Ch.21Robot Is the Very Embodiment of a Man’s Dream

The chilly atmosphere in the second-floor viewing area was in stark contrast to the test arena below, which was ablaze with passionate cheers and fierce excitement.

As if symbolizing the gap between the two classes, the railing seemed to divide summer from winter.

In the center of the vast auditorium.

Eight candidates paired off in groups of two, desperately swinging weapons at each other.

A greatsword and longsword clashed as they aimed for each other’s heads, while a fighter with small shields strapped to both wrists deflected an incoming spear and closed in.

A man with an axe lodged in his shoulder groaned in pain as he dropped his sword.

A half-naked woman threw daggers, which a woman with a short sword and shield blocked while advancing forward.

The dagger-thrower cursed under her breath as she continuously retreated.

To prevent unexpected casualties, the candidates were given wooden weapons.

However, they must have been reinforced with iron cores, as wooden splinters flew with each collision, accompanied by heavy cracking sounds.

Even with wooden swords reinforced with iron cores, a solid hit would still cause serious injury…

I looked down at the scene as if watching some brutal children’s play.

So these are the regular candidates? Their skill level isn’t as high as I expected.

It might be arrogant for someone who’s only been learning swordsmanship for about two weeks, but honestly, I felt like I could shatter any of them—weapons and all—within five exchanges.

I guess apart from the main characters, everyone else is about the same level of skill.

Kalix seemed to share my thoughts, wearing a languid expression.

Well, with those fists of his, he could end everything with a single blow. From the start, humans and Dragonborn have a significant gap in basic physical abilities.

Meanwhile, the dwarf—Asha—sitting to my left was completely absorbed in the spectacle, finding even such a pathetic level of combat fascinating.

She seemed to enjoy watching fights, just as she had earlier when she’d circled around observing the tension between Frider and me.

As for Frider, he wasn’t even looking in my direction, probably to avoid another confrontation.

I’d been feeling a chill on the back of my neck, as if he might be glaring daggers at me from behind.

Unlike Kalix, who I wouldn’t even consider fighting, Frider seemed like someone I could take on, but I decided to postpone that for later.

It’s not like I’m some battle-crazed maniac who needs to cause a scene here.

If he provoked me first like before, that would be different, but I hesitated to initiate conflict given my precarious position in the Empire.

Besides, even if we fought, I could only envision both of us being subdued by Kalix and carried away.

So what now?

With no sign of the protagonist or main characters, should I try to get friendlier with these people until they show up?

Since Frider clearly had no intention of speaking with me anymore, I decided to strike up a conversation with Asha instead.

The dwarves’ country, Himmel, is located in the southwest of the Empire, so they probably don’t have any grudges against the Ka’har, right?

“Dwarf, do you find that so entertaining?”

“Dwarf. Call me a Dwarf. ‘Nanjaengi’ is a derogatory term. You wouldn’t like being called a barbarian either, would you?”

Asha replied without turning to look at me, her eyes fixed on the test arena.

I felt a bit embarrassed and awkwardly brushed my hair aside.

So “nanjaengi” is a slur.

Come to think of it, in my original world, calling someone a dwarf was considered offensive too, though I don’t see much difference between “dwarf” and “banin”…

Even in the original work, they were referred to as “nanjaengi.”

Still, if it’s offensive, I should apologize.

I lightly scratched near my cheekbone with my index finger and expressed my apology.

“Oh? I didn’t know that… Well, I’m sorry.”

“Once is fine. As a Ka’har, you naturally wouldn’t know much about us.”

Her voice wasn’t particularly cold or angry. She genuinely didn’t seem bothered.

Asha’s eyes remained fixated on the test arena as if entranced.

Since she responded promptly to my words, she wasn’t ignoring me—she just really seemed to enjoy watching fights.

“Hmm… well, let’s leave it at that. Anyway, you already heard my name, so what should I call you?”

“Asha. Asha of the Red Copper Clan. Call me Asha, Haschal.”

She used my name quite readily.

Come to think of it, dwarves—no, Dwarfs—don’t use honorifics when addressing others. It signifies equality.

A country without kings. That was a cultural characteristic of Himmel, the Dwarf republic.

“Alright, Asha. So you find that entertaining? They all look weak to me. You enjoy watching fights?”

