Volume 5, Chapter 3 – The Tournament. Interrogation by an IBR-A Agent
I woke up with chattering teeth and a numb body under the bridge, in a pile of fluff and dry seaweed. Moving my arms was hard, and I sat up by the river, pushed aside the duckweed, and drank some water.
Disgusting taste... But at least something. The sun hadn't risen yet, but I'd slept enough. Though you couldn't call it rest — more like a means to survive the night and start the tournament.
Goosebumps ran up and down my body, marking my icy hands and feet. My stomach started demanding food again, and my body was stone-cold all over — every movement was heaviness.
(Maybe I should give up?) — I looked at my reflection in the water, surrounded by duckweed. — (Why fight if everything's already clear? They're happy, and the Lady is clearly not a bad Commander.)
"Cough..." — I smiled.
(Good thing I took a loan from the Syndicate Agents. If I give up, I'll just end up in slavery — and that's not what I need. I can't give up!)
I stood up, trying to warm up my body and stretch.
—
—
I walked toward the pyramid with the rapier, tilting a little to one side. The warm-up helped, but hunger and drowsiness still weighed on me. People around sometimes glanced at me, sizing up my appearance. Someone remembered I'd bet on myself in the final. Someone was cracking jokes about something of their own.
(I'll walk this path alone. And I have to manage — to see each officer personally in battle one last time, to give the gold to the Syndicate. And to give it, I have to beat the Lady. And if she doesn't kill me, then I was wrong about her strength and her ability to protect the officers.)
I entered the pyramid, where the stands followed the geometry of the structure, with about one and a half people sitting in them. Clearly few cared to watch F, D, and B fighters.
[Khlorun: Ladies and gentlemen, today at dawn we begin watching the fights of the 17th division, B-rank. Maybe there are some dark horses hiding here? What do you think, Norn?]
[Norn: I think all fighters can show what they're capable of, but I doubt we should expect anything today.]
[Khlorun: What a skeptic you are! These are people from all over the world!]
[Norn: I'm not a skeptic — I just see that fights await us. Let me remind you: two hundred and eight S-ranks, including the President of the new state and the Emperor himself!]
[Khlorun: Yes, yes, yes! But LET'S GET STARTED, people. Today we have <announces 25 participants>]
[Norn: Correct. And [Name] has already scored five wins — and he'll be fighting... Seraphim.]
[Khlorun: Oh. I've heard that name. They say the guy bet on the whole fight — on Lady Tezrian, and that she'll win.]
[Norn: Let me remind everyone — this is the President of the new country. In our terms — a king.]
[Khlorun: Exactly. But here's the interesting part! He bet on himself to beat her in the final!]
[Norn: Stupidity? A bid for fame? What kind of odds are those...]
[Khlorun: Well, with the current odds, if the bet pays off, he'll earn SEVENTEEN MILLION GOLD! SEVENTEEN!!]
[Norn: Ye-e-e-ah... The sum is impressive. You could buy yourself a duchy and still pave all the roads with gold coins. But that's for today. With each victory the sum drops, and in the end... About four million.]
[Khlorun: FOUR MILLION? Did I really pick the right job? They paid me fifty thousand for the tournament. Maybe I should go into betting?]
[Norn: Ha-ha! Why not. By the way, Seraphim's opponent is already in place — and let me remind all viewers, [Name] has already beaten five out of twenty-five fighters in the seventeenth division. For Seraphim to reach the top 16, he needs to beat all the remaining ones in a single fight. Or score more than five wins to enter the purgatory.]
I stood unwinding my rapier, looking at the guy across from me with an ordinary sword. (He looks weak, but he managed to beat five. And in my condition, I need to beat nineteen more. Can I do it? Do I even have a choice?)
[Norn: The fight begins.]
I pointed the rapier and watched this rather homemade-looking guy who couldn't hold a stance, his sword slipping from his hands again and again.
[Khlorun: And look at that — Seraphim's even holding his rapier.]
[Norn: I'm shocked. Maybe he ended up in B by mistake?]
