Welcome to the Innocent World - Chapter 121

Chapter 121: The Scabbard Shot

The light of morning poured over the bustling town square, casting a golden hue on the grounds. Stalls were already alive with vendors hawking breakfast pastries and small trinkets, but the true focus was the small arena in the center.

Temporary stands circled the pit, where an excited crowd had gathered. Children bounced with excitement, their eyes gleaming as they tugged at their parents’ sleeves, begging for a better view. Merchants, travelers, and townsfolk alike had all come to see the first day of local fights.

The air buzzed with energy as a town volunteers roamed the streets, shouting,

“Come one, come all! Warriors assemble! The tournament begins today!” Bells rang out, signaling the start of the first round.

I walked through the crowd, the sword at my hip lightly tapping against my thigh as I moved. Despite the lively atmosphere, my expression remained unchanged—calm, cold, and distant. I heard the murmurs and giggles around me, some commenting on my sexy features, others still questioning that someone like me would dare join the tournament.

“Cutie Pie, huh? She won’t last a minute,” someone whispered.

“She’s just here for the attention,” another snorted.

Ignoring them, I walked to my designated area.

Among the crowd, I spotted Seraphine. The blue-haired girl was leaning against a pillar, her arms crossed and her sharp gaze sweeping over the participants. She carried the same stoic air as yesterday, but the weight of her name still seemed to hang heavy in the whispers around her.

The announcer, a tall man with a booming voice, stood on the small stage in the middle of the pit. He held a wooden box filled with numbered balls. Each contestant would draw a number, and those with matching numbers would fight.

“Draw your numbers, warriors!” he called, waving the box high in the air.

The participants, about 5 dozen of us, lined up to draw. When my turn came, I reached into the box and pulled out a smooth wooden ball with the number 7 etched onto it. I glanced at it briefly, then stepped aside without a word.

As the others drew their numbers, the murmurs grew louder. “Look, that Hammar guy’s here again. They say he’s being groomed for knighthood.”

“Yeah, he’s strong as hell. Poor guy who has to fight him.”

My ears caught the name. Hammar… I looked up and saw him—the same man who’d grabbed my waist yesterday. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and carried a massive double-headed axe strapped to his back. His leering grin was fixed on me, and when our eyes met, he raised his hands and made an obscene gesture.

“Cute little thing,” he mouthed mockingly, licking his lips.

I turned my gaze away, my face an unchanging mask. His weird behavior weren’t worth my energy.

The fights began as the announcer called out the names of the first pairings.

Each fight was quick, the difference in skill painfully obvious. Most participants were amateurs—locals who had signed up for the thrill or bragging rights. Their movements were clumsy, their techniques basic, and the more experienced fighters dispatched them with ease.

Finally, after several bouts, the announcer raised his voice again.

“The next contestants are…” He paused dramatically, letting the crowd quiet. “Cutie Pie versus Hammar!”

A hush fell over the crowd, quickly replaced by murmurs and a few chuckles.

“Hammar’s going to crush her,” someone whispered.

“Why is she even here? Look at her—she’s too delicate.”

“There’s no way a girl like her can beat someone like him.”

I heard it all but paid them no mind. Standing from the bench, I adjusted my sword at my side and walked toward the stage with steady, deliberate steps. The crowd parted around me, their eyes filled with doubt and amusement.

When I stepped into the arena, Hammar was already there, his big body towering over the center of the pit. His axe gleamed in the sunlight as he strapped it onto his shoulder, smirking.

“Ah, Cutie Pie,” he said mockingly, his voice dripping with lust. “I almost feel bad. This isn’t a place for cute girls like you. Why don’t you step down now and save yourself the embarrassment?”

I didn’t respond. My hand rested inaide the pockets of my jacket as I walked closer to him.

Hammar’s grin widened. “No? Still pretending to be tough? How about this—just give up, wait for me outside, and I’ll take real good care of you.” His voice dropped, his tone lewder.

The crowd roared with laughter, but I remained unfazed.

Without a word, I opened the knot of my sword from my waist—just enough for the scabbard to slide down. I held the sword by the scabbard itself, letting the blade remain concealed.

The announcer raised his hand.

“BEGIN!”

Hammar laughed as he swung his axe onto the ground with a loud thud.

“I’ll give you the first move, sweetheart,” he said, spreading his arms wide. “Go ahead. Impress me.”

The whispers around the arena grew louder.

“She’s just standing there. Is she scared?”

“I think she’s going to try and seduce him. She has no chance otherwise.”

“She’s going to get herself killed.”

Amidst the noise, a little boy near the edge of the arena stared at me with wide, hopeful eyes. He tugged on his father’s sleeve. “Dad, do you think she can win?”

His father sighed, shaking his head. “It’s not likely, son.”

I took a single step forward, my face still expressionless. Then another step. The crowd watched in tense silence as I stopped just two steps away from Hammar.

“You’re not even going to swing that thing?” Hammar laughed, tapping the side of his axe. “Come on, Cutie Pie. Show me what you’ve got.”

I raised my hand, gripping the scabbard tightly.

“Finally!” he said, smirking.

And then—THUD.

The sound was deafening, like thunder splitting the air. My scabbard connected with Hammar’s head in a single, clean motion. Dust erupted from the impact, engulfing the center of the arena.

The crowd shooked, their laughter silenced.

When the dust settled, Hammar was on the ground, unconscious. Blood trickled from his forehead, and his massive body lay out with no movements in them.