Chapter 90 - Roy Won
On the edge of the arena, a weapon rack held an assortment of standardized weapons, provided to ensure fair duels and prevent advantages from superior gear.
Damaged weapons incurred no penalty, as stated in the arena's contract.
Roy strolled over, selecting a sword.
"Hah! Pretty face, kid," the dwarf opposite him boomed, his bold laugh tinged with a sneer. "But you're too scrawny. Skimp on muscle training? Watch out—my axe'll crush you!"
The dwarf, barely 1.5 meters tall, sported a face half-hidden by brown stubble.
His bulging arm muscles, rippling with power, effortlessly hefted a giant axe heavier than most men.
His sheer presence was intimidating.
"Too much muscle slows you down. Your agility's probably low," Roy replied, smiling lightly.
"An attack that misses is just wasted effort."
"Big talk for a twig!" the dwarf growled, his face darkening. He swallowed a curse, stung by the "kid" jab—despite his weathered look, he was under thirty, a quirk of dwarven aging.
"Hope you're not all talk, or you'll be pissing your pants soon!" the dwarf said, reining in his temper.
"He's pissed! Pissed!"
"Bad move, human. Provoking a dwarf before a fight?"
"Angry or not, dwarves take any slight as a challenge with their hot tempers."
"This human's toast. Dwarves are petty—won't go easy on him."
Spectators in the stands buzzed, intrigued by the pre-duel tension.
Many pitied Roy, seeing him as a frail LV1 human outmatched by a dwarf's raw power.
At the rookie stage, dwarves held a clear edge, making Roy's odds slim.
"Match begin!" the host announced, confirming both fighters' readiness.
"Raaagh!" The dwarf roared, charging with his axe raised, his short legs churning at surprising speed.
His sharp eyes stayed locked on Roy, wary despite his disdain, ready for any counter.
But before he could swing, a glint flashed, and a faint sting pricked his neck.
Blinking, he found Roy's sword tip pressed against his throat, a thin trickle of blood warming the cold steel.
"I… lost?" the dwarf muttered, his grizzled face slack with shock, unable to process the blur of events.
Roy's sword could've pierced his throat with a nudge. The dwarf touched his neck, feeling a shallow cut—Roy had held back, sparing him.
In a real fight, he'd be dead. Dwarven strength didn't make him blade-proof.
"I yield!" the dwarf declared, his temper giving way to blunt honesty. A loss was a loss.
"What just happened?"
"Looked like the dwarf ran into the kid's sword like an idiot!"
"No way! My money's on the dwarf—what's this rigged nonsense?"
"Damn it!"
The crowd erupted, mostly civilians with a few adventurers.
The dwarf's abrupt surrender sparked outrage among bettors, cries of "fix" mingling with confusion.
"No rig! That dwarf's just trash!"
"The human called it—said the dwarf's too slow. Nailed it with speed!"
"Exactly! Kid's so fast the dwarf couldn't keep up!"
Some cursed their lost bets, while others cheered Roy's upset, praising his predicted speed advantage.
The stands buzzed with chaos.
"Silence!" a stern figure—a senior adventurer and arena official—mounted the stage.
"No foul play occurred. The human won fairly, with superior skill."
"Bull! I saw the dwarf stumble onto the brat's sword like he was blind!" Loki shouted, her face twisted in a scowl, glaring at the ring.
She wasn't a martial god, so the fight's details eluded her. Her real gripe was her lost bet.
"Loki, really? Can't handle a loss?" Hestia taunted, mimicking Loki's earlier smug tone.
"So tacky in Heaven, still tacky down here."
"Me, a sore loser? Think I'm as broke as you, begging off god-friends?" Loki retorted, fuming at Hestia's gloating.
"400,000 Valis? Pocket change. My monthly allowance is tens of millions!"
"Tens of… millions?" Hestia gaped, stunned.
Her time mooching had taught her the weight of millions in Valis—a sum many small Familias couldn't earn yearly.
Loki's casual wealth underscored the Loki Familia's dominance.
"Feel the gap now, Shorty?" Loki said, smugness returning. "I don't care about 400,000—it's a day's spending. I'm just pissed it went to waste. That was a rigged match!"
"Not rigged, Loki," Tiona Hiryute interjected.
"Tiona, whose side are you on?" Loki snapped, irked by her own Familia's contradiction.
"Don't embarrass us," Riveria Ljos Alf sighed, scolding Loki.
"To outsiders, it might look like the dwarf threw the fight," Tiona explained.
"But Roy's technique was sharp. His speed and angle hit the dwarf's blind spot perfectly. Even I might not pull that off so cleanly."
"You couldn't beat that dwarf?" Loki said, skeptical.
"In a straight fight, I'd crush him," Tiona nodded. "But I'd burn more stamina."
The arena official echoed Tiona's analysis, confirming Roy's legitimate victory.
"See that, Loki?" Hestia crowed, her smugness peaking. "Roy won fair and square with raw skill!"
"Damn it, you lucked out, Shorty!" Loki grumbled. Tiona's expertise, as an LV5, left no room for doubt, making Roy's win undeniable—and Loki's loss bitter.
Hestia's gloating only worsened her mood.
"A fluke. Fate, my foot!" Loki muttered, glaring at Hestia.
"How'd you snag a kid this good? Don't feed me that 'fate' nonsense."
Loki's keen eye recognized Roy's swordsmanship as elite—nurtured properly, he'd be a Familia pillar.
His choice of Hestia's bare-bones Familia was baffling.
"Believe it or not," Hestia sniffed, too smug to elaborate.
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