Chapter 70 - Is This Really Okay...? (3)

Ritanka, an F-rank gladiator participating in this battle royale, honestly thought he might be able to take down Count Pallatio.

Not because he underestimated Alon's strength. However ignorant of the world he might be, dismissing Count Pallatio when his reputation had already spread far and wide would have been absurd.

His reasoning was simple: the count was a mage.

Mages, as a rule, needed time to cast their spells. Ritanka knew that the higher the magic's tier, the shorter that time became, but even then, there was still a brief delay.

He also knew that in the confined space of this arena, that delay would give the gladiators ample time to attack.

That was why, nervous though he was, he believed they had a chance. After confirming that Count Pallatio was participating, Ritanka had rallied every other gladiator in the battle royale against him. He was certain they could eliminate the count.

But that arrogance vanished the moment Alon's magic unfolded.

"What the fuck—"

The exclamation escaped him as he stared blankly upward.

Dozens of intertwined ice pillars had formed a small mountain, and at its peak stood that man, looking down at the gladiators.

Without a trace of emotion. Simply impassive.

The gladiators gripped their weapons, bewildered and unable to act.

"Whew..."

Alon exhaled a cloud of white vapor into the freezing air and surveyed the gladiators who could not approach him.

'So far, everything's going as expected.'

He formed a seal.

Before entering today's battle royale, he had spent a great deal of time considering which spells to use. Having always fought powerful opponents until now, most of his spells targeted individuals rather than wide areas.

With only six casts available to him, Alon had foreseen that he might well end up in a situation like this. He had given it considerable thought, but it had not taken long to decide on his spells.

'What I need here is the widest possible range, with just enough power to knock down F-rank gladiators.'

With that assessment, he arranged his magic.

HUM!

"Enhancement."

A Shield formed at the heart of the enormous mountain of ice he had created.

"Compression."

At the phrase, the center of the vast ice mountain compressed into a massive hemisphere.

Its center had turned spherical in an instant, leaving the ice mountain precariously suspended.

The spectators watched in wordless wonder. The enormous sphere floating at its heart made the precarious mountain look like a work of art animated by magic.

But then—

"Vacuum."

As Alon spoke again, the Shield, which had been compressed into something resembling an orb of mana, shrank still further.

"Return to the Primordial."

The moment his final words left his mouth—

KABOOOOM!!!

The ice mountain burst apart, sweeping away the gladiators gathered nearby. The precariously balanced snowy mountain collapsed with a deafening roar.

White dust billowed upward.

And when that white dust cleared, the only person standing in the arena was—

"..."

Alon, alone.

The long silence finally broke.

["Ah, ahem... The winner of the battle royale is Alon Pallatio!!!!!"]

The bewildered announcer quickly recovered his wits and declared the result.

Thunderous cheers began to fill Alon's ears.

As for Alon—

'... I'd have been in trouble if that hadn't finished them in one shot.'

A little cold sweat broke out as he felt his utterly depleted mana reservoir. He had set the range too wide and consumed far more mana than he had expected.

'... I suppose I need more practice adjusting the arrangement.'

And so, another task was added to his list.

####

After the battle royale, Alon headed back to Seollang's guild. Having jumped straight from F rank to D rank, which entitled him to issue challenges, he was considering which C-rank gladiator he should challenge.

"My lord."

"What is it, Evan?"

"... Yutia sent you a gift."

"A gift?"

"Yes."

That was what Evan, who had been waiting at the guild, told him.

Alon immediately went to his room and found a staff resting on the desk.

... Sparrow's Staff, the very thing he had been trying to obtain.

"... She sent this as a gift?"

"Yes. She said you'd like it."

At Evan's words, Alon inspected the staff in bewilderment. But no matter how closely he examined it, it was unmistakably Sparrow's Staff.

'... What?'

He stared blankly at it.

As far as he knew, entry to Coloni's royal treasury and Treasure Vault was strictly forbidden unless one proved one's qualifications as a gladiator. According to the setting, Coloni's royal family had upheld that tradition ever since founding the kingdom.

Knowing this was precisely why Alon had never tried to buy the items in the treasury.

So naturally, he wondered:

'... How did she manage it?'

How on earth had Yutia obtained Sparrow's Staff to give him? Still, his curiosity did not last long.

'I'll ask Yutia the next time she visits.'

He set his questions aside and chose to be grateful. Thanks to her obtaining Sparrow's Staff for him, he could now acquire the item he had originally wanted, as planned.

'I've used up all my mana today, so I can't use it anyway. I'll try it tomorrow.'

He took Sparrow's Staff in hand, feeling rather like a father receiving a gift from a daughter he had raised well.

The next day, Alon infused the staff with mana, just as that being had instructed.

["... Huh? Who the hell are you? Why are you waking me up?"]

A middle-aged man's voice rang through his head. Just hearing it was enough to tell him that its owner had spent his life thoroughly dissatisfied with the world.

"My name is Alon Pallatio."

["So what?"]

