In the now-empty waiting room, a small refrigerator opened quietly, and one of the water bottles rolled out on its own, without anyone touching it.
Then, from the water bottle, the Sister Fox reverted to her original form.
The first thing she did upon reverting was take a deep breath to calm her nerves.
Her two ears, which had sprung out involuntarily from the tension, twitched as she probed for traces of presence. The aura of that "Ms. Crisis" who had left the room was gone. Confirming this, she let out a sigh of relief.
She had truly been a terrifying person. That someone could corner her — a fox shapeshifter who prided herself on flawless transformations — with such pinpoint accuracy was frankly unbelievable.
Disguising herself as an inanimate object was elementary-level stuff. This time, she shouldn't have had her tail sticking out either.
But in the end, she had won. She had pulled it off. "Ms. Crisis" hadn't noticed the Sister Fox's transformation. When her voice had slipped out, she'd thought it was over, but she hadn't been found out yet.
However, the real challenge was just beginning. She had to proceed carefully — her opponent was someone even her brother and mother had struggled against. She was confident in the plan she'd devised, but there was no telling what might tip them off.
This time, that man coming to the waiting room had been an irregular event. Quick thinking had let her cover it by becoming a water bottle, but when you thought about it, he was supposed to be a competitor, so him showing up was only natural.
"...Interesting."
The [Wayward Lodging] had rules. You were not allowed to seek revenge after losing a battle of wits.
But that didn't mean she felt nothing about being outdone.
Last time, after being caught in a clever trap and having restrictions placed on her that prevented her from attacking, the Sister Fox had even been unfairly branded a "greedy glutton" by her kin.
Even now, the memory was humiliating.
She couldn't seek revenge. But she could challenge them to a new contest.
This time, it was the Sister Fox's turn to go on the offensive.
Would that man — so dull he still hadn't noticed the true identity of the fried-tofu smartphone — be able to see through her scheme?
When it came to deceiving people, she never held back.
She closed her eyes, raised her index finger, and activated her technique. This would keep Ms. Crisis wandering in the bathroom, unable to find her way out for a while.
While she was stuck in the bathroom, Ms. Crisis's reputation would crumble. And then, watching her flail about in panic, the Sister Fox would laugh in her face.
Satisfied with her handiwork, the Sister Fox allowed herself a smile, then did a little somersault and transformed into Klye Andrich.
--- The sky was perfectly clear. The colossal arena, large enough to hold tens of thousands, was ablaze with bodies and heat.
The Martial Emperor Festival was about to begin. Most of the seats were already filled, and it made you wonder where on earth Kleat had been hiding this many people.
The seats prepared for Tinno Shade and the rest of Beginning Footprint were the arena seats reserved for associates.
The seats given to the companions of fighters — like Tinno's group — were the innermost seats, closest to the fighting. This was because at the Martial Emperor Festival, which was open regardless of species or class, competitors who absorbed large amounts of Mana Material tended to scale up their attacks, and these seats served as a kind of breakwater for their companions in case of emergencies.
Glancing at the neighboring section and even at the seats several hundred meters away, there was nothing but tough-looking faces. His shoulders were stiffening involuntarily, so Tinno took a deep breath to calm himself.
"Hey, hey — we haven't even started yet. You okay?"
"That's right! We're guests of the Weak Human, so we need to behave accordingly."
Seated nearby were the leader of the Black Gold Cross, Sven Anger, and Clyus of Star's Holy Thunder, who spoke up.
But while Sven seemed fine, Clyus looked just as nervous as Tinno.
"I've sunk a fortune into this! If you lose, you're not getting off easy!"
In the end, Tinno's campaign to boost Master's reputation had been a failure, with the exception of just one person. It seemed that Mastaa's trust had truly bottomed out.
No — perhaps it would be more accurate to say he understood?
At Clyus's words, Sven cast a pitying glance his way.
"Clyus, you've gone and done... that, haven't you?"
"That!? What do you mean, 'that'!? If you've got something to say, say it straight!"
"Mastaa is God. Mastaa will always win. So there's no problem at all."
"Th-that's right! The Weak Human is going to win, so there's no problem! Being invited as a guest, it's only natural to bet!"
Clyus hurriedly chimed in agreement with Tinno. But through those transparent eyes, you could clearly see his distress.
He probably shared the same anxiety as Tinno.
In the first place, win or lose, Tinno's only choice was to bet on his beloved Master. If he didn't bet, and it was discovered later, wouldn't his faith be questioned?
"But what is with this matchup!? This is way too much of a joke!"
Clyus slapped the tournament bracket again and again. Tinno agreed wholeheartedly.
Master's opponent in the first round — Klah Andrich. Clearly an imitation of Master.
He'd heard there was an imposter (Master had insisted "I'm the real one"), but he never expected to face them in the very first round of the main event — the very first match of the entire tournament, including all other competitors' bouts. To impersonate the world-famous Thousand Transformations was laughable.
And that opponent, that matchup, gave Tinno even more reason to bet on Master.
Because after all — even if his mouth were sewn shut, he could never say that the real thing was inferior to the fake.
