Chapter 11: Omnipotent Cash

An air of silence covered the venue of block C as Fish Head fell to the ground, frothing about like a fish.

"Did you see that…"

"Lightning?"

As if they had just seen a man walking around with a fish for his head, all the participants in block C stopped in their tracks and stared at the masked man. An overwhelming victory wasn't surprising at all, but the lightning that man harnessed and the tricolor veins running through his sword.

It wasn't clear who took in the loud breath, but it was enough to break out all the participants from their heads and have them screaming at the man.

"Bastard! Is that an enchanted sword!?"

"Where are the referees? What the heck!"

"Someone get this guy!"

The participants stomped their feet on the ground and shouted at the referee. Before the Opera Mask Magician Swordsman could react, a butler jumped in front of the seething swordsmen and cackled.

"You fools!" The butler posed with his hand covering his face. "You do not even realize the greatness of this man! This wasn't an enchanted sword, neither was it magic!"

The butler changed poses and pointed at the Opera Mask Magician Swordsman, "It was the high-level technique of swordsmen! The 'One with the Blade' technique!"

All the swordsmen around stepped back at the butler's vigor. What kind of swordsman who could be one with the blade would bother with such a trivial competition?

"Don't trust us?" The Opera Mask Magician Swordsman finally spoke. He raised his blade, ready to hand it over to anyone who wanted to test things themselves when a loud voice interrupted him.

"—It's the truth. I have verified it myself." A portly fellow was standing at the door, the sunlight from outside forming a glowing outline around his circular body. As if he were a snowman, the person's stomach and mouth formed perfect circles with such precision that it was blinding to look straight at it.

"Chief referee!"

One of the swordsmen shouted.

"What! Chief referee?"

"If he says so, we have no choice but to accept."

The Maskman turned to his butler and pumped his eyebrows. 'Why's he helping us?' His eyes seemed to say.

'Cash.'

"Everyone! Please return and continue with the qualifiers!"

***

The qualifiers from that moment continued smoothly.

"Dragon Sword Wyvern Claw!"

A strike extended towards Isaac. He jumped back wildly, unable to estimate the length of the attack. The swordsman smirked, the opponent was truly unskilled.

He launched a flurry of attacks at Isaac, all of which were either blocked haphazardly or dodged with extreme movements. Despite being unskilled with a blade, Isaac had had his fair share of fights. For a wizard, the only thing more important than refining their mana was running away.

When the opponent was tired out, Isaac infused his mana in the sword in a way only the genius who had enchanted it could. A ball of fire emerged from the tip of the blade and crashed into the man, sending him flying away.

Dodge, frustrate, attack.

It was a foolhardy method but worked well in all matches.

"Winner! Opera Mask Magician Swordsman!"

Isaac pulled out a napkin from his coat and wiped the blade of the sword before sheathing it and going back to the side of the hall. He leaned against the wall like before and watched the matches.

"You're doing great, young lord." Joel nodded with pride, ignoring the fact that his young lord was heaving without changing his expression after every round.

Isaac, on the other hand, had his fixed on the only other participant that attracted his attention. The old man who looked like a child, Jhongo.

Jhongo made work of the other participants, laughing like an old man while dodging all of their attacks and then simply kicked them or hit them with the hilt of his sword to knock them out.

And soon…

"The two finalists of block C, Jhongo and Opera Mask Swordsman Magician. Or was it Magician Swordsman?"

The qualifiers had come to an end.

***

The outside sun had almost gone away as an orange tilt filled the skies. With a line of sand and leaves slithering above his feet at every movement of the evening breeze, Johan sat on a bench in a park near the noble district with his head held low.

"Hey, Reley…" He called out. "What flowers does the lady like?"

"Flowers…?" Reley nibbled on the popsicle stick in her hands as she rested her head on the back of the bench. "Do you think she of all people would like flowers—"

Johan immediately sat up straight and grabbed Reley's collars. "My life! My life is on the line! That man is hell-bent on keeping the dinner tomorrow!"

Reley mumbled some half-hearted mumbles as she averted her gaze from the despair-filled eyes of her vice-captain. "I-I guess… she liked, purple chrysanthemums?"

"What a twisted fucking flower to have a taste for! You're teasing me, right? Right? Is this a joke to you!"

"No! She really said it!"

Taking in a deep breath, Johan let go of Reley's collars and looked down again. He slowly pulled out a folded sheet of paper from his pockets and wrote down the name of the flower with a pencil.

"Why does that man like our lady? Just how… They've barely ever talked before…"

Unable to offer any words of comfort, Reley simply patted Johan's shoulders with an understanding gaze.

Hiding deep within her the excitement of a budding romance.