"... The dragonkin referred me to you."

["And? So what?"]

"..."

An instinctive warning that this conversation would be difficult gave Alon a brief headache, but he continued nonetheless.

"You don't seem to enjoy lengthy conversations, so I'll get straight to the point. I hear you're a Magus."

["... In a world with nothing left but brainless fuckwits, there's still at least one mere idiot around."]

"... The dragonkin said you would teach me your sentences and phrases if I came to you. Can you do that?"

["What would you do with them?"]

"I intend to use them."

At Alon's answer, the voice inside the staff fell silent for a moment, then let out a heavy sigh.

["I thought you were at least an idiot with some knowledge. Turns out you're a completely empty-headed moron."]

After that openly contemptuous mutter, the middle-aged man's voice continued.

["Hey, idiot. Do you think knowing my sentences and phrases means you'll be able to use them?"]

"If I couldn't use them, I wouldn't have bothered asking. The dragonkin told me you'd teach me everything without holding anything back."

["Don't talk as though that's possible unless you can actually use my phrases and sentences. You haven't even inherited my mental imagery. How could you possibly use my sentences?"]

The man inside the staff spoke with a world of negativity, as though demanding that Alon say something sensible.

As Alon fell briefly silent—

"My lord!"

Evan suddenly opened the door and entered.

"What is it?"

"You've received a challenge."

"From whom?"

"An A-rank gladiator, apparently. His name is 'Pilsion'... Someone from the colosseum has come. What should I tell them?"

Alon considered Evan's question in mild bewilderment.

'An A-rank gladiator is going out of his way to challenge me? ... It's possible, of course.'

Normally, a D-rank gladiator could challenge someone one rank above them, while A-rank gladiators could freely challenge anyone below them.

However, A-rank gladiators rarely bothered challenging lower-ranked opponents. Their rank could drop if they did not fight other A-rank gladiators, and if they lost, their ranks would immediately be exchanged. The risks were considerable.

For Alon, on the other hand, this was an opportunity to reach A rank in one stroke, without having to fight several matches.

After a moment's consideration, Alon seemed to make up his mind.

"If you're that unwilling to believe me, let's make a wager."

["... A wager?"]

He smiled at the staff.

####

A day later.

Pilsion, the A-rank gladiator who had challenged the newly D-ranked Count Pallatio, watched the man emerge from the opposite side of the colosseum arena.

'Just as expected.'

Count Pallatio entered amid thunderous cheers.

Watching him, Pilsion smiled.

Normally, this would not have been a particularly favorable match for Pilsion. As an A-rank gladiator, he would earn no glory by defeating the D-ranked Count Pallatio, and if he happened to lose, he would be demoted to D rank.

Yet he had challenged Count Pallatio for one reason alone.

Publicity.

Count Pallatio might be a D-rank gladiator, but rumors had repeatedly attested to his strength. His recent battle royale had effectively confirmed those rumors, making him even more famous within Coloni.

Pilsion wanted to defeat Alon and claim that attention for himself.

He had heard a rumor that the royal family would soon choose an A-rank gladiator to fill the still-vacant Baba Yaga position.

For Pilsion, whose goal was to become a Baba Yaga, this was a precious opportunity he absolutely could not let slip. That was why he had taken this gamble, but he was confident he could defeat the count.

Of course, Pilsion was not underestimating Count Pallatio. As mentioned, there were plenty of rumors about his strength, and he had demonstrated it in the colosseum as well.

Only a fool would dismiss a man like that. For a gladiator, doing so was especially unthinkable.

Even so, Pilsion had one reason for his confidence.

'Count Pallatio only uses ice magic.'

He knew, of course, that mages could use magic other than their specialty. But he also knew that those other spells would be far less powerful.

Above all, before issuing his challenge, he had thoroughly investigated his opponent and confirmed that the count used only ice magic. That made him all the more confident.

And with good reason—

He grinned broadly.

His race, the flame beastfolk, could innately wield fire, the perfect counter to ice magic.

No matter how impressive Alon's ice magic might be, it was bound to weaken before the searing flames Pilsion emitted. Smiling at the thought, he waited.

["Then—let the match begin!"]

The instant the announcer finished speaking, he unleashed his flames.

WHOOSH!

Fire spewed in every direction, heating the already-scorching ground still further and drawing cries of amazement from the spectators.

At the same time, cold welled up around Alon and began engulfing the arena.

"Heh..."

Unfortunately, Alon's Bitter Cold could not reach the place where Pilsion stood.

'Just as I thought!'

Pilsion's lips curled upward as he drew his twin swords.

'How should I finish him? In one blow? No... Should I let the count show off his magic first, then take him down? No, I can't drag it out too long, either. Better to make as big an impression as possible—'

Pilsion was already thinking as though he had won.

Unfortunately, his happy musings ended when Alon uttered a new sentence.

"Arrangement of Thunder—"

CRACKLE!

Vivid blue sparks, unmistakable to anyone watching, began enveloping Alon's body.