shifted to Malo. “The fact that Beric is here proves his strength. The fact that he almost tricked you proves his intelligence. And now-” he smiled faintly, “I can see he carries a strong will to win.” He paused with his eyes still on me. “Do not take Beric lightly. If I’m right, he’ll be a very hard opponent to beat.”

  In an instant, Malo’s expression shifted. Gone was the meek, gentle air. His face hardened into something focused, almost fierce. “Is that so?”

  “Be careful, Brother,” Jain warned. “Perhaps Beric will be the one to best you.”

  Malo turned to face me.

  The seriousness in his eyes made my skin prickle.

  “........Truly?”

  Did he say something?

  "Best of luck to you, Beric." He turned away. "My opponent."

  With that, the brothers walked toward a distant section of the training arena, their figures fading into the bustle.

  ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  From the practice range, the Arena spread out before me like an enormous baseball field, its centerpiece a raised stage where fighters would clash, ringed by rows of seating that curved in a perfect circle for the safety and spectacle of the crowd.

  I watched as the other contestants honed their craft. Some moved with razor-sharp precision, their swords cutting through the air in quick, measured arcs. Others wielded massive greatswords and maces with brutal strength, every swing a thunderous blow that reduced their practice dummies to splinters. A few stood apart, their hands weaving intricate patterns as bursts of flame, ice, or crackling lightning tore into their targets.

  Each one carried a distinct presence. It wasn’t just in the way they fought, or in their varied appearances. It was something deeper. There was an unshakable air that clung to them, earned through trials and victories most could never imagine.

  The presence of the talented.

  But, despite all of that, they all shared the same goal: to come out on top of the Winged Fangs tournament, and they also all kept staring at me.

  I mean, I can’t really blame them. Who decided that it’d be a good idea to let a kid in here, and who the hell made up the brackets? Who was the smartass that paired the giant Malo with him? Okay, maybe that last one is just me, but still, they all kept staring at me.

  Some even tried to confront me and belittle me. Dumb, I know, but it was probably a short burst of confidence for them. “Hey, if some little kid like him is in here, then maybe everyone else isn’t as strong as I thought. Either I’m stronger than I thought and this’ll be a breeze, or I can just get a free win from him.”

  I merely stood as they said the usual bullshit. “Who are you?” “What’s a kid like you doing here?” “This place isn’t for brats like you” yada yada.

  One was about to lay a hand on me, maybe forcefully remove me, but thankfully, before that could happen, the guard from before, Adam was his name, stepped in.

  “Hey, I do not get paid enough to stop fights, so just leave the kid alone.” He said to the group of harassers.

  “You don’t even get paid.” One retorted.

  “Oh, is that right?” He gave them a dead look. “Then, that just means I have nothing to lose. Make my job any harder than it has to be, and I’ll make your experience here a living hell.”

  That made them go away.

  “Thank you.” I said.

  He raised a hand. “No worries. Just try not to die.”

  It wasn't exactly the most encouraging thing to hear, but I’ll take it.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  The guard Adam looked like a man who had been running on too little sleep and too much bad coffee for most of his adult life. His chain shirt hung a little loose over a plain, sweat-stained tunic, and the leather straps of his pauldrons were worn down to frayed edges. A dull bronze badge sat crooked on his chest, as if he’d pinned it there in a rush and never bothered to fix it. His dark hair was unkempt, tied back in a lazy knot that left several strands hanging in his face, shadowing a pair of dark, brown eyes that radiated pure, unfiltered boredom. There was stubble on his jaw—not the rugged kind, just the I-can’t-be-bothered-to-shave kind—and his posture leaned heavily on the halberd he carried, more walking stick than weapon. Even the way he breathed seemed weary, like every inhale was another reminder that he still had hours left on his shift. Yet behind that languid, couldn’t-care-less demeanor was the faint, dangerous edge of someone who’d seen enough trouble to know exactly how to end it, and simply from his attitude towards work, he knew how to do it with the least amount of effort possible.

  After he returned to his post with an even more empty look, I turned to Sys.

  What to choose?

  Sys lazily flew around the many bins, crates, and racks that contained weapons for duels.

  As of right now, during the few minutes I had before the tournament officially started, I had to choose a weapon to use.

