The place I was challenging this ti was a test of agility.
It was a ga where you had to dodge magic projectiles flying from a distance.
Even if you got hit, it wouldn’t hurt, but the tricky condition was that you had to dodge them all, or you would fail.
I was clad in thick armor and carrying a huge shield over my body. I even had Grandpa with as I dashed forward.
At that ti, I had to slow down to accommodate Arthur and the other students from the academy, but having shed all that weight and boosted my physical abilities through doping, how could my agility be lacking now?
No matter how they flew at , I was confident I could dodge them all.
“Let’s begin!”
As that shout rang out, I imdiately locked my eyes on the incoming magic projectiles and was convinced of my victory.
This pattern.
It was just like what I had seen in the ga.
I had once been obsessed with the "Slayer of the Festival" quest.
Why was that?
Because it was infuriating.
A quest I couldn’t win no matter how well I perford.
It was rely a bonus, so I knew I didn’t have to clear it, but being far from rational, I gritted my teeth and headbutted it.
And I got utterly destroyed.
Luck was a variable that re humans could not control.
Back then, I thought I was wasting ti doing sothing crazy, but now, I would be rewarded for that effort.
Taking a step to the right, then two steps to the left.
Then jumping up and rolling backward.
And...
“Maybe.”
I didn’t like the thought that my past efforts were becoming the deity's grace, but I couldn’t get angry about it.
How could I explain that I morized this pattern from outside the monitor?
Ah, I want to turn back.
I really hate that what I’m doing becos the work of that rubbish perverted deity.
Even while my mind wandered elsewhere, my body faithfully executed the mories of the past, and so I erged victorious in this challenge without any injuries.
Did they really think they would be perfectly outsmarted like this?
The stall owner stared at blankly, forgetting even to announce my victory.
“Excuse , sir. It’s over, right?”
“Hey, mustache. Why aren’t you speaking? It’s over, isn’t it?”
“...Congratulations. You have won this match.”
“Thank you.”
“Are you shocked? You thought you could hit with such a shabby pattern? You’re as ridiculous as that silly mustache, aren’t you ashad?”
I ssed up. I unconsciously expressed my gratitude while lost in thought.
Seeing the stall owner's face turn red, I quickly departed.
Staying there any longer would only burden the stall owner’s veins.
Haa. So now I just need to win two more matches at the stalls.
After finishing the doping, I hadn’t rested and had been going around nurous stalls without a break.
I didn’t know when the effects of the doping would wear off, so I kept sprinting.
At first, things were going well. Thanks to the buffs from Faybi and the knowledge I had gathered during the previous festival, I had won consecutively at several stalls.
I resolved the physical challenges with my physique and knowledge.
For the three stalls heavily influenced by luck, I passed them using the bracelet to eliminate any unexpected variables.
For the stalls that required morization, I used the log function to breeze through them.
At that mont, I thought I had caught the flow.
Having resigned myself to a few days of illness, I believed I could crush the rubbish deity's sches.
However, a problem arose unexpectedly.
It was a stall that posed quizzes.
“Huh? But—”
While I was writing down the answer to the quiz based on my morized knowledge, Grandpa interjected with a correction.
It wasn’t that; the correct answer was sothing else.
At first, I was puzzled, but Grandpa was so confident in his assertion that I began to think I must have rembered it incorrectly.
That was a mistake.
There’s no way my stagnant, decaying mory could be wrong, but I made the mistake of listening to soone else’s words.
“Grandpa!”
I shouted in anger at the betrayal of the Grandpa I trusted, but as I listened to his explanation, I began to understand the situation.
The problem was simple.
Grandpa’s mory was from when the king was alive.
What the question asked was how he was nad in later generations.
The distortion created by two hundred years had led Grandpa to give an incorrect answer.
She had indeed ntioned returning to the Kent territory to train in swordsmanship.
It seed she had realized sothing.
Anyway, Frey truly is a remarkable talent.
By the second sester, it would beco even harder to compete with her.
“Congratulations. You’ve won.”
“It was easy. Really easy.”
“...As expected of Lady Kent.”