I watched the guy without moving, trying to figure out if he was joking or genuinely couldn't hold the sword for more than half a minute. (Why does he keep dropping it? And he's getting nervous, watching me stand still and not move.)
"I surrender!" the guy shouted, raising his hands.
"What?" I was taken aback.
[Khlorun: Incredible! Never dropped his weapon and didn't even move from his spot! I'm simply shocked!]
[Norn: Yeah... Impressive — the first B-rank who can hold a weapon and even knows a stance. In any case, Seraphim already has one win in his pocket. Waiting for the next opponent.]
[18th — 10th opponent]
They surrendered the same way. Two ran at me and fell from a single strike.
[9th — 6th opponent]
One choked on food and was carried off. Another cut off his own finger. A third made two lunges, then after my dodge, stumbled back and fell to the ground. The fourth tried to draw his sword dramatically from behind his back — but physics told him that was impossible, and I quickly touched his neck with the blade.
[5th — 3rd opponent]
One only needed a leg sweep. The second — a rapier hilt to the nose. The third — just a loud "Woof."
(I don't understand anything at all... Are they really this weak? What's going on in F?)
[A minute of F-rank fights]
"Hey! How do you hold this thing properly?" fighter 1 addressed, poking at the sword in his sheath, bought by his parents.
"Well... Uh, isn't it dangerous?"
"Dangerous?"
"Well, we're going to fight and might... — he ran up and started whispering in his ear. — Die."
"WHAAAT??? MOM!" fighter 1 shouted.
Mom ran onto the field and pulled out a handkerchief.
"What's wrong, sweetie?"
"You have to FIGHT here!" — the nineteen-year-old fighter 1 stomped his foot, displeased.
"Hey! What is this?! You're making children fight?! I thought it was an exhibition! CALL THE MANAGER!" Mom shouted at the empty arena.
—
—
[2nd — 1st opponent]
(I'm more tired of waiting for them than anything, and my stomach brings me more pain than their attempts to even reach me.) The last two just surrendered.
[Norn: Astonishing. Not a single strike did we see.]
[Khlorun: But at least Seraphim held the sword to the very end. Impressive.]
[Norn: For a B-rank, it really is impressive — but for A, you also need to be able to swing a sword. In any case, congratulations to Seraphim for reaching the top 16 among the twenty B-rank divisions. You have two hours to rest before you step onto the arena against the division winners.]
I left the pyramid in complete bewilderment. (Maybe this rank was given to me by God not because of my strength, but because of will — as He likes to say. Because I genuinely wanted to surrender, without even trying to fight. But I did it. And now I just have to face... The best of the worst?)
A person and a half at the arena exit clapped for me and quickly dispersed — and a group glanced at me and started whispering. (Popularity isn't my thing — that's Lelik... Yeah, he's a cool friend... But now not my friend. And I'm not a proprietor to grab friends for myself — they're fine, I believe it and know it.)
(I'd better go find food somewhere...)
"Yeah... Cough!" — I said, as a spoon flew into my mouth, scraping my uvula.
"Don't yawn! Flies could get in," — she pulled the spoon out forcefully, pushing me off with one hand. "Phew! Lucky I was nearby — and instead of flies, it's mushroom soup."
"Cough! Mushroom? Why are you even helping me?" I said.
Guya started looking strange — little horns growing, her hair turning into seaweed.
"Money-money to earn-earn! That's-that's what I-I am, mercenary-mercenary," she snorted. "And the soup-soup-soup is the tastiest-TASTIEST, right-right?" — she poked my sides with her little fingers.
"Whoa, whoa-whoa, why are my arms so lo-o-o-ong! I might accidentally knock down the moon..." — with childish delight, mouth agape, I watched my arms stretch beyond the horizon, where Guya stood.
"What?" — Guya became tiny and started squeaking. "What arms? What's wrong with you?"
Guya started circling around my boot, while I wiped sweat from my face with my long arm, wrapped around my other arm, trying not to accidentally crush her.
"This devilry is strange. You clearly have hallucinations!" — she pushed my boot, but it felt like a truck hit me at supersonic speed.