  You feel like using a sword? A sword and a shield? Maybe even an axe just to be fun?

  “Nah.”

  Because of the restriction Elder Liora had placed on me, I couldn’t carry my own weapon, nor could I grow so accustomed to one that it became second nature. In every match, I would have to adapt, taking up whatever weapon the situation demanded, and learning to wield it effectively in a moment’s notice. The goal was clear: to sharpen my ability to adjust instantly, to master all weapons to be capable of beating anyone.

  I glanced over my shoulder at Malo.

  His herculean frame tensed, muscles shifting beneath his skin, before he brought his massive axe down in a thunderous overhead swing. The blade cleaved clean through the wooden dummy, splitting it in two with a sound like a cracking tree trunk.

  It was the kind of strike that would make even the fiercest orc envious.

  Man, if only I was like him, huh?

  Sys awkwardly flew to my side.

  Beric-

  Ah, whatever. Even if I had his strength, I probably would still lose to him. So, I should just focus on what I can do right now.

  ………Hah.

  “What’s up?”

  I thought you’d go on another rant, this time of being jealous over Malo’s strength.

  “To be fair, yeah, I was close to thinking that, but I figure it’s better to steer clear of those kinds of thoughts. I don’t want to discount everything I’ve done to get here. It’s not like I have zero chance just because I don’t have his strength. I’ve put in my own hard work, and I’ve learned from incredible teachers who helped me reach this point. Sure, I might not be as strong as him, but I have my own skills that could make all the difference.”

  Sys smiled.

  You’re right. You’ve also worked hard.

  “Besides, I don’t want to think I have to rely on blessings or god-given gifts to win.”

  What do you mean?

  “Nothing.”

  Anyway, back to Malo, the super tall guy with a physique so impressive it’d make any gym rat question why they even bother showing up. He also uses a heavy axe that probably weighs more than five of me combined.

  For such a guy, what do I choose?

  A bell rang.

  “Five more minutes until the Winged Fangs tournament begins!” Adam yelled.

  I’d recommend a shield and a sword. A simple shield will be handy to ward off his main attacks, and a quick sword slash every once or so will be good at counterattacking.

  “True, true.”

  A sword and shield would be solid, but considering the raw power Malo could unleash, I doubted the shield would hold up for long. A spear offered the advantage of range, sure, but it came with less defense than a shield, and either way, I’d have to stay light on my feet to dodge his attacks. Using a heavier weapon would slow me down, and that was a risk I couldn’t afford.

  If I had to pick, my best bet was a weapon that struck a balance. I needed something with enough defense and agility to block or parry his blows, while still packing enough power to do some real damage. It was important that I could dish out damage that could somewhat come close to what Malo could dish out himself.

  I mean, just look at the size of him. One hit or even a simple grab and it’d be over in a flash. Geez man, he really is huge.

  He’s big just like that orc………I wonder……….just like that orc, would he tire faster? Maybe not as quickly as I’d hope, but still faster. If that happened, his heavy axe, while deadly, could become a burden that slowed him down even more.

  Then, I need a weapon light enough to dodge and defend with, but strong enough to hurt him, or maybe even damage his weapon.

  Sure, there probably wasn’t a light weapon capable of hurting Malo directly. But what about his axe?

  Okay, I got it.

  ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  Elder Alric sat uneasily in the spectator seats, his discomfort growing as the two most notable pupils under his tutelage, Cedric and Merilda, bickered like children right beside him. Both were renowned adventurers, celebrated across the World Guild, yet here they were, squabbling loudly instead of focusing on the upcoming matches.

  “That brat’s got the first match? I just hope he doesn’t lose in some embarrassing way. Otherwise, he’s going to tarnish Master’s reputation,” Merilda muttered under her breath.

  Cedric raised an eyebrow. “What makes you think he can’t win?”

  “He’s going up against Malo. Have you seen the guy? He’s nearly your size. Though, both of you are just sacks of muscle without much else. If Beric had any real skill, he’d exploit that, but I doubt it.”

  Cedric’s voice dropped to a quiet retort. “And you think you’re any better?”

  Merilda’s hand instinctively rested on her weapon. “Want me to show you again?”

  “Show me what? Running in endless circles? Yeah, that’s really impressive.”

