Reincarnated as a Sword Vol. 6

by Yuu Tanaka

  Chapter 1:

  The Joys and Sorrows of the Qualifiers

  WELL, let’s get going.

  “Hm.”

  “Woof!”

  After a full breakfast and a thorough look at her equipment, Fran left the inn. She’d wasted no time in using her newly maxed-out Blacksmith skill, and I was in top condition. She’d even thrown out the old rag she used before and bought a dedicated polishing cloth made from top-class monster materials. I really felt the difference, and her love for me truly made my morning.

  “Hm hmm.”

  You’re in a good mood.

  “Of course! I can’t wait!” Fran smiled, clearly looking forward to today’s battles.

  You’re so excited for these fights, it almost scares me. You still don’t know who you’re going up against.

  “That’s why it’s exciting.”

  Yeah, I guess you’re right.

  “Hm!”

  Fran’s blood knight tendencies were showing—she wasn’t afraid of the unknown.

  Guess I’m too late…

  “Hm?”

  Nothing. I wonder who you’ll fight first.

  Fran was heading to the battle arena for her first preliminary. The tournament itself started yesterday, and would be held over fourteen days. The first round of preliminaries happened over the first two days, with the second round following on the third and fourth. There were over a thousand entrants, and the organizers held five-man matches to get through the eliminations as quickly as possible.

  The multitudes of adventurers in Ulmutt made it a spawning ground for arenas and training centers. With these facilities, the two hundred first-round matches wouldn’t take too long.

  These matches were not open to the public. They were too much of a mixed bag. Matches between fellow beginners made for a dull fight, while a veteran would squash his competition in an instant. Spectators could only watch from the second round on, which would be held in larger venues.

  The preliminaries whittled down the field to fifty. Adding the fourteen seeded fighters, the tournament would begin with sixty-four combatants.

  It was incredibly bloody by Earth standards. Killing someone in the heat of battle was not a crime, and all the combatants signed a waiver acknowledging the risks. This world did have Healing Mages and potions which allowed someone to be brought back from the brink of death, but these were prohibited in the first round of preliminaries. The rule discouraged any participants who weren’t ready to put their lives on the line, and prevented the guild from bankrupting itself by handing out healing potions to everyone who participated.

  Getting nervous, Fran?

  “Nope.”

  She didn’t even know why she would be. The girl had nerves of steel. But then, we were more than prepared. We were the strongest we’d ever been, and I knew Fran felt the same way.

  I’ll hang back to begin with, but I’m helping out if you’re up against someone tough. That okay?

  “I’d like to see how much stronger we are.”

  Our first match was at the Adventurers’ Guild’s training grounds, located right next to the guildhouse. We couldn’t miss it, and we had time before the match, so we took our time getting there.

  I went over the rules again to pass the time. They weren’t complicated—the matches tended to be too violent for subtle strokes. The only thing Fran had to remember was the prohibition on healing potions. Combatants were allowed to use all the spells at their disposal. There was a ban on Fiend Magic, but that was a given. Using it was paramount to outing yourself as mankind’s universal enemy.

  Summoning was allowed as long as the creatures weren’t humanoid. However, you couldn’t have them present from the start of the match. That meant we could bring Jet in, provided he stayed in the shadows until the match began. He was technically our familiar, but the rule only stated “summons and the like.”

  Jet, you’re our ace in the hole.

  Woof!

  Our direwolf was hiding in the shadows and raring to go, ready to pounce on our mark. There were no restrictions on enchanted equipment or manatech—the matches were a no-holds-barred exhibition of an adventurer’s full arsenal. Anyone who was knocked out of the ring was disqualified. Combatants could also forfeit by admitting defeat.

  You got all that?

  “Hm. Crystal clear.”

  Are you sure?

  “Hm.”

  Fran nodded, though her eyes were locked on the food stalls in the distance. The long wait was making her as restless as a girl with her first crush. Still, she wouldn’t spoil her stomach by eating right before a match. She wiped the drool from her lips and resisted the food stall’s gravitational pull.

  You can eat as much as you want after your fight. Just hang in there.

  “Hm.”

  Fran stole a final glance at the stalls. There were a lot more of them now the tournament had begun, and each one looked more delicious than the last. We hurried to the guild, but Fran stopped just in front of it.

  What is it, Fran? Did she spot something she simply had to try?

  “Over there.” Fran pointed to a stall. The name of the shop seemed familiar.

  Is that…the Dragonhead?

  The Dragonhead was a restaurant which had competed in Bulbola’s cooking contest. Now it had set up shop in front of the guildhouse.

  “I’ll go and see.”

  Sure.

  Fran ducked into the stall. She recognized the blonde dandy who was selling soup. Phelms, the former A-Rank adventurer turned restaurateur, was looking classy as always.

  “Is that the proprietress of the Black Tail I see before me?” Phelms recognized Fran and approached us. His saunter added to the refinement of his age. I imagined he must have a lot of younger fans.

  “It’s been a while,” said Fran.

  “It really has. Will you be taking part in the tournament?”

  “Hm.”

  “Well then, the best of luck to you. Though I imagine you wouldn’t need it.”

