The uproar takes its time to die down. The stands still vibrate with my new name, but little by little, protocol takes over again. Soldiers shovel monster remains like garbage men after an overdrunk festival.
A voice rises, amplified, dramatic:
"Ladies and gentlemen, the Trial of Blades finally ends! And we have a survivor! A champion! A… Wolf of Azoth!"
And again. The crowd restarts its chant like someone hit "play."
I stay standing, sword still dripping. No desire to raise my arms like Miss World. So I just let out a guttural growl. Result: they scream even louder.
Then comes the prize announcement.
"According to tradition, the winner receives the sum of ten thousand copper deniers!"
A silence strikes the stands. Then an explosion of cries, shouts. Some collapse in shock, others throw up their arms as if a god had just been resurrected.
Me? I frown.
"Ten thousand… coppers? What is this, Monopoly money?"
[ Correction: not at all. A single copper coin buys a good-sized loaf of bread. ]
I freeze for a second. "Wait. ONE coin = one loaf?"
[ Yes. And you just received ten thousand. ]
I scratch my neck. "So… ten thousand baguettes of bread? Seriously?"
[ Technically, yes. If you want to open a giant bakery, now's your chance. ]
I snort. "No but… wait. If one loaf is like a hundred and fifty yen…"
[ Yen? ]
I sigh. "Currency from my world. 100 yen = a soda can. You get it?"
[ I don't. But go on. ]
"Okay. So a loaf = 150 yen. And now they just gave me ten thousand loaves. Which makes… 1,500,000 yen."
[ Calculation: approximately… ]
Then Senpai decides on a sarcastic pause.
[ …a lot. ]
I roll my eyes. "Thanks, cardboard calculator. Anyway, in my world, that'd pay for… a crappy studio in Tokyo for a year, with enough left for instant noodles. Not exactly life-changing."
[ Here, it's a stone house, three slaves, and ten years of food. So yes, slightly more impressive. ]
I snort through my nose, amused despite myself.
"Great. So I've become a millionaire… medieval edition. Basically, like winning a million Carrefour loyalty points."
[ Congratulations. You're officially the first heroine sponsored by baguettes. ]
I chuckle, spitting a bit more blue blood. All around, the crowd keeps howling like I've become an empress. Me? I'm counting cup ramen.
I half-thank the guy who hands me the chest, a guard in armor too shiny to be honest. A nod, nothing more. No way I'm sticking around. I've got better things to do than shake sweaty hands.
I bend down, pick up Linie, and gently lift her onto my shoulder. She's light, far too light for her age, like a sack of feathers someone forgot to fill. Her breathing is steady, but her forehead burns. No way we're staying here.
"Come on, kiddo, we're leaving. Show's over."
[ For them, it's just beginning. ]
"Yeah, great. But before interviews and autographs, I've got a kid to patch up."
I make my way toward the exit. The cheers still echo, people point me out, chant my improvised name. Me? I walk on, head low, unconscious girl on my shoulder and a chest full of virtual bread in my hand. Absolute glamour.
That's when a guard blocks my way. Immaculate armor, breastplate polished like a mirror, crimson cape too theatrical to be useful.
"Champion!" He bows nearly to the ground, as if I were already a princess.
"Yeah, what now?"
He pulls out a sealed scroll, holding it in both hands.
"An invitation. To dinner. In one of Velen's most renowned establishments."
I blink. "…Excuse me?"
[ Ah, here it starts. Step one: flattery. Step two: trap. Step three: you end up in a pit with a sign saying 'Property of the Lord.' ]
"And who exactly sent this little love letter?" I ask.
The guard lowers his eyes. "The sender's name isn't listed, Champion. But… he insisted. Said you'd gain much from it."
I sigh. "Great. Doesn't smell like an ambush at all."
[ Maybe not an ambush. Maybe worse: a serious conversation. ]
I chuckle, but my fingers tighten around the still-bloody sword.
"Fine… I'll go. But not tonight. Tonight, I'm taking care of Linie."
I stash the scroll in my chest, adjust the girl on my shoulder, and keep walking.