  “You—”

  “Pipe down.”

  Their eyes flicked toward Elder Alric, who gave them a stern look. The two exchanged awkward glances, then reluctantly settled back into their roles as spectators.

  Finally, Elder Alric breathed out, relieved.

  “They’re starting,” Cedric announced, pointing toward the center stage of the Arena.

  Elder Alric leaned forward, straining to get a better view.

  ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  Elder Liora sat quietly in a secluded corner of the spectator stands, deliberately choosing a spot far enough back and to the side to avoid the loudest cheers. She preferred the calm, a small refuge where she could close her eyes and zone out the surrounding noise. It had been a while since she last attended the tournament, and she liked to meditate briefly before the fights began. It helped clear her mind, sharpening her focus so she could better analyze the battles, and to-

  “There you are!”

  The peaceful moment shattered with the sudden, familiar voice.

  Liora opened her eyes reluctantly, offering just enough space for Volk to slide in beside her.

  He looked like he had just finished his shift and decided that he was too tired to change back out. However, he no longer wore his apron, and his appearance was somewhat tidier that it was back in his forge.

  In his hands were two cups, one already half-empty, the other offered to her without a word.

  After a brief hesitation, Elder Liora accepted the cup.

  Volk took a deep, satisfied breath after a sip. “Ah, I love the fruit juice they hand out here.”

  Liora took a careful sip herself. “Still as good as ever.”

  “So, where is he? Beric, I mean,” Volk asked, craning his neck to get a better view.

  “There he is,” Liora replied calmly.

  Beric and Malo finally stepped out, marking the beginning of the tournament.

  Volk squinted to locate Beric, taking another sip. Mid-drink, two sudden realizations hit him, the opponent Beric was facing, and the weapon he had chosen. His eyes widened in disbelief. Before he could stop it, he spat the juice out in surprise.

  Unfortunately, the spray landed squarely on the head of an unsuspecting spectator just a few seats up.

  “WHAT IS HE THINKING—”

  ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  Elder Walden had chosen a seat much like Elder Liora’s, quiet, away from the bustling crowds, in a sparsely populated corner of the stands.

  He didn’t have many thoughts about the match itself. Of course, he knew Malo and recognized the young man’s remarkable potential. Malo’s body was a natural marvel, honed to perfection through relentless training, fueled by that fierce, innate desire to fight, the kind only the strongest could truly harness.

  He reminded Walden of Alric.

  Still, Walden wasn’t overly worried. Yes, Malo was like a wild beast with his massive axe and sheer physical power, but Beric had trained under Alric himself. He might not match Malo’s raw strength or speed, but he was no pushover.

  His physique might not be as naturally gifted, but Beric carried the blood of the elves in his veins.

  With Alric’s rigorous training, Liora’s expert teachings, and his own knowledge, Beric should be able to hold his own in a battle of strength, at least to some extent.

  Yet, as Elder Walden’s eyes settled on Beric, a frown crept across his face.

  What are you doing?

  ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  “Are you sure he’s going to be okay?” Merrol asked, her hands clenched tightly as if in silent prayer.

  “Yes, he’ll be just fine,” Lucian reassured her for the tenth time.

  “Mom, you worry too much,” Arthur said confidently, leaning back in his seat and propping his feet up on the empty chair in front of him.

  “They’re right, Mother. Beric’s worked hard these past three years. We should at least have some confidence for his sake,” Elaine encouraged gently.

  Merrol sighed as she scanned the Arena anxiously. “I just hope he doesn’t get hurt like he did against that orc.”

  “You don’t need to worry about that,” Elaine replied. “There haven’t been any sightings of orcs or creatures that size nearby for years. The guards have been doing a great job keeping Haldrith safe.”

  “Eh, I don’t know about that,” Arthur muttered.

  Their attention shifted as the figures of Beric and Malo stepped forward.

  “Just look at who Beric has to fight. That guy’s practically an orc,” Arthur remarked with a heavy sigh.

  Merrol’s hands started trembling again. “That’s who Beric’s facing?”

  Lucian steadied her gently. “Malo. I’ve heard a lot about him.”

  “It’s just unlucky that Beric drew him in the first round,” Arthur said with a note of resignation in his voice.

