Kumo desu ga, Nani ka? - A World Without D

As I watched the arena, curious to see what would happen next, I noticed that only a few prisoners had been brought out from the mass huddled against the gates. I had no idea what the selection criteria were—why them and not the others? Maybe it was to drag out the show, or just to stir up some cheap tension, like a bad slaughter game where you try to guess who's next.

"Magnificent."

Huh? I spun around. That small voice came from… Linie. She was sitting next to me, eyes wide, awe-struck. She was looking at the scene like it was a firework show and not a prelude to a bloodbath.

And then I remembered. Now that I was in this special zone—the one where languages are automatically translated thanks to some damned magic artifact—I should be able to talk to her. A real conversation. At least for now.

"What do you think, Linie?"

She turned toward me suddenly, her eyes widening even more. She stared at me like I was turning into a strawberry tart.

"You… you speak my language?"

Oops. She doesn't know about the artifact. Alright, time to improvise.

"Let's say I'm using some kind of artifact, yeah."

"An artifact? Like those super rare things only heroes or nobles have?"

And before I could even answer, she jumped on me, hugging me like a giant plush toy. Her small warm body clung to me, and for a moment, I wondered if it was the artifact she was happy about… or just me.

I stayed there, frozen in Linie's hug, torn between discomfort and some weird warmth in my chest that I didn't want to analyze.

I gently patted her head, then set her back beside me like nothing had happened. She still had that smile kids get when they've just been promised ice cream… or a pet dragon.

Right then, a commotion rose nearby, along with some shouting voices.

"Come on, come on! Registration for the Trial of the Blade! It all happens today! Only real warriors allowed! No cowards, no loafers!"

I frowned and turned my head, spotting a makeshift wooden stall at the edge of the square. Behind it, a man in light armor waved around some papers, yelling for people to come sign up. A small line had already formed—excited teens, sketchy-looking guys, even a half-giant reeking of testosterone and battle sweat.

Intrigued—and a little stung by curiosity—I stood up, signaled Linie to stay put, and walked over to the stall.

The guy spotted me halfway, and his expression changed when he saw my face. Maybe he noticed my "I'm not from here and I'm dying to kill something" vibe? Hard to tell.

"Hey there, stranger! Here to sign up too?"

I stopped two steps away, arms crossed, letting my tone drip with the day's mental exhaustion.

"You mentioned a Trial of the Blade. What is it exactly? And why are there already people getting butchered in the arena?"

The guy smiled—the kind of smile people wear when they know something you don't.

"Oh, them? They're prisoners. Condemned men. We use them as… let's say, appetizers. Live examples to hype up the crowd. But the real show is the Trial. That starts in an hour."

He slapped the ledger as if to validate the whole thing.

"The Trial of the Blade is an entry tournament. We run it every six months. If you're strong enough, you can earn money, prestige, maybe even meet a noble or get recruited as elite guard."

Then he lowered his voice, trying to sound juicy.

"And this time… there might be a noble in the stands. Maybe even someone from the capital."

Ah. Now that's interesting. Money. Food. Shelter. Legitimacy. And maybe… some information about this twisted world?

I gave him a feral smile.

"Give me a form."

He handed me a wooden tablet engraved with letters, linked to what looked like a mana scroll. Oh, so this is what their forms look like? I guess writing "I want to hit people" in caps isn't a valid answer.

I took the slate and started examining it, frowning at the swirling glyphs. Not exactly text—more like a magic catalyst reading data straight from my aura.

[ Analysis in progress… Level: unknown. Race: unknown. Civil status: unregistered. Primary skills: … ]

I looked up at the man who now eyed me with a bead of sweat forming on his temple. He probably wasn't used to seeing a form return that many question marks.

"How does this work, exactly?"

He gave me a suspicious look, but decided to answer anyway.

"This form is linked to my system and analyzes the info yours sends me, with your system's consent. But for some reason, my system's having trouble connecting with yours!"

