While he was never one to be greedy or value money above other parts of life, he couldn’t deny that journeying through the new world around him had a cost. Even with the quests they took on, there always seed to be tertiary costs–either Astrid needing magic stones, Redrum’s unfathomable, bottomless pit of a stomach needing at, or Otto’s constant splurging of arrows.
’We burn through gold like we just won the lottery. A thousand would certainly go a long way...I’d like to buy myself sothing nice,’ he considered before imdiately shaking his head, rembering how nice it’d be to just relax instead.
"That’s not even the grand prize, if I may add. The bonus for participation is five hundred gold, win a single match and the thousand is yours," the Concierge explained. "Win the whole thing? There’s more than just money in store for this season’s champion."
Noah looked back at the others for so sort of push in either direction, even finding Rain’s skepticism crumbling.
"I’m not going to participate in so kind of deathmatch, if that’s what this is," Noah said.
The orange-haired man crossed his arms in an "X" as if physically trying to reject the notion, "Not at all! The core and most important rule of the Clash of Stars is that killing an opponent is prohibited! People want to see amazing warriors fight, but nobody wants to see that sort of bloodshed. In the city of Ballou, we hope to provide a reprieve from the less savory parts of the world."
"Hmm..."
"Did I ntion, so long as you participate, all food and drinks will be free of charge?" The Concierge added.
Sohow or another, he was convinced, particularly with the puppy-dog eyes provided by the archer who wanted to live vicariously through him. They were escorted to the special suite designated for parties of adventurers, primarily benefited by the respect of his rank.
"Woah!" Astrid looked around in awe with a glimr of joy in her eyes.
"Now this is sothing I can get used to," Rain said with a relaxed exhale, sinking into the large, fluffy chair without wasting a mont.
It resembled a lavish ho in itself, with marble walls and scenic paintings along the walls. With the usage of magic crystals, they mimicked lightbulbs and even provided warm bathwater at a simple "tap."
’Magic can even close the gap of technology like this, huh? Pretty amazing,’ he thought, watching the tub quickly fill with warm water.
In the main room, the sll of sizzling at was already filling the suite. Of course, a rune-empowered oven was being used to cook up a al for the orc, who waited in front of it like a kid on christmas eve.
Noah sat himself on the velvet sofa, beside the mage who wiped down her precious stave, "Alright, I’ve got my first round tonight. Any idea what I should be expecting?" He asked.
Across from him on a lounge seat, the blonde-haired archer sat his quiver down, excitedly chiming in, "Oh, participants in the Clash of Stars are all super-strong adventurers!"
"I assud that much," Noah said.
"No, I an it," Otto cented, leaning forward with a focused look. "Behemoth rank is the minimum, so you can expect higher ranks to participate."
Rain added in while completely laid back as if lting into the chair she sat in, raising a hand, "Last ti I was in Ballou, there were parades about so guy who had won his fourth tournant in a row, if I recall. Tederich , I think was his na?"
"Tederich ?!" Redrum suddenly repeated from across the room, nearly dropping the sizzling drumstick in his hand.
"Heard of him?" Noah asked.
The question felt pointless as soon as it left his lips, as the expression written on the red-skinned monster’s face was as if hearing of a terrible folktale.
Redrum looked towards the oven in contemplation, "If it’s the sa Tederich that I know of, then that man was a scourge on monsterkind."
["...It was over two decades ago now, but I can rember those tales vividly–of "Tederich , the Bloody Wind."]
In the ruins of Astrana, the remnants of a city left to stone reclaid by nature, a segnt of the legion of monsters took refuge. Goblins fought one another over scraps, while orcs clashed thoughtlessly over so much as a passing glance.
Amidst the toppled courtyard of a once standing castle, a pair of goblins bickered and hissed at one another.
"Graba! Taba!" The one on the left spat out in anger, reaching for the dead rat held in the other’s hand.
"Baha!" The goblin on the right argued.
Just as they rasped at one another, the air itself hissed, overwhelming whatever differences the fiends had–FWOOSH. From their shoulders, their green heads were separated seamlessly as if they never belonged there in the first place.
"Now, what’s this?" A man casually remarked, stepping through the courtyard as the goblins’ heads rolled.
In his tan cloak that had been spoiled in the blood of beasts and monsters, the adventurer carried a giant blade over his shoulder. The harsh weapon didn’t resemble a sword, but a cleaver larger than the man himself.
"They sent out here to clean up so goblins?" The man complained with a smile, rubbing his scarred chin.
As if on a casual stroll, the lone adventurer whistled while walking through the ruins. Each ti a monster noticed his presence, they were cut to bits by unseen blades. He passed through a decrepit street, passing a fallen wall where a group of pig-faced orcs sat around a table, feasting on at.
The whistling continued as he looked over, eting eye-to-eye with the barbaric warriors. For a mont, the orcs didn’t move, as if in total shock there was a human there. As if reminded of their instincts, the green-skinned monsters erupted from their seats, roaring and salivating.
Without pausing his whistling, the adventurer flicked his hand to the right, casting the orcs away into bloody chunks.
"I thought there’d be so big shots here," the man quietly remarked. "Seems to I got lied to."
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