  Fran asked whether Phelms was participating, and he told us that he was. More than that, he was a seed now, owing to the many victories he had racked up when he was younger. I didn’t expect anything less from the former A-Rank.

  He’ll make for one hell of a tough fight.

  People didn’t call him “Dragon Killer” for nothing. He killed them just to turn them into ingredients. What made Phelms even more terrifying was that he didn’t look that strong, though he had to be, considering his former rank. If his appearance could be that deceptive, then he was definitely still in good shape.

  “I’m getting old, but I made an exception this year. A friend of mine asked me to participate, you see. I couldn’t refuse, since he’s been helping me out all these years.”

  He would only fight after the qualifiers. In the meantime, Phelms was out promoting his restaurant. He told us that reconstruction efforts were already underway in Bulbola, and that the former Marquis Christon had donated his assets to the cause. The Adventurers’ Guild played a big part in helping out, too.

  Amanda renovated the Bulbolan orphanage while Io took care of its children. Io was still making delicious Garbage Soup out of meager ingredients, and I imagined that it tasted even better now that she had basic cooking utensils and more funds to buy ingredients.

  And then there was the great curry boom. Many stores imitating the Black Tail had cropped up, usually with names starting with “Black” or ending in “Tail.” They all followed the basic curry recipe I sold to the Lucille Trading Association, adding their own interpretive twist. I could barely believe it; it seemed so unreal.

  Fran was happily listening to the old man, but it was time for us to go. I would hat
e for us to be late.

  Fran.

  “Hm. I have to get going.”

  “Oh, sorry for holding you up.”

  “That’s okay. It was nice talking to you.”

  “I hope I’ll see you on the main stage.”

  “Hm. Sure.”

  “Now there’s a smile I like to see.” Phelms’ grin had all the ferocity of Fran’s battle-hungry smile.

  “I’m going to win,” she said.

  “Will you now? I must be getting on if your optimism is enough to impress me.” He smiled warmly, as if she was his own granddaughter. His lack of condescension betrayed a genuine admiration.

  “Don’t you want to win, Phelms?”

  “Ha ha ha! That will be difficult, considering my age. I’ll try to make the semifinals. But I do hope you can take the crown, Fran.”

  “Hm! You bet!”

  Phelms’ words of encouragement motivated her. I just hoped she didn’t blow all her energy on the qualifiers.

  That building there, Fran.

  “Really? Here?”

  We made our way to a building next to the guildhall. It was a lot smaller than expected, but that made sense since the initial qualifiers weren’t open to the public. Hardy-looking adventurers entered one at a time, each looking ready to kill.

  You’re supposed to report at the entrance.

  “Hm.”

  Fran casually walked to the reception.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, little girl. You can’t watch the first round of the qualifiers. You can come back again tomorrow, though,” said the young man who manned the desk.

  Even with me on her back, he didn’t take her to be a combatant. He thought she wanted to watch.

  I thought the guild had announced Fran’s rank promotion, but then, this man didn’t have the adventuring look about him. He was probably a lackey of the local aristocracy. He was shocked when she told him she was a combatant. Even so, he knew she wasn’t joking, and frantically reached for the name list.

  “Oh? Wh-what’s your name?”

  “Fran.”

  “Uh…! Whoa! R-really? You’re participating?”

  “Hm.” Fran nodded. The attendant became even more worried.

  “No offense, but would you consider backing out? It’s not too late. The first qualifiers are very dangerous. No Healing Mages, you know.”

  The man had Fran’s best interest at heart, but it really wasn’t his place to say. Since his worry was genuine, she wasn’t offended. “I’ll be fine.”

  “People die every year. I’m serious.”

  “Thanks. I’ll be going now.”

  “Just throw in the towel if you get cold feet! You’ll bleed out if they get you, and then it’ll be too late!”

  The receptionist shouted his concern after Fran as she walked away. Despite our difficulties at the entrance, the rest of the registration process went smoothly. The contest official was an old man and seemingly a seasoned adventurer himself. He could tell how strong Fran was. In fact, he turned to look at the rest of the contestants with a sort of pity.

  “Heh heh. How’d this kid wander in here?”

  “I guess this makes it a four-way fight.”

  “Is this some kind of joke? This tournament’s my chance to get scouted by the army! I can’t fight a little girl!”

  Two mercenaries and two adventurers were already waiting in the ring. They all underestimated Fran, with one exception. I Identified the stern adventurer who’d kept his eyes trained on her. He was strong. D-Rank, probably. He had probably heard about Fran’s recent promotion.

  “We shall begin.” The old contest official walked unceremoniously into the arena, now in the capacity of referee. He was treating this a lot more casually than I expected. Then again, it was only the qualifiers.

  The combatants readied their weapons and took their positions, except for one young greenhorn who raised his voice in complaint.

  “I know the tournament’s open to everyone, but you can’t expect me to hurt a child! I came here to make a name for myself! Beating her would only soil my reputation!”

  “Even so, I do not have the authority to make her forfeit.”

  “Go home, kid!” the greenhorn shouted. “This isn’t a playground!”