I gave him a strange look, knowing full well it was because of [Co-Spirit], but I said nothing.

"It's… it's fine. We also accept foreigners, y'know. Haha. The tournament loves surprises."

Yeah, that's what I thought. They want a show, not legality.

I handed back the tablet. He took it with a nervous motion, muttered something to an assistant hiding behind the counter, then stamped my wrist with a glowing seal.

"There you go. You're officially a participant. Head to the secondary arena in an hour."

I nodded and headed back, casting one last glance at the main arena. The prisoners were still being used as punching bags by trained soldiers, the audience roaring with every blow. Ugh. I hope the tournament is more interesting than this circus.

Returning to my table, I saw Linie still sitting, legs swinging in the air, a piece of bread in her mouth and a curious, slightly worried look in her eyes.

"You're going to fight?" she asked when she saw the glowing mark on my wrist.

I sat down and took a bite of my lukewarm meat.

"Just a little warm-up. Besides… gotta earn our food somehow, right?"

She stared at me for a while, then nodded solemnly, like she understood that this world doesn't forgive empty stomachs.

"Then you have to win."

I smiled—but not the comforting kind. The kind that smolders slowly. Because deep down, I didn't just plan to win…

I planned to make sure they limped back down in pieces.

As I sat down next to Linie, I let my gaze drift back toward the ongoing fights. Well—"fights" was being generous. It looked more like cruel demonstrations of dominance.

The guards move with the confidence of predators, while the prisoners—clearly at the end of their rope or just plain desperate—take the hits without any real coordination. It's like they were thrown in there just for show, or to serve as pitiful examples of what "failure" looks like.

Line, meanwhile, watches the scene wide-eyed, fascinated but also tense. I can feel her body stiffen, half-clinging to my sleeve like she's expecting something to go horribly wrong. Me? I just keep watching.

Time passes quickly—too quickly. Staring at those mock battles, I almost forgot the real reason I'm here. I wanted to talk to Linie, to use this damn translation zone to learn more about her, about this place, about… whatever.

But of course, the universe loves cutting me off.

"All participants, please gather in the secondary arena!" suddenly booms a voice, dramatic as hell.

The tone is solemn, almost grotesque, like some sacred ceremony was about to begin. The crowd immediately reacts—cheers erupt, people rise to their feet, shout names, wave colorful cloths in the air.

Line looks at me, eyes shining, like I'm a fairytale heroine.

And I sigh.

"Looks like it's slaughter time."

I slip through the crowd until I have a good view of the secondary arena's central stage. The stands have filled without me noticing, and everyone seems to be waiting for something. A line of magical light flares up above a podium, red curtains like we're in a theater, and at the center, the announcer makes his entrance.

He raises his arms. The magical amplification boosts his voice like he's shouting from the top of a mountain.

"PEOPLE OF VELEN!!"

Explosion of applause, screams, whistles, collective euphoria.

"Today begins the Trial of the Blade! An elite tournament, reserved for the bravest, the fastest, the most skilled! Those who emerge alive from this trial will earn the honor of joining the Royal Arena's preliminaries during the grand Solstice Festival!"

Oh, so that's what this whole circus was for… A qualifying tournament. Great. I can already smell the cheap tricks, rigged fights, and inflated egos.

The announcer keeps going, gesturing like he's doing some kind of interpretive dance:

"Thirty participants have been chosen! But only five will have the right to advance to the next round!"

The mood shifts. No more cheerful shouting—only murmurs, tension, exchanged glances. A battle royale, then. Thirty enter the arena… only five leave.

"No rules. All weapons allowed. Magic permitted. Temporary teams tolerated… but remember: only five may remain!"

Oh wow, I love that phrasing. Not "the five best," not "the last five standing." Just… "five." The kind of rule that leaves room for interpretation. And for carnage.

I turn my head toward Linie. She looks at me with a mix of admiration, worry… and curiosity.

I smile.

Too late to back down now.

