I Can Hear the Saint’s Inner Thoughts

71 – Fair and Square My Ass (4)

* * *

Orc Barbarian Graktar was naturally inclined to look down on the human race. Compared to other powerful races, they were diminutive in stature and strength.

Having survived fighting various powerful opponents in the Durahan arena, he knew better than anyone that what mattered most in battle wasn’t individual effort, but natural talent.

Accurate judgment derived from combat experience, individual combat sense, racial differences weren’t something that could be overcome with effort.

But,

‘Look at this, he’s not even scared of me?’

Graktar quickly realized something was off.

He was used to living with his killing intent always active because of the assassination attempts and threats made against him by those seeking to win in the arena.

Normally, just coming near him would cause the weak-willed to foam at the mouth and faint, or piss their pants in fear.

But the blue-haired mage in front of him didn’t react at all.

How could anyone do that?

“If you got a problem with it, why don’t you fight me and find out?”

On top of that, he even had the nerve to challenge him, striking at his warrior’s pride. He knew how to turn the tide of battle in his favor.

For war, more than anything, you need a cause. Goading your opponent to fight is common, but it’s a traditional method.

“Haha! You’re quite a bold human. To request a duel knowing I’m a warrior active in the arena?”

The Orc Barbarian, Graktar, laughed it off once, deliberately, his gaze slowly assessing the other’s fists.

He’d already noticed, from the shape and size of Astal’s developed muscles, that he was a martial artist, primarily using fists.

Originally, the first thing to do in battle is reconnaissance. You need to grasp the opponent’s weaknesses and strengths beforehand, so you don’t get caught off guard later.

‘He mainly uses his fists, huh… Judging by the amount of magical energy I sense, he’s at least a Sage-level mage. So, a member of the Black Tower, perhaps?’

Orcs are generally stereotyped as unintelligent or stupid, but Graktar chose to use his brain to its fullest to survive.

Defeat born of ignorance is more painful than anything.

If you knew the cause of failure, you could compensate by doing better next time, but if you didn’t even know that, there was no way to grow.

“My name is Graktar. Warrior of the glorious Abysssus.”

Graktar casually extended his hand toward Astal, deliberately offering a handshake, intending a test of strength.

“The Demon God Abysssus. God of Chaos and Destruction. The tattoo on your body is his too… I thought if you participated in the arena, you had to chant Durahan’s name no matter what. I guess not?”

Astal didn’t immediately take the hand, but was carefully scrutinizing Graktar, like him, conducting reconnaissance.

Besides, from Astal’s perspective, hearing Abysssus’s name wasn’t something he could readily accept. Unlike the gods believed in by humans and other friendly races on the continent, he was worshipped in the Demon Realm.

‘But in the murals of the Forbidden Archives, even those evil gods were fighting beings like shards of glass…’

Astal scratched his chin with his hand, organizing his thoughts.

The Demon God Serena and the Demon Lord Abysssus.

He had already seen, in the Demon Realm, the Nightmares mimicking clerics and running churches, offering human flesh and blood to idols – things that would originally be branded as evil gods.

“Well, Lord Durahan doesn’t interfere with participating warriors, as long as they fight in the arena.”

Graktar, hearing Astal’s words, guffawed, revealing the orc’s characteristic fangs. As he said, the atmosphere was that any actions were tolerated as long as a warrior participating in the arena was strong.

Even someone like Astal, who normally loathed monsters and demons, had to confirm a few things with Graktar, just in case.

“Do *you* enjoy eating people?”

It was a direct question about whether he had a hobby of brutally murdering and consuming humans. Demons had different values and thoughts than humans, so it was necessary to figure out where their minds were twisted beforehand.

“…Is there really a need for that? It’s unnecessary in a fight. If anything, gorging on monster meat would be more helpful. It’s full of protein.”

Graktar snorted as if Astal’s question was ridiculous.

Even if the god he believed in was one who stirred up destruction and chaos based on instinct, a sophisticated approach was needed to survive in the arena.

“So, what’s your name? Not accepting a handshake is pretty rude. My arm’s starting to ache, you know.”

“…Astal Kaisaros.”

At Graktar’s prodding, Astal revealed his name and reached out to shake his hand. He figured he could notice anything strange after talking this much.

Releasing the perception-obstructing magic as a formality, his distinctive face and attire became visible to everyone else.

“Aha, so you’re one of those famous hero party members.”

Graktar smirked, not particularly surprised.

*CRUSH.*

With that, Graktar used his grip to try and gain the upper hand, squeezing Astal’s hand hard. His bulging, green-skinned hand showed the pressure he was exerting.

“I am a bit of a celebrity, yeah.”

In response, Astal cast a strength-enhancing spell without incantation, not wanting to be outdone. It might seem childish, but there were unwritten rules in the world of men that couldn’t be put into words.

If they lost in this simple power struggle, there was a nominal reason they wouldn’t get what they truly wanted from each other.

A fight where neither could yield an inch.

“…Was Bellamora of the Four Heavenly Kings strong? She was quite the talk of the Demon Realm, apparently?”

“She was a pain to deal with. Almost died a few times, actually.”

“Astal’s blunt words made Graktaar think that, at the very least, he wasn’t dealing with a liar. Usually, when faced with someone stronger, the weak bluster and try not to seem intimidated.

In that regard, Graktaar liked this Astal character even more. Honestly assessing your opponent was crucial in a fight for your life.

“Those muscles are unusual. I was under the impression human mages usually supported their allies from the back lines. Do you handle the front lines as well?”

“Yeah. Surviving in the Demon Realm means using every trick you can.”

“Encouraging.”

Graktaar nodded at Astal’s words. He, too, had stopped at nothing to survive in the Dullahan’s territory.

When he was weak and powerless, he barely survived by begging in the streets, even killing opponents in the arena to study the most efficient ways to end a fight.

Originally a slow-witted, brainless orc – a so-called ‘muscle head’ – the reason he lived, forcing himself to think as much as possible, was precisely because of that.

“…So, why me of all people? We could end up as enemies in the arena, after all. Don’t you think I’ll analyze you and spread the information around?”

Only after a bit of a power struggle did Graktaar say this, scratching his shiny bald head.

He knew the hero party’s mage was participating in the arena, but asking a competitor for a practice fight was foolish.

Even now, Graktaar was participating in the arena, deliberately hiding new techniques or strategies to prepare for any possible situation.

Why needlessly risk exposing his weaknesses or fighting style?

“Because I’m confident I can win even if the information gets out.”

“…What was that?”

“Honestly, I’m also curious to see how well my newly created magic works. I looked around the arena, and… you’re the only one who might even react, you know?”

Astal tapped his temple with a finger as he continued. Magic isn’t about raw power or scale, but about the person using it.

The same water magic could be used to extinguish a fire or to drown someone, depending on who cast it.

“What kind of amazing magic is it, then?”

“It’s magic where I dismantle magic circles and wrap them around my fist like threads to fight.”

Grakhtar felt the fanatical fervor burning in Astal’s eyes. Wizards were always a little crazy, but he sensed this was on a whole different level.

“I know many wizards have tried this since ancient times, but I also know that not a single one has ever succeeded.”

“So, are you going to fight, or not?”

“It’s a really hare-brained idea, but…”

Astal was asking Grakhtar knowing the answer already. It was rare for a warrior to refuse a fight like this.

“…Still, I owe you for the drinks you bought me.”

A faint smile touched Grakhtar’s lips as he picked up his war axe from the table.

“Let’s fight right away.”