Preliminaries Begin. Azu's Round

The Ocelot Colosseum.

A fighting tournament hosted by the nation of Spartia, arguably the largest on the continent.

The grand prize was a staggering six hundred gold coins.

Others came seeking a commission in the Spartian military, or the right to challenge the current King of Spartia. Warriors from all over gathered, each with their own purpose.

Master and his three slaves were among the participants.

Azu was nervous but brimming with fighting spirit. Alexia looked bored, but she was clearly eager to test herself.

Elza wasn't exactly the combative type, but she had a let's-do-our-best attitude.

The three of them went to the registration desk in their adventuring gear.

Master gave them some words of encouragement, then flew off to the spectator stands.

His parting words were that if all three of them made the main tournament, he'd bet on all three.

"Here you go. Please put these on and proceed to the waiting room in the back. Separate by your numbers, please."

The receptionist handed them numbered tags.

Azu got 1. Alexia got 2. Elza got 4.

As Azu walked, she observed the other participants. There were quite a few.

They arrived at the waiting rooms.

"Looks like we have separate prelims. Let's all make it to the main tournament!"

"If you go all out in the prelims, you'll be exhausted when it matters."

Alexia chided the fired-up Azu.

Her enthusiasm was admirable, but at this rate she'd burn through everything before the real fights.

"The prelim payout is two gold coins per person, right? That's real money～"

"It's probably funded by gambling revenue rather than the national budget. They're just redistributing it back to the fighters."

"Ahh, Master was raring to bet, too. Think he'll be mad if we lose?"

"A bad bet is his own fault. We can't babysit his wallet on top of everything else."

Alexia said this while running a hand through her hair.

In truth, their master would probably only bet pocket change.

A little spice to make spectating more fun. That was all, Alexia figured.

Money is the second most important thing after your life, Master always said.

Hard to imagine he'd pour much of it into something as uncertain as gambling.

"Now, now. Victory's always up to fate. Let's just do our best～"

Elza's words served as the send-off, and each of them entered their respective waiting rooms.

In Azu's waiting room, there were twenty participants including herself.

A diverse bunch, but two caught her eye.

A foreign warrior dressed in a skeleton-like outfit reminiscent of the Kiyo she'd encountered in the Wind Labyrinth, and a Spartian warrior.

These two radiated an overwhelming aura of strength.

The Spartian warrior leaned against the wall in meditation, while the foreign warrior studied the blade of his katana.

Twenty fighters in the room. Twenty spots in the main tournament.

Azu recalled the arithmetic Elza had taught her and worked it out on her fingers as best she could.

There were probably ten groups like this, with two from each group advancing to the main tournament.

She double-checked her count, then clenched both fists to steel herself.

(If I can beat one of those two, I make the main tournament.)

That was her assessment.

Both were clearly above her level, but compared to the pressure she'd felt from Darz on the road to Spartia, they were manageable.

If she went all out, she could just barely reach them.

Then came the announcement: Group 1's preliminary would be first.

A guide led the fighters out, and they filed through the corridors into the arena proper.

Azu's first thought was how vast the fighting stage was.

Even with twenty fighters on it, it didn't feel cramped.

The combatants spread out and took their positions.

The spectator seats were packed. Opening ceremonies and speeches had apparently been handled while they were in the waiting room.

The crowd's energy was already at a fever pitch, everyone waiting with bated breath for the signal.

Azu scanned her surroundings.

The audience was enormous. She didn't think she'd be able to spot Master in all this, but…

Azu's dynamic vision didn't miss the familiar figure.

He was in a relatively front-row seat, shouting something at her.

The cheers and roars drowned out his voice completely.

Azu waved as big as she could to make sure he saw.

Master waved back.

Her fighting spirit peaked.

Her mind sharpened to a razor's edge, readying itself for battle.

The referee explained the rules.

Just as Azu had predicted, only two out of twenty would advance from this group.

Spartian warriors were limited to one per group.

The preliminary would be a free-for-all melee.

Anyone who sustained a fatal injury would be teleported to the medical room and disqualified. In practice, a substitution puppet absorbed the lethal blow on their behalf.

Falling off the stage also meant disqualification.

Weapons were allowed. Magic was allowed. Poison was prohibited.

Projectiles were permitted as long as they weren't poisoned.

Clerical blessings were allowed only on oneself.

As tournament rules went, these were more lenient than what Master had described.

A culture that honored the victor, and rules that reflected it.

And then, at last, the preliminary began.

The first to move were the fighters positioned near the Spartian warrior.

Their plan was obvious: eliminate the biggest threat first.

That plan… was utterly futile.

The Spartian warrior brought out a massive shield, half as tall as his own towering frame.

He turned it toward his attackers and simply pushed.

It wasn't even a shield charge. He just faced the shield forward and walked into them.

Four fighters had rushed the lone Spartian warrior, each hammering their weapons against the shield with everything they had.

The Spartian warrior didn't stop.

The difference in conditioning was absolute.

He drove them steadily toward the edge of the stage.

They reached it in no time. The four fighters dug in with everything they had.

Any intent to attack the Spartian warrior was gone; they were simply trying not to get disqualified.

Naturally, that last-ditch resistance was pointless.

"Your legs are weak. Go train them."

With that, the Spartian warrior blasted all four of them off the stage.

Azu watched this unfold while dispatching a fighter who'd come at her with a pair of axes.

The dual-axe fighter had power, sure.

But he was clearly just swinging wildly, nowhere near a threat to the Azu of today.

Brute force alone didn't scare her anymore.

The memory of fighting Etoroki reminded her of that.

She dodged the relentless axe swings, deflected them, and landed a cut each time.

A strike aimed at the neck triggered the substitution puppet, and the dual-axe fighter was eliminated.

Fewer than ten fighters remained on the stage.

The foreign warrior had already taken out three.

The real fight was just getting started.