Behind me, the crowd still chants "Wolf of Azoth" like they'll tear their throats out. Ahead, a whole city that just learned I exist.
And somewhere, in a luxury restaurant, a stranger already waits for me.
[ Congratulations. You've won a tournament, a fortune in bread… and a mystery dinner date. Want me to book flowers? ]
"Shut up, Senpai."
The cries fade as I leave the arena, but they still vibrate in my bones. The Wolf of Azoth. As if the nickname had been tattooed straight into my ribcage.
Linie barely stirs on my shoulder. I feel her heat, her fragile breath. Too fragile. Every step toward the inn is a tug-of-war between two urges: sprint like mad to get her safe, or turn back to smash the nobles' faces for letting a kid get trampled.
[ You could do both. Save first, kill later. Double-menu plan. ]
"Thanks, Gordon Ramsay of carnage. We'll see."
The streets are packed. Merchants still shouting, gamblers arguing over my fight like I'm already a tavern legend. I catch scraps of conversation:
"…incredible, did you see how she…"
"…blue blood, I swear!"
"…the Wolf of Azoth, I'm telling you!"
I lower my head. Not giving them more show.
At last, I reach the inn. The façade almost trembles under the city's noise. I kick the door open, and the smell of stale beer and dubious stew greets me like an old sock.
Perfect. Home.
I head straight upstairs, girl still on my shoulder. No one dares block me. Maybe because of my eyes, maybe because of the dried blood still painting my face.
The room is tiny, but for now, it's a palace. I lay Linie on the bed, tuck a blanket around her. She whimpers faintly, but doesn't wake.
I slump into the rickety chair, exhale hard, and finally drop the chest of coins on the floor. CLANG. The boards vibrate.
I snicker.
"There you go, kid. We're rich. In bread."
[ And in problems. Don't forget the problems. ]
"No, those I already had."
I close my eyes for a moment. The roar of the arena still echoes in my ears, but here, in this hole of wood and dust, it feels distant. Too distant to be real.
And yet, the sealed scroll is there, tucked in my pocket. An invitation. A promise of answers. Or traps. Or both.
I look at Linie sleeping.
"Tomorrow, maybe. Not tonight."
[ You've figured it out already, haven't you? You didn't walk out of the arena alive. You just walked into another one. ]
I don't answer. I just lie flat on the floor, eyes on the ceiling, and for the first time in hours… I breathe.
I sprawl on the boards, arms spread, gaze lost in the shabby beams above. Linie breathes softly, curled in her blanket. Her tiny shape barely moves, but it's enough to calm me.
A sigh slips out.
"Damn it… Senpai… you realize? Since I landed in this world, it's been a nonstop festival."
[ Correction: a bloody circus in three acts. Want me to list them? ]
"No, leave it, I'll do it myself."
I close my eyes, count on my fingers.
"One: I wake up in a labyrinth crawling with monsters. Great. Welcome to the Survivors Anonymous Club."
[ With a free subscription to terror and cannibalism. ]
"Two: I run into psychos trying to capture me. Bad idea. Result: minced meat in the hallways."
[ You skipped the part where you almost died three times. But keep going, it's fun. ]
"Three: I find a kid. She tags along, I save her, and bam, instant adoptive mom without asking for it."
[ Congratulations. You skipped high school, college, career, and went straight to single mother mode. ]
I chuckle, a nervous laugh shaking me.
"Four: I get catapulted into a damn arena, carving up mutant stags juiced up with elf experiments, under the eyes of some noble with as much charisma as bleached teeth."
[ You forgot the best part: you turned a bloodbath into a rock concert. And they gave you a nickname. ]
I sigh. "The Wolf of Azoth… seriously, it sounds like a goth perfume brand."
[ "For her. For him. For you. The Wolf of Azoth™. Essence of carnage." ]
A laugh bursts out, despite the fatigue.
I stay there, half-dead, but smiling.
"God… what a mess."
[ Welcome to your new life. No turning back. ]
I close my eyes, hand on my chest.
"Yeah… but if this is my new life… then I'll live it full throttle. To the end."
Silence. Only Linie's peaceful breathing fills the room.
