Daly on swords! Seriously?

Success hurts more than failure.

Because the moment you realize you survived—you remember:

You’ll have to do it again.

Marcus sat on an old wooden bench, staring at the sandy ring of the arena.

Around him—murmurs, tension. Somewhere in the crowd, someone was arguing with their own spell. Someone else munched on an apple. One was loudly praying to every god in existence, including (probably) some imaginary ones.

His breath was steady. His body… not so much.

After the goblin incident in the first trial—where his summoned monster nearly defeated itself—Marcus had learned one thing:

In this world, magic obeys words.

Not logic.

> “And now—duels? With no magic? Just fists, sticks, and pride?

Genius. Clearly the System was inspired by gladiator coliseums and college brawls.”

> SYSTEM: Phase Two — Duels. No magic. Only swords. And possibly mild psychological breakdowns.

Marcus looked up at the sky.

“…I just wanted to nap.”

> Or at least stay in one piece. But in this world, both were luxury items.

---

Duel I: Marcus Kannet vs Arno von Bretton

His name was called first.

He stood up like a man heading not to battle, but to a dental appointment.

Slow steps. Dry hands. A heavy wooden sword.

The arena was surrounded by students, teachers, and a few owls who clearly came for the drama.

Opposite him emerged Arno—walking, talking proof that “bullying the new kid” could be a personality trait.

Broad shoulders. Smug grin. That swagger of someone who’s always won fights using mass, not brains.

“Oh, what a coincidence,” Arno smirked. “I was just in the mood to warm up. Try not to cry, runt.”

Marcus raised his sword lazily.

“No promises. But hey—you don’t relax either.”

GONG.

No buildup. The duel began.

Arno charged.

Marcus dodged.

Not from strategy—instinct.

Their swords clashed. Sand flew.

And deep inside, Marcus thought:

> “If I live through this, I’m writing a comedy about how I didn’t die.”

> SYSTEM: Heart rate elevated. Risk of death: moderate. Risk of humiliation: high.

Arno’s swings came fast—shoulder, chest, head. Marcus barely dodged.

He was already exhausted.

One hit knocked the sword from his hand.

Another sent him to the ground.

He fell.

Arno loomed over him.

“And now—say goodbye…”

“Ha. Try saying—‘sand in your face.’”

Marcus grabbed a handful of sand and hurled it into Arno’s eyes.

The bigger boy blinked—

—and got smacked in the leg with Marcus’s wooden sword.

> SYSTEM: Victory confirmed. Questionable. But effective. And surprisingly clever.

Marcus collapsed flat on his back, panting.

Sand stuck to his cheek.

His heart pounded like a war drum.

He stared up at the sky.

“…I hate sports. Especially the contact kind.”

> But he survived.

Not heroically. Not gracefully.

But honestly.

And in the end, a hero isn’t the flashiest one.

It’s the one still standing.

---

Duel II: Illya von Meridian vs Leonard von Tremor

The next duel felt like a scene from a completely different novel.

Illya stepped into the arena—

Her silver hair tied with a ribbon. Her eyes calm. Steps quiet and exact, like a practiced melody.

Leonard was the opposite—shiny, loud, and way too proud of himself.

That kind of student who fails every exam, but still thinks he’s the protagonist.

“You sure you can handle this, little lady?” he said, flipping a lock of hair. “I’ll go easy on your hairstyle. And your pride.”

“You’ve been warned,” Illya replied. “Everything else is on your conscience.”

GONG.

Three seconds later, Leonard was face-down in the dirt.

His sword rolled away.

Illya stood over him—still, composed—like she hadn’t even moved.

Marcus, watching from the stands, blinked.

“…What just happened?”

> SYSTEM: That was a demonstration of why you don’t flirt with the heroine unless you’re ready for consequences.

Illya said nothing.

She turned, walked past the stands, and—just for a second—looked toward Marcus.

Her gaze was icy.

But her lips moved ever so slightly.

A hint of a smile?

A shadow of one?

Marcus internally short-circuited.

“…Did I just fall in love? Or freeze in fear? Or both?

…Is that normal?”

---

> SYSTEM: Phase Two complete.

Those still standing: congratulations.

Those still unconscious: condolences.

Next: Phase Three.

For now—rest, food, and reflection on the fragility of life.

Marcus slumped back onto the bench.

His shoulders ached.

The sound of wooden swords still echoed in his head.

There was sand in his teeth.

But something had shifted.

He wasn’t just observing anymore.

He was in the story.

> The stakes were higher.

The people—deeper.

The System—crazier.

And ahead of him… something much bigger.

He sighed.

“…I still just wanted a nap.”

> SYSTEM: Denied.