  The veteran adventurer turned to him. “First day in Ulmutt?”

  “I got here yesterday, what of it?”

  “That explains it…” The veteran sighed at the greenhorn’s ignorance. He seemed to sympathize, but also to understand it would be a waste of time and effort to try change his mind. “It is time. We shall begin.”

  “You can’t be serious…!”

  “Look bud, if you don’t think you can beat this kid, then why don’t you drop out?”

  “Yeah, just spare us your whining!”

  “What?!”

  The two mercenaries were losing their patience.

  Teacher, can’t I just go at him now?

  No. They’ll disqualify you.

  Fran was getting irritated. Fortunately, the old referee chose to ignore the greenhorn’s pleas and began counting down.

  “We shall begin. Five, four, three…”

  “You can’t just—”

  “Two, one. Begin!”

  The match commenced despite the greenhorn’s complaints. The mercenaries made the first move.

  “Heh heh. First things first…”

  “Take down the strongest of the lot!”

  They weren’t much, but they had experience in the arena and were good enough to know an opportunity when they saw it. Before we knew it, they’d teamed up and were attacking in unison. Mercenaries were known for their arsenal of weapons and were usually weak on their own. However, their fluid teamwork showed that their strength lay in numbers. As a unit, they might be more coordinated than an average adventuring party.

  The greenhorn brandished a dull-looking blade to defend himself. “Cowards! So you mean to focus your attacks on me!”

  Rest easy, buddy. Where did this kid get his confidence from? He might be out to make a name for himself, but this was only the qualifiers!

  “You’re going down!”

  “Die!”

  The greenhorn wasn’t their target, and neither was Fran. Instead, the mercenaries focused their efforts on the veteran adventurer. He was a big man, and his looming silence made him seem like the strongest of the bunch. I applauded the mercenaries’ strategy.

  Unfortunately, the veteran was far too strong for both of them. “Hrmph!” He swung, knocking both mercenaries out of the ring.

  “How?!”

  “This guy’s a beast!”

  We locked eyes with the greenhorn. The dense fool was still trying to get Fran to drop out, even though the match was underway.

  “Look, I am the genius swordsman from the village of Collent. I’m E-Rank! You will not leave this battle unscathed, girl. Consider this your final warning!”

  He must be something of a local prodigy in his village. I was impressed he’d survived long enough to make E-Rank. He wasn’t strong enough to survive a horde of goblins, and I wondered if pure luck had carried him this far. His condescension pushed Fran over the edge. She was mad now.

  “I’m telling you—”

  “Shut up.”

  Whack!

  Before he could finish, Fran planted her foot square in the middle of his abdomen. The kick sent him flying across the arena. He rolled to a stop at the edge, the shape of Fran’s boot imprinted on his leather armor.

  “Urgh! Gaah…” The greenhorn squirmed in pain and held his belly. He wasn’t coughing up blood, so I took that as a sign that his internals weren’t damaged.

  Good job on holding back, Fran!

  Hm! I’m getting better at it!

  Not so long ago, she’d nearly killed some men when she lost her temper outside the city gates. Now, she could control her strength better. All the time she’d spent training in the dungeon was finally paying off.

  “Gurh…” The greenhorn squinted at F
ran in disbelief. He must’ve flown a good ten meters. This was the first time he’d suffered such a devastating attack. He was overtaken by fear and confusion.

  “I won’t hold back if you still want to argue.”

  “Ugh…” The greenhorn wasn’t so dense that he couldn’t feel the pressure Fran was emanating, nor the intense pain he was in. He put aside his pride and meekly rolled out of the arena.

  Why’d you hold back, though? You could’ve knocked him out in one hit.

  He’s dumb and loud, but he’s not a bad person.

  Fran wanted to let him know what he was dealing with, and give him the opportunity to back out. Her mercy broke the man’s pride. Everyone saw he’d had ample time to dodge her blow.

  “I knew this was coming…”

  “Hm.”

  Fran and the veteran walked towards the center of the arena.

  “I don’t think I can beat you, but I’ll sure as heck try!” the veteran shouted, lunging to attack.

  “Hmph!”

  Fran’s counterblow immediately knocked him out. He was good, but he had awful luck fighting Fran in the first round. He crumpled to the ground, holding the spot where her left hand had struck him.

  “Unfortunate…”

  And that was how Fran passed the first qualifier.

  “Why?!”

  “Why indeed… Must I spell it out for you?”

  “We have sworn an oath!”

  “I understand. Your kind were working in the shadows long before we came to be.”

  “Th-that’s right!”

  “You fought in the frontlines, and did the dirty work when no one else would.”

  “Indeed!”

  “You would even sell out your comrades.”

  “There is nothing we wouldn’t do!”

  “Yes, indeed. That has been your oath so far.”

  “You have yet to explain yourself!”

  “The problem is…I’m not sure much remains of your oath today.”

  “Wh-what are you insinuating?!”

  “Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

  “…”

  “Silence, is it? Very well. I shall give you one more chance to prove that your oath still has value.”

  “What do you propose?”

  “Bring me the patriarch’s head.”

  “H-have you gone mad?!”