公和我在厨房里添

As he left Gladiolus' sector, he was met in the hall with the presence of the Outlanders now occupying the sector directly across–only a few steps away outside of its door.

I forgot about that…right, Sirius told me, he thought.

"The Arena", only permitted to be used by gold-ranks and above: it's the one place within the foundation that allows fighting between two consenting adventurers. Though most higher-rank guilds possess their own private arena, the main one within the foundation attracts a gambling crowd.

"Wooo!"

"Get 'im!"

"Five coins on the Gladiolus boss!"

–Roaring from the stands, the gathering of spectators roared on as they overlooked the colosseum of steel. Iris stood at the forefront of one of the balconies, watching worriedly.

Ren…you're still so hot-headed, she thought.

"Looks like we've drawn in quite the crowd," he said with a smile, "after this, I wonder if more people will want to join Gladiolus?"

"Like I give a shit," Samfrey scoffed, spitting onto the ground, "Gladiolus is going into the mud after everybody sees that its founder is garbage."

Acting as the referee for the match, one of the guild applicants stood at the ready, wearing a sable facemask as he watched the snowy-haired guild leader closely. It was hard to not see him as he carried a greatsword larger than himself strapped to his back, wearing a sleek, sleeveless set of black leather armor.

I'll see it for myself if you're worthy of leading me, Ren Nakamura, the cardinal-haired man thought.

"This match will end when one side is unable to continue, or concedes," the cardinal-haired man asked through the mask that covered his mouth and nose, "are you ready?"

"Sure," he replied confidently.

"Let's get this over with," Samfrey lowered his stance.

The impromptu-referee waved his hand without any urgency, "Then begin."

–Just then, the spectating adventurers howled in excitement, while so-called businessmen didn't squander the opportunity to start running bets.

"Put your bets in now! Put them in now! The leader of Gladiolus, the up-and-coming guild, or Samfrey, the thunderous tiger!"

With the start of the bout, he remained still without taking any sort of stance, while Samfrey immediately jumped back, holding a tense look in his cat-like eyes.

"Hey," he asked casually, "I forgot to ask, but…what rank are you, anyway?"

"What does it matter…? Chickening out?" Samfrey clicked his tongue as he kept his hands on the two, sheathed daggers at either hip.

He kept his hand stationed near the handle of his sword, "I'd just like to make sure I'm not bullying someone way lower rank than myself. I assume that's common courtesy around here, right?"

Samfrey drew the two peculiar daggers sheathed at his sides, revealing their curved form that resembled the claws of a beast as he replied lowly, "I'll have you know I'm a ruby, first-class, just like you. I'll show you what a true, experienced adventurer looks like, faker."

It was just then that the magical aura belonging to the man of black and frosty haired revealed itself as his hair stood from sparks of mystical electricity scaling his form.

Lightning magic, huh? I don't believe I've fought someone who uses it. But, I doubt he compares to Sirius, he thought without a worry.

Presenting an unorthodox style, the seasoned adventurer flipped himself backward so that he landed against the tall, flat wall of stygian steel behind. What made it unnatural was the fact he seemed to stick to the wall like an insect, looking onward at his opponent with shining, cobalt eyes that glistened with predatory instincts.

Samfrey waited there on the wall, not making a move as the snowy-haired man clad in black armor stood perfectly still from the very spot the bout began in, holding his seamless smile without having yet drawn his blade.

"What's the matter?" He called out to Samfrey, "going to make your move?"

"If you want to lose your life that badly, then be my guest," Samfrey muttered in response as he held his curved daggers in front of himself.

–Kicking off of the wall, the frosted-haired man disappeared like a stray bolt of lightning, appearing directly behind the stationary guild leader.

You're dead! Samfrey thought, nearing his dagger towards the back of his opponent's head.

"That's pretty predictable, you know," he said casually.

–Without moving a single step, he blocked the incoming dagger without even turning back to face Samfrey.

"What–?" Samfrey muttered sharply.

Blocking the tip of the cat-like man's dagger was his sword, somehow drawn so swiftly he didn't notice before his attack was already blocked.