  Elaine shot him a sharp glare. “You don’t sound very confident.”

  “Unless Beric has some ultra-special weapon that can take Malo down in one hit, I don’t see him winning.” Arthur’s eyes suddenly widened as he noticed Beric’s weapon choice. “And seeing what he’s got, I don’t think this is going to go well.”

  Merrol nearly fainted, Lucian narrowed his eyes in confusion, and Elaine almost hit Arthur out of instinct.

  ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  I could practically hear what the Elders, and everyone else in the stands, were thinking.

  No, like literally, I heard plenty of jeers calling me an idiot.

  I think I even heard Arthur yelling at me.

  Sys raised a hand above his eyes, scanning the crowd.

  I think I see your family up there.

  “They’re probably worried out of their minds.”

  Yep. It looks like your mom’s about to faint.

  They weren’t entirely wrong to worry.

  In my hands, I gripped two wooden sticks, each about ninety centimeters long.

  They were just the shafts of spears, practice weapons meant for beginners learning how to wield the real thing.

  Not exactly the most common weapon choice, which I could tell even Malo found strange.

  I caught a glimpse of Malo’s brother seated in a special front-row seat, looking at me with a puzzled expression.

  Malo himself wore the same confused look as we stood facing each other, waiting for Adam to start the match.

  Adam looked at me. “Are you sure about using that, Beric?”

  “Yes.”

  He scratched his chin. “Hmm. It’s your funeral.”

  I just stared at him.

  He cleared his throat and continued, “Anyway,” he said, placing his hands on both our weapons, “I will now enchant your weapons—”

  He was cut off by a loud, booming voice that came from a large table near the “special” seating section that Jain sat in. “LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!”

  “Ugh, there he is.” Adam said with an annoyed look.

  Sitting in a chair with an object similar to a herald’s horn in front of his mouth, a man was wrapped in a crimson coat. His sandy hair stuck up in wild tufts with a chaotic nature, and his grin was the kind you’d expect from someone who’d bet all of his money on the matches. From his voice, his tool, and his overall appearance, I had the feeling that this man is the commentator.

  “ARE WE EXCITED FOR THE WINGED FANGS TOURNAMENT?!”

  The crowd roared in response.

  “I CAN’T HEAR YOU!”

  The crowd roared even louder.

  “THEN, MY DEAR FELLOW VIEWERS, I AM PROUD TO COMMENTATE THE FOLLOWING MATCHES THAT WE WILL ALL BE ENJOYING!"

  He fiddled with the tool. “Sorry about that, I seriously couldn’t hear you all over the echo of this thing.” Clearing his throat, he continued, “As you all know, I am Gabno, the loyal commentator of the Winged Fangs Tournament at our beloved Fivefold Bounty Festival. I’m excited to announce that this year’s tournament might just be the best yet!”

  The crowd erupted in cheers.

  “Starting off with our first match: on the right, the infamous Battle Devil, a beast who has never tasted defeat, and one of the top favorites to win it all, Malo Dione!”

  Malo raised a hand to the roaring crowd.

  “And on the left, a young genius, the youngest contestant ever, hailing from Lurindell, the home of the Three Sages of the Past, Beric Bome!”

  The response was quieter but still loud enough to be considered a roar. I guess the crowd was still excited to see me fight, thanks to my teachers.

  “Now, without further ado, let’s wait a few minutes while our loyal guard Adam prepares the participants.”

  “I was almost done, but you cut me off,” Adam grumbled while shooting a glare at Gabno.

  “Uhm, Adam?” I called out.

  Adam turned to me. “Oh, sorry. What was I doing?”

  “You were telling us about the enchantments.”

  “Ah, yes. So, I enchanted the weapons to avoid lethal consequences. While they're still normal, a protective coat of mana surrounds them, meaning the sharp points are replaced by an invisible, blunt layer.”

  “So, I won’t die?”

  “Maybe not,” Adam replied. “But if you get hit too hard on the head, you could still die.”

  “That won’t happen, right?”

  Adam shrugged. “Probably not, but if it does, my condolences, but I’m not the one getting in trouble.”

  I gave him a side-eye.

  Ya gotta get in there, Berry.

  I turned to Sys.

  He had on a black beanie and tried to look serious.

