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First part of chapter 24.

Just before the beginning of the main even, within Bash’s waiting room, Primera was facing the Orc, frustration visible on her face.

“Here, I put a lot of effort into making this weapon for the main event, but it still won’t last very long with your strength. I won’t be able to make any more swords, and I don’t have any time left to make it any stronger. It’s up to you to make it last until the end.”

“Got it.”

During the main event, the fighter and smith pairs are each given their own waiting room, which featured a furnace and anvil so that rudimentary smithing could be done.

While the tournament was under way, the smith was allowed to perform repairs and upgrades on the armor whenever the warrior was not required in the arena.

However, the time available to them was limited.

As soon as a match concluded, the next begun near immediately.

The initial round went on for a couple of hours, for a total of 32 fights, but as the tournament progressed, the time between a fighter’s matches became shorter and shorter.

Naturally, a blacksmith wouldn’t have the opportunity to completely overhaul a piece of equipment or creating new gear from scratch.

Of course, the matches weren’t all scheduled on the same day.

The three rounds that determine the top-eight were all fought on the first day, with the three more to determine the final winner fought on the second.

Yet these final fights were the most intense of all.

The blacksmiths needed to make the best of the sparse time they had available.

They could perform simple repairs at most – just like during a real conflict, where they might have dozens or even hundreds of weapons to fix up.

“Anyways, if we make it through today’s three matches, winning won’t be a far-off dream anymore…”

Primera was far from confident.

Even though she had spent the whole night hammering away at molten steel, and her newly upgraded sword was her best work yet, the events of the preliminaries weighted heavily on her mind.

Sure, she was proud of this new blade, but she had been just as proud of the one she had prepared previously…

How could she possibly be reassured when the weapon she had spent countless hours crafting kept bending, and she had no idea why?

“I’ll figure something out.”

Said Bash as he grasped the sword’s handle and gave it a couple of test swings.

At the Hero’s side, Zell nodded contently, as if to say that she approved of this new and improved weapon.

Then, Primera looked at the Faerie.

“Zell, how much longer are you going to hang around here?”

“Eh?! What’s up with you all of a sudden? Am I not allowed to be in here?!”

“Of course not. Stop messing around.”

“Haaaanh?! Why not?! Why am I being excluded?!! Am I not good enough for you?! The three of us have been working so hard, hand in hand, and we’ve made it so far! Why?! Did I do something wrong?! I’m innocent, I swear! Oh, look at you, you poor thing. You must have worked so hard all night, right? Ah, your hand! You burned yourself! Lemme see that for a second… and…done! All healed! See? Seeeee?! I’m useful! I healed you! I’m healping! Heh!”

“Yeah, yeah. Thanks, I appreciate it. But according to the rules, only the warrior and blacksmith pair is allowed in the waiting room.”

“Oh, really? Okay.”

The waiting rooms were, in fact, off-limits to all but the fighters and the blacksmiths.

No matter how much Zell begged and pleaded, rules were rules.

Not to mention a Faerie’s dust’s healing powers.

If it were discovered that Bash and Primera were essentially doping, they could say goodbye to their potential victory.

“Eh…I get it. Well then, I’ll watch over mister’s valiant figure from the audience. Boss! Fighting!”

“Umu.”

As she left those parting words, Zell swooshed out the waiting room, leaving the Orc and Dwarf on their own.

Now without the floating, shining, distraction vying for his attention, Bash’s gaze naturally gravitated towards Primera.

The girl was dressed lightly in anticipation of blacksmithing work.

Her slightly exposed cleavage sent Bash’s virginity induced arousal into overdrive.

“What it is? You’re looking at me like you’re goi-…”

“Don’t worry, I’m just looking. In the name of the Orc King, it is forbidden to have non-consensual intercourse with an individual of another race.”

“Ugh… well, look all you want… oh, I’m not that pretty anyways, am I?”

“You’re very attractive.”

“Of course, I’m ug-… huh? You must have terrible taste in women.”

Primera didn’t feel any particular way about Bash’s words.

She had lived her whole life in a society that didn’t find her appearance aesthetically pleasing.

Some even thought she was repulsive.

No man had ever found her attractive, and the Orc Hero was the first to have ever made a pass at her.

“Anyways, as I said earlier, our match is coming up. I’ve had a look at the brackets, and our first opponent is a powerhouse. Gorgor the Ogre. Do you know of him?”

“Of course. We’ve fought side-by-side in the past.”

“Then you know how strong he is.”

“A reliable man indeed.”

“We’ve got to get past him…”

“Mhm.”

Bash nodded.

He wore the same, calm expression that he always had, but Primera couldn’t read his Orcish emotions.

She projected her own feeling onto him, and assumed he was just as tense as she was.

“It’s going to be pretty tough, isn’t it…?”

“No, not at all. I’m aiming for complete victory.”

Primera’s eyes widened as she looked back at the Hero.

The latter’s eyes were still fixed on the young girl’s chest.

Yet they had no trace of hesitation nor fear.

This was a man that was wholly confident in himself.

She nearly forgot about her own doubts, seeing how sure of himself he was.

For just a second, all those bent and chipped swords, and her frustration, all her anger, slipped out of her mind.

“…victory, huh?”

But the girl quickly came back to her senses.

Realistically, winning would be a night impossible endeavor.

Bash…

As a swordsman, he was sub-par, and he barely had any brains between his thick shoulders, she thought.

Had she paired up with as more able warrior – one who swung her painstakingly crafted swords with technique rather than brute force, she might have been able to win.

But she had made her bed, and now she had to lay in it.

It was her own fault for agreeing to partner with a bad warrior.

Primera had no hope in winning the entire tournament.

But… there was a single opponent she wanted to emerge victorious against.

“At least. At the very least… we need to make it through the third round of today. We need to get at least that far! Is that clear?”

“Of course.”

On the third round of the first day, if everything went as planned and there were no unexpected upsets, the pair would most likely face-off against a Beastkin warrior by the name of Koro.

He had a poor reputation and known to be crude, rude, and prone to violence.

But his skill with the sword was the real deal.

However, the person Primera was after was not Koro himself, but the individual that had crafted his armor.

A person that had looked down upon her for years.

Even though she felt down from having a warrior as stupid as Bash as her partner, her grudge was as strong as ever.

“Sir Bash! Please get ready, your match is about to begin!”

It was then that the Coliseum attendant came to notify the Orc.

“Alright then, go on!”

Primera gave Bash a small smack of encouragement on the shoulder.

The Hero stopped for a second to savor the touch of her bare palm, which was by no means soft, but more than pleasant enough for the virgin Orc.

“YOSH!”

With that last spirited shout, he began heading towards the arena.