The next stop on my journey is the fortress town of Calcust. There aren’t any nations to the west of the Kingdom, but supposedly, we were attacked via the tiny beach access here over one hundred years ago. The northern shores are so much easier to trade at that this beach is wasted, but since I don’t need to be in Calcust for another two days, I’m setting up my crab traps.
I make camp in the mountains after the traps are set up to work on my largest project since being reborn. My spatial storage house. This is the real reason why I was so eager to get my hands on spell stones. With a significant enough supply, I can recreate most of the conveniences of my last life.
From a smoke room to a walk-in bath, it’s a little kid’s dream. And I never intend on growing up. Now how do I recreate modern toilets…
***
Two days later, I arrive at the fortress city. Considering how unlikely war is to break out, it’s largely used for training younger knights. As a training city, there are several small sword-fighting tournaments each year, and I’m here for one such tournament.
I’m not here to test my skills; quite the opposite, I want to practice fighting at a human level without the intent to kill. I can nearly replicate the speed and strength of the sword instructor that Father hired, but he’s supposedly a genius, so I may need to tone it down from that as well.
The city is what you’d expect: high stone walls on the outside and residents clad in various levels of armor. The only unusual sight is a line of young knights approaching a check-in table. At least I know where to go.
After a few minutes in line, I reach the front and give a light bow. “Hello there, I’d like to register for the sword competition.”
The knight on table duty looks me up and down before giving her spiel. “Right, you look like a traveler… it costs one silver to sign up; you’ll get it back if you don’t damage the practice sword we give you and don’t require healing. Winner of the event gets a new sword and knife set from the town’s newest blacksmith.”
I reach toward what looks like a chest pocket, but I’ve actually been practicing making a small spatial storage opening to use like a wallet. “Understood, here’s the silver for registration.”
“Got it, you’re number 40. When called, walk up to the staging area behind me, and you’ll be given a practice sword, then your first match, along with an explanation of the rules. Matches will go until sundown or a winner is declared.”
“Alright, thanks very much.”
An all-day fighting tournament; it’ll be better exercise than I thought it would be.
***
The lone female knight I’ve seen in the city moves toward the staging area. “NUMBER 39 AND 40!”
I walk over, and a boy no older than me also walks up. We’re given dulled swords and an explanation of the rules.
“No strikes to the face or neck. A winner can be decided by surrender, a telling blow, or your opponent being unable to continue. Any questions?”
We shake our heads.
“Right, step onto the stage and stand on the two marks in the dirt. No fighting until I give the signal.”
I run a touch of magic into my blade to strengthen it on the walk up, then 39 and I take our places and ready our swords.
“BEGIN!”
39 launches off the starting spot in the next instant. I’ve tuned my speed and strength to a little below that of my instructor back home, but still, this kid sucks. The ground he kicks off of doesn’t dent or crack in the slightest; he doesn’t even kick up some dust. I’ll get this over quickly.
His sword swings from the right and across my body. I take a half step back to evade the strike, then spin my right leg around my body clockwise, swiping his feet from under him. He lets go of the practice sword as he falls backwards, allowing me to grab it by the handle. I hold both swords against his chest and look up to the referee.
“MATCH WINNER, NUMBER 40!”
The ref doesn’t look shocked, so I think this speed and strength are fine to show in front of people. That, or everyone here knows this kid sucks.
I hand 39 his sword, expecting him to say something, but he’s silent, so I exit the fighting area.
Over the next 4 hours, I fight a dozen times and win similarly to the first match. Most entrants are younger, so manhandling them draws no attention. But the semifinals change that.
“NUMBER 6 AND 40!”
I take my place on the same mark as every other match, but across from me is a full-grown man. Or maybe an overgrown child? He has short blonde hair, light eyes, and a furrowed brow. He looks at me like I’m a pest, but he doesn’t seem very mature.
“BEGIN!”
Number 6 kicks off the ground, throwing bits of dirt behind him. He can clearly use magic to supplement his technique.