(I'm so tired. I've been standing here for half a year already. I've seen and learned so much that I'm no longer interested in your cars, your money — I've become so enlightened, as if I'm living my third life!)
"Ha-ha! It's the second!" — I burst out laughing, growing to enormous size and hitting my head on the moon. "OW!"
"DO RE MIIIIIII" — Guya tuned the piano and started playing a funeral march.
Blink.
I was in a trench with a grenade launcher. Guya ran up to me in a uniform... Uh-uh...
"[German] The phenomenological impact of mycological agents," Guya began, firing back at Titans, "extracted into a suppository, is conditioned by your critical lack of—" Guya grabbed me under the armpit and dragged me through the trenches, fighting off small Titans, "—as a subject, of metaphysical predisposition and endogenous magical nuclides necessary for resistance to psychoactive transmutation."
"[G] Where do I shoot!?"
"What? Snap out of it!" she shouted, starting to shake me.
A huge meteorite landed on me, and I was in water, choking.
Blub-blub-blub.
Everything swam before my eyes, and I felt something pouring into me in enormous volumes. Then my vision returned, and I was in some kind of tent, with Guya looming over me in gloves and a gauze mask.
I jumped up, surveying the tent. With piles of weapons, wigs, ampoules, notes, documents, a map, and a list of all participants and their portraits.
"I probably won't survive after visiting the IBR-A tent.......... Oops..." — I shut my mouth, backing into the wall.
"Uh-huh..." — she pulled a dagger from the table and slowly circled it, blowing her fringe to get a look at me. "A question... Why specifically IBR-A? Doesn't the interior look like ISBI? IVR? IVGDU?" — she took step by step toward me. "Do you know who I am?"
(Bottom... But I knocked on the bottom... Maybe I should spill the whole truth? It's always solved problems better than lying and trying to dodge questions. And the time's not right, and I'm not the same anymore.)
"Guya. I know you from... Another branch of reality. Where you were Guya from IBR-A, fifty-three years old, thirty-three years of service. I don't know about other structures. I was killed and reborn, — I poured it all out, and Guya stopped a meter away, listening. — I knew your name when you first approached me, at the moment when I was crying."
A dagger flew past my face, flying out of the tent — and Guya closed the distance in a second, already standing, breathing into my neck.
"Even so. Why should I tell someone about my life?" — she pressed her fingers into my chest, right between the ribs.
"Ow!" — piercing pain. But I can't say anything about Uyana — that would be a betrayal... Looks like I'll have to lie... But what do I say... She kept pressing her fingers, cutting through my T-shirt and digging into flesh, her eyes flashing from under her fringe, peering into me.
"WE LOVED EACH OTHER!" I shouted the first thing that came to mind.
"I don't believe it," — she kept pressing her fingers under my ribs. "Prove it."
(How...)
"I'm the President of the Democracy of Silence," I forced out through my teeth, holding back the pain.
"Yeah, me too," — she moved to the next gap between the ribs.
"You... cough... in this branch approached Lady with a Girl... Victoria..."
"Let's say you were spying..." — Guya grabbed my ribs with her fingers and started slowly pulling toward herself.
It was... Pain multiplied by a billion.
"Drool dripping You... Scream of agony Took... Scream! The metal... Gasp thing..." — I said with a completely overloaded nervous system, collapsing to the ground the moment she let me go.
Guya crouched down, roughly grabbing my hair and pulling me toward her face.
"Suppose... But how did you know who I am?"
"I loved... But she had a husband who died..." — I said about Uyana — but Guya quickly released my hair and backed away.
"No. No. No! How do you know my husband died in a tavern with... Some whore! That she fucked him," Guya shouted, breaking down, pulling daggers and throwing them right over my head.
(What...)
I watched her under the whistle of daggers flying over my head again and again.
(Uyana and Guya had the same husband? He hid one wife from the other? That's so vile... But why do I feel sympathy for her right now? She cut holes along almost every one of my ribs — there's nothing to stitch there without finding skin somewhere... I hurt for myself, but I feel so sorry for her that even as I lost consciousness from blood loss, I thought only about how unworthy that man was of both of them.)