“I do. It’s always fresh to watch. Very informative.”

“Informative?”

If she wanted to improve her skills, wouldn’t she normally observe stronger fighters?

“Yes. Watching such weak fighters actually gives me inspiration for my equipment. The obvious weaknesses, or fresh ideas worth adapting and applying.”

“Equipment? You mean that complicated metal thing on your back? It’s quite impressive with all that clanking.”

I pointed at the large mechanical device covering most of Asha’s back.

Men naturally find complex gears and precise machinery appealing.

I was no exception.

In the center of the device covering her back like thick armor was a large nozzle, with two smaller nozzles protruding on either side below.

Metal frames connected to the sides of the device wrapped around her arms, reaching down to her elbows.

Hundreds of gears rotated between the steel frame gaps, moving cylinders.

Thin steam occasionally hissed out from a short pipe pointing upward.

So this was Asha’s combat equipment, the Charging Jetpack. Seeing it in person filled me with excitement and awe.

“Right?! It’s my masterpiece!”

Asha suddenly turned her head toward me. Her voice rose with strong pride.

“Using a chrome frame with high pressure and corrosion resistance as the base, I utilize compressed cylinders to generate high-pressure engine output through hydraulic pistons and gears—”

“Ah, yeah. That’s impressive…”

I glossed over it, sensing this could go on forever.

It seemed to be some kind of engine structure using gears and pistons.

I could understand it roughly, but as a Ka’har, considered a barbaric race, it would be strange if I appeared to comprehend such technical explanations.

“Ah, my explanation got too verbose. Anyway, this is my weapon. Since we’re both special admission students, you’ll have a chance to see it in action later.”

Asha smiled broadly, as if used to such reactions, and turned her attention back to the test arena.

So that’s her personality.

I felt tired despite having exchanged only a few words.

Perhaps the reason none of us had been talking was that our personalities would only exhaust each other.

“Oh? That young man looks quite promising! Don’t you think?”

Kalix, who had been disinterestedly watching the test arena and showing no interest in my conversation with Asha, suddenly addressed me.

Since he seemed much more interested than before, I turned my gaze toward the test arena, curious about who had caught his attention.

A handsome young man with golden hair had a large greatsword resting on his shoulder, his legs spread wide and upper body slightly bent forward, as if ready to charge at any moment.

Ah.

The protagonist.

The Chosen One. The Hero of the Sacred Sword. Humanity’s Savior. The Demigod’s Egg.

Demian.

There stood the playable character of this game, whom I had once controlled.

—-

Since the entrance exam was equivalent to the prologue in the original game, Demian’s equipment was still quite basic.

A simple outfit consisting of a black quilted armor, leather gloves, and leather boots.

The greatsword gripped in his right hand was also plain and unadorned.

Ah, the greatsword must have been provided by the academy.

“You mean that blond guy? His sword is certainly large.”

It was much larger than a conventional greatsword.

Not so large that one would question whether it was actually a sword, but it was nearly as tall as a person with a blade width close to a hand span.

Had this not been a game world, it would have been impractical for anything but decoration.

“Both that young man and his opponent across from him have impressive presence, don’t you think?”

Opponent?

Following Kalix’s words, I looked at Demian’s opponent.

A man standing over 180cm with a solid build. Heavy chain mail covered his massive frame.

His dull blond hair was pulled back and braided, and thick beard covered from his sideburns to his chin.

With a solemn expression, the man had planted a large two-handed axe on the ground, holding it like a staff with both hands.

Who is this? I don’t recognize this character.

“Judging by his weapon and attire, he’s a Dane. It’s unusual to see a Dane applying for regular admission. Interesting, isn’t it?”

“A Dane? Shouldn’t someone from the Kingdom of Dane be a special admission student?”

“Not all Danes are citizens of the Kingdom of Dane. Dane was once Imperial territory, so I’ve heard there are still Danes living in the Empire. That young man must be one of them.”

A Dane. Not particularly welcome.

As if noticing my gaze, the Dane turned his head and looked in my direction.

Our eyes met.

His cold blue eyes, which had seemed indifferent, suddenly blazed with blue light upon discovering me.

A venomous hatred as if all the grudges in the world had been melted down and concentrated in one place.

A chilling sensation ran down my spine, as if ice water had been poured down my neck, making the corners of my eyes twitch.