He’s fast compared to the kids, and he’s well built, but everything seems slow when I’m focused. I can temper my speed and power, but not my reaction time. 6 swings his sword diagonally down from his right to left. I step into it and parry his sword before he can put significant strength behind the swing.
But before I can step forward, he jumps back to the starting distance and grins. “You’re fast for a kid, but you’re too small to fight with the adults.”
He leaps forward again, cracking the ground beneath his feet. With the speed I’m capping myself at, I can’t completely dodge. Instead, I gamble. Number 6 thinks I’m fast but weak, so I step forward and parry his sword near the hilt.
CLANG
The impact knocks him off balance and leaves his blade up in the air. I turn my hips to lead with my right leg and land a kick to his stomach, just below his ribs.
“HUrgh!” Number 6 flies backwards about two meters before landing on the ground and rolling a little further.
It wasn’t a sword strike, so the ref might not call it a telling blow.
“Argh… not done… yet,” he moans and pulls himself up to a crouch with ragged breaths. He presses his sword into the ground for the final push back onto his feet, but the sword snaps near the hilt, and he collapses face down on the ground.
THUD
“WINNER, NUMBER 40!”
I return to the spectating area where I’ve waited between all my matches, but this time, people are staring at me. I look older than eleven, and the long hair mixed with the gruff outfit makes me look even older, but manhandling someone twice your size attracts attention.
Should I throw the final? People could think the last match was pure luck... No, I don’t want to. The whole point of calling myself Sio, wearing rags, and growing my hair out with magic is so that I can do things I can’t do as Alfred. I’m winning the final.
“BEGIN!”
My shaky-handed opponent raises his sword, then keeps raising it. “I forfeit!”
“Huh?”
“WINNER NUMBER 40!”
Coward.
The announcer walks up to me with a sheathed sword and knife, as well as a bag of coins.
“Number 40, what’s your name?” she asks.
“Sio, ma’am.”
She nods and holds the weapons out in her hands. “Congratulations on winning the competition. These are your winnings: a sword and a knife. They were both donated by the Radit smithing family. They’re new to this area, but the quality is guaranteed. Oh, and your silver coin, I’ll trade that for the practice sword you’ve been using.”
I hand her the practice sword and take my coin along with my winnings. “Thanks very much, I had a lot of fun.”
It’s not a lie; noble kids don’t get to go out and enjoy boyish fun like this. Plus, I got a cool new sword, and the only casualty was number 6’s practice sword.
“You pack a punch for your size, Andre- err, number 6- won’t shut up about the boot print on his stomach.” She chuckles and glances to the healing area, where number 6 looks like his puppy has been kicked.
I follow her eyes, then scratch at my cheek in discomfort. “I landed that kick square, but it should heal fine…”
“Aha, don’t misunderstand, kid. Everyone here thought he was a jerk for entering a competition we have for the younger ones to compete. We’re happy to see you win that sword. Take care of it, alright?”
“Yes, I will. Thanks again.” I give a light bow as she turns.
With my mission in the fortress town complete and a shiny black-handled sword at my hip, I make my way back into the mountains to where I left my house. I unsheathe the new blade and knife before starting to run my magic into the two. The sword feels especially nice in my hand; it’s light, a length I’m comfortable with, and the grip is textured. The knife is short and curved up slightly, perfect for field dressing an animal.
After inspecting the spoils of my effort, I fly down the rocky coastline south of the beach guarded by the fortress town. I placed traps here a few days ago and am hoping to find some seafood for my celebratory meal.
I dive into the chilly water, but the traps in the shallowest area are empty, short of one unlucky fish that doesn’t look appetizing, so I let him go. I swim to the deeper area I trapped, where it’s hard to see with the sun low, and fortune is smiling on me today.
Not one, but two lobsters!
“AHA! BLARGH!”
Too excited! I tried to breathe. I swim up and take in fresh oxygen, then dive back down with a shit-eating grin.
Tonight’s feast will include lobster cooked in a compound garlic butter, a thick venison steak, and a baked potato.
The freer I get, the more I’m able to find things I enjoy. Surf and turf in a new world sounds like a shitty anime title, but it’s my life, and it’s just getting started.