As I turned to leave the stall owner who was chuckling to himself, Frey suddenly locked eyes with and dashed over.
“It’s been a while.”
“Hello, Frey.”
“Yeah. Foolish swordsman.”
Frey’s expression was as neutral as ever, but the mont I called her a fool, the corners of her mouth lifted slightly.
Is being called a fool really that enjoyable?
“Are you participating here too?”
“Yes.”
“Can’t you tell just by looking?”
“It’s a competition.”
Frey clenched her fist as if determined to take down, but it wasn’t very intimidating.
If it wasn't sothing she could solve with physical strength, she'd probably fail.
“I’ll see you later.”
As if she knew my thoughts, she took a few steps back but suddenly stopped and turned back towards .
“What is it?”
“Hey, foolish swordsman.”
“Bye-bye.”
Then she delivered her farewell in a tone that lacked energy and dashed away again.
Uh... what was that all about?
What happened to Frey during the break?
“Next person!”
As I was blankly staring at the spot where Frey had left, the stall owner called .
“Lady Alrn, do you need an explanation of the rules?”
“No, I’m fine.”
“There’s no way soone would need an explanation for a shabby stall like this.”
With a stiff smile, the stall owner nodded and handed a sword.
“Of course. I’ve never trained with a sword before.”
I’ve learned a bit through observation, but that’s all. I’ve never had proper training, and I have no skills related to swords.
“Of course.”
But it’s alright.
This isn’t a life-or-death battle; it’s just a ga. Winning here requires agility, strength, reflexes, and a mind that rembers the types and trajectories of the incoming objects.
Having easily triumphed at the slashing stall, I moved toward the last remaining stall.
Haa. If Grandpa hadn’t said those weird things, I could have been relaxed by now.
What a pity.
“For life.”
“I don’t want to.”
You never know when another of Grandpa's mistakes will occur, right?
So I plan to milk this for a lifeti.
Every ti Grandpa says sothing, I’m going to bring this up.
Listening to Grandpa's lanting voice, I couldn’t help but chuckle as I spotted a crowd of people up ahead.
It was only natural for people to gather near the stall, but the composition seed strange.
There were soldiers, knights, and nobles, and at the center stood...
The first prince.
Rene Soladin.
What’s he doing here?!
...For now, let’s get out of here.
I’ll retreat to another place until the duel at the stall is over anyway.
“Lady Alrn, is that you?”
As the first prince's voice reached , all eyes turned in my direction.
Damn. It was too late.
“Are you enjoying the festival?”
“Yes, of course!”
“I like the sunlight more than anyone else, so I’m having a great ti.”
“Ah, really?”
I could see his brow furrowing.
Haa. This is why I didn’t want to et him.
“I’m curious. How many stalls have you won? Since you were so confident, you must have won many.”
“Thirteen.”
“Thirteen? The gloomy outcast prince must have won more than , right?”
“...What? We're tied, then.”
Wait, did I really win thirteen stalls?!
I, who barely managed to win thirteen with all the doping, items, and cheat-level knowledge.
Is the final boss truly the final boss? Impressive indeed.
“Just to check, is this your last stall too?”
Nodding absentmindedly at his question, I belatedly understood what the first prince had said.
The “you too” was certainly indicating...
“I see. That’s good timing. It’s perfect because I was thinking about challenging you here.”
As he said that, the first prince stepped closer and continued.
“I have a proposal. The results here will determine the winner; how about we have a duel?”
His dark eyes looked down at .
The determination in those eyes was clear.
In front of nurous spectators, he would personally destroy .
While it was a cowardly and petty proposal from soone older and more accomplished than ,
“Shall we?”
“If the gloomy outcast prince insists so much, I suppose I have no choice.”
Without any hesitation, I accepted.
There was no reason to refuse.
After all, this stall’s duel was in a field I felt most confident about.
Virtual dungeon strategies.
It was about presenting strategies based on the conditions given by the stall.
Hey, first prince.
No, Rene Soladin.
You picked the wrong fight.
Your opponent is not a re first-year student from the academy, but a rotten brain that has morized all the strategies for every dungeon in this world.
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