Even at that, it was an unorthodox position, with him holding Belus behind his back, at a curved angle supported by none of his own weight–yet it stopped Samfrey's attack dead in its tracks.

"If this is your best…" He began to say, glancing back at Samfrey's vertical pupils, "...I'd recommend getting out of here."

Samfrey was frozen in a moment of inexplicable dread at being on the other end of the singular, hazel-eye of the opponent younger than himself, composing himself as he shrouded his body in static once more, "Like hell this is my best–! Don't get cocky because you defended against one attack! I'm just testing the waters…"

"Really? That's reassuring then," he laughed casually, much to the annoyance of Samfrey, who jumped back.

He seems to be capable of using incantation-free magic. I'll give him that at least–it's impressive, he thought.

"Nzazi: Bolt Fang!" Samfrey unleashed.

As the man swiped his daggers from afar, they unleashed strands of cobalt lightning that coalesced into enormous, fang-like constructs that clasped their abstract jaws towards the snow-haired man.

"Let's see…" He muttered with a smile as he watched the howling magecraft draw near.

As he raised his hand towards the incoming fangs of lightning, the spectators watched in anticipation for magecraft to be woven, but nothing came.

–What came, however, was more shocking than even the display of lightning itself.

"...Huh? Are you trying to die or something?" Samfrey hissed.

Silently, with a smile, he raised his arm in front of him, between himself and the electric bolts before using his limb to swipe the fangs away without any aid of magecraft whatsoever.

It was with reinforcement, and nothing else; the lightning scathed him none, seeming only as a hindrance as he swept it away like simple static.

"What…?" Samfrey let out in quiet dread.

He swiped his arm in the air a bit, scattering the residual electricity as he looked towards Samfrey, "Are we really the same rank? A spell like that wouldn't have even laid a scratch on Asterius. It seems to me you might've been the one who paid to get where you are."

A move like that stirred up the crowd into excited roars, while many began to boo the naysaying-cat-eyed man, who was visibly sweating from the overwhelming display.

"...You think I've been giving it my all?" Samfrey asked in an angered tremble.

"That's what you've shown me," he replied promptly, sheathing his blade as if not requiring its assistance.

Samfrey gritted his teeth, "I really didn't want to kill you for real, kid, but if that's the you want to play–I'll show you: the way of the "Lightning Beasts of Derjun"..." he reversed his grip of his daggers, taking a lowered, animalistic stance, "...Just a warning, I can't hold back when I use this style."

For some reason, unbeknownst to him, it seemed whatever stance the dagger-wielding adventurer was taking, as his bleach-white scarves flowed behind him, spurred on excited roars from the crowd.

The enigmatic referee thought to himself, I've only heard of him, but "Samfrey the Thunderous Tiger" is formidable, without a doubt. In normal circumstances, he's not all that impressive, but when he decides to kill his opponents, releasing his restraints…I've heard his skill-level is that of a sapphire.

"That's fine by me," he said with a smile.

Though he kept his guard lax, it was only an exterior appearance; in his mind, he kept diligent–watching Samfrey carefully.

"Your funeral," Samfey whispered low, though his voice came out in a slight static from the surge of electricity that coated his body.

–With a single, hardly-telegraphed movement, Samfrey disappeared from the spot he stood, losing the eyes of the crowd, though not to his opponent.

A thunderclap resounded, repeating over and over, as it finally became visible to the spectators' eyes: bouncing from wall-to-wall, from the floor to the ceiling, moving as bolts of lightning, Samfrey scaled the arena many times over, continuously, instantaneously.

"One…two…three…four…five…six…seven," Samfrey's voice, appearing from different angles with each word, spoke.

He kept still, watching only by moving his eyes as the ricocheting lightning that was his very opponent seemed almost omnipresent in its speed; appearing behind him, in front, to his left, directly by his right–all in fractions of moments, growing closer, sometimes straying further–keeping him on his toes.

"Eight…nine…ten…eleven…twelve…" Samfrey continued, bringing a whisper behind his ear, "a dozen times; that's how many times I could've killed you by now."