I clench my fists lightly and glance back one last time at Linie in the stands. She gives me a small, clumsy, but sincere wave.

I shrug. She doesn't know how dangerous this is—but to be honest, neither do I. I rush down the stone steps to the edge of the arena, surrounded by glowing magical barriers and protective runes. Not to protect us, of course. To keep the audience safe from flying limbs or stray spells. Priorities: spectacle over safety.

Around me, the other contestants arrive. Thirty. Thirty candidates, all wildly different. Scarred veterans, cocky young punks holding their swords like they stole them, and even a creature I can't quite identify that glares at me like I stepped on its dog. Charming.

There are even two former prisoners. Including him.

"They must've been brought in just because the guards needed numbers."

My gaze hardens.

The bastard who tried to hurt Linie is here. He looks like a whipped dog, barely covered, holding a crappy spear that probably rusted in a sewer. He sees me. And he pales.

The announcer keeps talking, but I'm not really listening anymore. My blood's pounding in my temples, my vision sharpens. That familiar pre-battle tension settles into my nerves.

"LET THE TOURNAMENT BEGIN!"

A burst of raw mana erupts from the arena's center, like a wave of shared adrenaline. And instantly, chaos breaks loose.

Someone tries to strike the girl next to him. A fireball shoots from the right. Someone screams. Is this a fight? No. It's a hunt. And me, in the middle of it all—I smile.

"Thirty? Too many. Time to clean up."

Thirty participants released like rabid dogs, each armed with the same standard-issue sword they handed out at the entrance.

I hold the blade in one hand, unimpressed. Not my weapon of choice. Not magical. Just a cold piece of metal, balanced but soulless. But hey, it cuts. Sometimes that's all you need.

My first opponent lunges. I parry with a sharp motion and strike his temple with the pommel. He drops, barely twitching. Another attack. A roll. A backswing. The blade slices flesh—not deep enough to kill, but enough to keep him down.

And yeah, even if they all technically know swordplay better than me, my body isn't human.

[ Skill requirement met. New skill acquired: Swordsmanship T1 ]

I frown as the message pops up. Not a flashy combat skill. Just a passive, half-assed one. Like the System's saying "Congrats, you now vaguely know how to hold a sword." Great. Bravo for the progress.

I don't feel a thing. No speed boost, no sense of mastery—just a dry pop-up that tells me, "You kinda know where your fingers go now."

"Thanks, Senpai. You're an amazing coach."

[ You're welcome. ]

I push back a second fighter circling me like a frantic dog, probably panicking that I took out his buddy. He hesitates. Bad move. I take the opening. Slice at his legs—he drops.

No overkill. No showboating.

I play it safe. The arena, despite the chaos, has a rhythm. Those who rush in mindlessly die fast. The others watch, wait, stay cautious. I'm somewhere in between. Just cautious enough to survive. Just wild enough to keep people away.

No need for a massacre. Just need to be in the last five.

And right now, I still count twenty people standing.

It's gonna be a long one.

As the fight unfolds at lightning speed, I struggle to keep up. After all, I'm no great swordswoman.

Though I'm sure any of the monsters I've fought would wipe the floor with these guys.

"Go mom!"

I turn around at the sound and spot a small shape jumping in the stands, yelling my name at the top of her lungs.

"Wait—is that Linie?"

[ She called you 'mom'? That's actually kind of cute. ]

Senpai thinks it's cute? Now that I didn't expect.

The number of participants drops fast—soon, only ten remain. Not counting the two prisoners, who for some reason are still alive. I hadn't been paying attention to them, they weren't my priority. Staying alive was.

"Only ten participants remain! What speed, what ferocity in this year's battles!"

At that moment, I approached the two prisoners. I didn't recognize the second one, but something about him felt familiar. Where had I seen him?

No clue. Not important.

I rushed toward the man I wanted to kill, swinging my sword—but his companion blocked it with disturbing ease.

"I've trained with a sword. You won't win on luck alone this time."