And in my head, a voice, for once soft, answers:
[ Then enjoy it, Wolf. ]
Morning light filters through the crooked shutters, drawing pale stripes on the floor. I groan, turn my head, realize I fell asleep on the boards, stiff as a corpse. Great. The arena's legend snores on a rotten floor.
A faint noise pulls me from the haze.
I look up: Linie has sat up in bed, cheeks wet, eyes swollen.
"Hey, little firecracker…"
I push myself up, bruised all over. "Bad dream?"
She looks up and spills a rush of words, too fast, broken by hiccups.
I don't understand a single syllable. It's a blur of strangled vowels, but I catch enough: fear. Sadness.
[ Linguistic analysis: incomprehensible. Translation available: "blblblbl, sniff, catastrophe." ]
I sigh, sit beside her. "Great. Back to mute-deaf mode without the artifact."
Linie shakes her head, keeps talking in her babble. Then she collapses against me, buries her face in my chest, and starts crying for real.
I freeze for a second, arms stiff. Then slowly wrap them around her.
"Shh… it's okay, kid. Even if I don't get the words, I get enough."
[ Free translation: "Mom, I dreamed everything was horrible and you disappeared." But since I'm not Google Translate, settle for 'hug mode.' ]
I laugh quietly. "You say that like I'm capable of vanishing."
[ Honestly? Yes. About twenty times a day. But hey, she still trusts you. ]
I stroke her messy hair. Linie trembles, but her sobs fade, replaced by sniffles. She clutches my sleeve with all her strength. No need for words. The gesture's enough.
"Yeah, yeah… I'm here. Not going anywhere."
Silence. Just her uneven breath and the old wood creaking.
[ You realize? Yesterday, you were gutting monsters for a screaming crowd. Today, you're a teddy bear for a traumatized child. Diverse career. ]
I snort, half laugh, half fatigue. "Yeah… but at least this role, I don't screw up."
Linie finally drifts back to sleep, fingers still gripping my sleeve. I slump back into the chair, exhausted, chest of coppers at my side.
And I catch myself thinking: tunnels were simpler.
Well, time to wash in that tub I saw nearby.
The water is lukewarm, a bit cloudy, but I don't care. It's been weeks since I've reeked of sweat, blood, and damp tunnels.
I sink to the neck, close my eyes, sigh.
"Finally… a real bath."
[ Congratulations. You've officially gone from blood-soaked gladiator to floating ravioli. ]
"Let me savor this, Senpai. You don't know what it's like to forget the smell of soap."
[ Of course I do. I shared every nostril with you in 'rotting rat fossil' mode. ]
I laugh, head tilted back on the wood. Even my bruises sting pleasantly. A shabby luxury, but still luxury. For a few minutes, I forget the crowd, the monsters, the nobles.
When I come out, skin red, hair dripping, Linie is waiting already. She had her turn in a basin too: clean, cheeks still damp, eyes swollen but calmer. She grabs my hand. Together, we go down the inn's rickety stairs.
I think we'll finally eat in peace.
Of course not.
Two guards in spotless armor are waiting downstairs. Polished helmets, crimson capes, stiff postures. Not arena thugs—officials.
One steps forward, bows, and offers me a sealed scroll with both hands. He delivers a long speech, voice grave and theatrical.
I stare at him.
I stare at the scroll.
Then back at him.
"…Yeah. Great. Didn't catch a word."
[ Probable translation: "Kindly honor high society with your presence this evening. Signed: Trouble Incoming." Makes sense, given yesterday's talk. ]
I sigh, snatch the scroll without ceremony, raise an eyebrow. Linie looks up at me, worried, as if to ask if it's dangerous.
"Relax, kid. Probably just people who want me to eat with more knives than plates."
[ Correction: it's a disguised summons. In this world, 'invitation' is polite code for 'come or lose your head.' ]
I chuckle, but my fingers tighten on the scroll.
"Great. And I just wanted lukewarm stew."
Linie clings to my sleeve. I stash the scroll in my chest of coppers.
And I already know: the real fight wasn't in the arena.
[ Welcome to the next level: dinner with predators in clean clothes. ]