  Sys, what are you doing-”

  Yer gonna have to tear into him good, you hear me? No fancy stuff, and no pretty stuff. Get in there quick and mean, is that clear?

  I rolled my eyes. “Sure, Coach.”

  Sys then clapped the back of my back.

  That’s right, boy. Whatever he throws, you eat and poop it out back at him!

  I didn’t respond to that.

  Adam stepped back and motioned for us to do the same. Once we took our positions, he raised his right hand sideways, straight up.

  "The battle will end if either one of you is knocked out fully, surrenders, or in a state that stops you from fighting any further!"

  Gabno gripped his horn tightly. “There it is! Adam will now begin the match! Let’s show our excitement with one final roar!”

  The crowd unleashed their loudest cheers yet. They were finally going to witness the fight.

  “The match will finally begin!”

  Most of them were probably thrilled-my family, not as much. The elders? Maybe.

  As for me?

  “In 3—” Adam started the countdown.

  Malo lowered his stance, gripping his axe with one hand.

  I’m nervous. I’m about to face a giant known to have never lost. It's not like I enjoy impossible battles. I’m just some guy trying to be an adventurer.

  I didn’t reincarnate to be in a situation like this.

  “2—”

  I crouched low too, left foot forward, right foot back. My right hand pointed down, my left pointed up, crossing the wooden sticks into an X.

  But hey, I’ve already survived an impossible fight once.

  “1—”

  We both tensed as our eyes locked onto each other.

  I’m not suddenly brimming with confidence from that orc fight, but I know one thing: it’s still possible. The chance might be tiny, almost nonexistent, a number so small you’d think it didn’t matter.

  But it’s there.

  “Begin!”

  Malo struck first, launching an instantaneous overhead swing.

  He’s still beginning with that? I guess this is Jain’s doing. He probably thought I’d be expecting a different move, so something like this would easily catch me off guard.

  Yeah, it was a good move. It was the type that made you overthink.

  A simple overhead swing like this could easily erase all of my effort with a single move, proving that no matter what I tried and sacrificed, Malo could crush it all like just another training dummy.

  That was the power of the talented.

  But I don't want it to get crushed.

  Just before his axe could land, I shifted diagonally forward to his right side.

  It doesn’t matter how fast you are. If I can see your attack coming, I can stop it.

  From the moment Malo’s shoulders and hips committed to the downward smash, I knew exactly what was coming.

  Using the left stick, I pushed against the shaft of his axe, sliding down it to guide his attack off course.

  His eyes widened in surprise as his strike failed completely. Seizing the moment, I jabbed my right stick at his shin, making him stumble and break his posture.

  Surprised cries burst from the crowd.

  Malo himself could hardly believe that such an attack had failed, and that I had even managed to land a counterattack.

  What now?

  Malo took a quick breath as he twisted his wrist.

  With a broken stance, he had two options: bring the axe back overhead or swing horizontally to keep me at bay.

  The twist of his wrist told me it was the latter.

  I threw my right stick into the air and planted my left foot firmly, pivoting on my right.

  As his axe came in a sweeping horizontal arc, I spun and stepped back just enough to narrowly dodge the attack.

  The dodge was easier because Malo’s eyes couldn’t help but track the flying stick.

  He fell for it.

  Thanks to the spin, I rotated my shoulder and hip fully. My right arm, now free of any weapon, snapped forward.

  Malo’s eyes met mine again as I spun back toward him, gritting my teeth as my fist connected cleanly with his jaw.

  His head snapped back with a heavy boom.

  Hopefully—

  No, of course not.

  Malo grabbed his jaw, a bright glint in his eyes having appeared.

  The curiosity in his gaze was replaced with fascination.

  He grinned as I caught my stick and resumed my stance.

  I don’t have your talent. You geniuses, with your god-given gifts that surpass us ordinary folk effortlessly, can do everything that I want to without even trying.

  Your existence alone makes mine insignificant.

  “Hey, Malo?”

  He was taken aback by my sudden question. “What is it?”

  But I’ll show you that I'm still here.

  “That undefeated record of yours? Get ready for it to be broken.”

  Malo’s eyes widened as a huge smile formed on his face.

  “Try me.”

  I'll prove it here.