At Clyus's righteous indignation, Sven laughed heartily.
"Hahahaha! But this guy's actually pretty tough. He's a skilled mage. Absorbed plenty of Mana Material, too."
"Yeah, you said you ran into him. But if he's that skilled, it's even weirder for him to use a fake name! This is the Martial Emperor Festival — well-known even among the Spiritfolk!"
"His real name, apparently."
"!? You actually believed that!? Something like this happening by coincidence is impossible! Think about it calmly — not just the name, but the epithet being nearly identical too! What are the odds?!"
She was incredibly anxious. Master was God, but he had a knack for things getting tricky.
An imposter with the same real name — or rather, it was more natural to think that the imposter had chosen to become one precisely because their real names were so similar. Master's magnanimity was both a strength and, at times, a weakness.
From what she could tell from eavesdropping, it seemed those who didn't really know Master couldn't tell which one was the real deal.
Klye Andrich and Klah Andrich. Thousand Transformations and Thousand Days, Ten Thousand Blossoms.
Originally, Master wasn't much for showing his face in public. Setting aside the epithet, his name and face probably had lower recognition than other high-level Hunters. Of course, that was likely intentional, but it was backfiring now.
If he lost this — Klah might end up being treated as the real one.
Either way, she'd already bet her entire fortune. Having come this far, all Tinno could do was lean forward and cheer.
He slapped his own cheeks hard. He steeled his spirit against the part of him that was already about to crumble, despite nothing having happened yet.
He was being given the chance to watch a fight this close. He needed to do more than just cheer for Master — he had to learn something from this tournament.
--- And then, the moment came. The quality of the murmur that had filled the arena shifted.
The swirling fervor remained, but the arena was now filled with a wondrous stillness that strangely uplifted the spirit.
Across the vast arena, a large man appeared.
He was the kind of man whose height rivaled Anthem of the Immovable. And — he was the "former Martial Emperor" who had stood atop the previous tournament through overwhelming power.
Tucked under his right arm was a massive metal rod, so enormous that it made the man himself look small. Excluding Treasure Weapons, it was said to be the most durable and heaviest object in the world — a rod forged from adamantine.
Tinno, as a warrior of some standing, had the intelligence on this: in the previous tournament, this man had crushed every technique, every skill with nothing but a plain metal rod and a forged body.
Anthem never removed his armor, but this man wore none.
His exposed physique was so inhuman that merely looking at it gave you chills. He didn't seem like the same species.
That a human could attain physical abilities far surpassing those of phantom beasts and magical creatures — was this, too, the miracle wrought by Mana Material?
This year's competitors must have come prepared with strategies for how to break through this former Martial Emperor.
The former Martial Emperor drew a quiet breath. And then, a voice like thunder rolled across the vast arena.
The shockwave passed through Tinno's body. The sound was so overwhelming he instinctively covered his ears. At close range, the sound alone might have knocked him unconscious.
It was, without question, the technique of one who stood at the pinnacle of this world.
"Right here in Kleat, one year has passed! Every obstacle cleared, those who desire my seat — the seat of 'Martial Emperor' — have gathered! I hereby declare the Martial Emperor Festival open!!"
Simple words. But in his eyes burned the gleam of a beast that had found its prey. His voice craved the thrill of battle, blood boiling and flesh surging.
You could tell at a glance. This man was waiting for challengers who would truly threaten him.
The seat of Martial Emperor came with immense wealth and fame. But this was a man who desired none of it — only power. Perhaps those who kicked aside their rivals to reach the throne of Martial Emperor were precisely that kind of person.
Tinno had a premonition.
For Master to become Martial Emperor, this man — the former Martial Emperor — would be the greatest obstacle.
Tinno was Master's supporter through and through, but he wasn't entirely confident that Master, who always wore a gentle smile, could defeat a monster like this man.
And so, the first round began.
--- Finally. The moment he'd been waiting for.
The air caressing his skin was laced with the fervor of the spectators. Excitement filled his body.
Klah Andrich of Thousand Days, Ten Thousand Blossoms closed his eyes for a moment, concentrated his mind, then flipped the switch.
His condition was perfect. Back before Cool and the others had invited him to join a party, Klah had been a Solo. For a Solo Hunter who had no one to fall back on, being able to enter battle-ready state at a moment's notice was an essential skill.
Klah was a Mage, but he was accustomed to fighting solo. In that sense, the Martial Emperor Festival gave Klah an advantage.
Generally, melee fighters were considered stronger in these types of tournaments. Indeed, the former Martial Emperor was a monster who specialized in physical combat.
But even when he saw that imposing figure with his own eyes, even when he shuddered at the overwhelming strength it conveyed, Klah had no intention of losing.
He would keep winning. That was how he had always lived. For a Hunter, the desire for victory was more necessary than anything else.
But this time, Klah wasn't fighting for himself alone.
He would become Martial Emperor. And make the name of the Mourning Evil Spirit into a legend.
For his companions — who followed him even though he always wore that somewhat uncertain expression.
"I'll get serious now, Klye. And your will — I'll carry it on my shoulders as well."
Klah Andrich murmured to himself, then strode onto the battlefield.