I had my head in my hands while I sat on the red stone bleachers waiting for the rest of the Dragnasand Knights to pour in. After getting here hours earlier, I ran through a couple of practice swings with the spare sword I had in my inventory. It's not like this would induce any damage to my opponent, but it's better than fighting empty-handed.

"The sun greets those who greet it," Mirani's voice flooded the arena, her words echoing up the empty bleachers before scattering in the damp wind. I looked up to see her striding towards me from the arena's southern entrance. "Someone's eager."

I shrugged, leaning back to let my palms bear my weight. "I'm an early-riser," I said, matter-of-factly. Rather, I was used to sleeping so late at night or not even sleeping at all and being able to report to work the next day. I didn't dare tell Mirani that, though. More questions would surely follow, and if there's anything I learned from those isekai media, it's to never let everyone know you're from other worlds.

Mirani hummed and chucked a sheathed sword at me. "Use that," she jerked her chin at it when I caught it with a clumsy grip. "If you're going head-to-head with Cavya, might as well have a magic item at hand."

"Now, isn't that cheating, Mira?" Ahrian's voice joined us as her familiar falcon head and purple color scheme popped in the same entrance Mirani came from. She reached us and tilted her head to one side to glare at us with her eye. Her lack of expressions made her harder to read than books in Hye-jin's native language. "Besides, didn't you get that using your cut in the Gardonia mission? Cavya's going to kill you when he realizes you used it for something such as this."

I have half the inkling what these two were talking about, but from what I could gather, Mirani participated in a huge mission and she bought a sword with her cut on the earnings which she was now giving to me.

"Uh, no thanks," I held my palms up and tried to flash Mirani a grateful grin. Let's hope it didn't look like a grimace. "I actually have a sword of my own and um...I wasn't fond of using it either."

Mirani raised her eyebrows. "Well, you need one when you're up against Cavya," she insisted. "I'm not kidding when I say he could flatten you like a bug if you're unlucky. This sword could at least absorb some of that damage."

Ahrian rolled her eyes and threw her arms up in surrender. She didn't say anything else as she sat down a step higher than where I was. Mirani turned to me with a smile. "Go on," she said. "Say the ownership creed."

I blinked. "The what?"

"See, this fool doesn't even know how to claim ownership of things," a flash of green scales entered the arena. The wind stirred as Yaora touched down on the same tier as Ahrian. His scales crunched together as he folded his webbed wings. How come I didn't notice those wings when he first came into the tavern with Valren?

Yaora clicked his forked tongue. "You say 'I accept this item' and thank whoever gave that to you," he said, his clawed hands bracing his knees. Even under the dark blue trousers he wore today, the scales were still prominent. "Where did you even come from to not know that simple thing?"

Somewhere far away from here, that's where. I didn't say that aloud though. Instead, I gripped the sword's hilt and took a deep breath. "I accept this item," I said. Surprise—nothing's happening. "Thank you, Mirani."

I was about to conclude I have fallen for their prank when the sword exploded in a shower of blue light. Then, it blinked towards extinction, only air replacing it within seconds. I gaped, made a show of rubbing the back of my head, and peering at my inventory list. There it was. Apparently, it was named the Butterfly Blade. Why was that?

That's when I realized silence had enveloped the otherwise busy arena. Shocked faces stared back at me. Even Ahrian's falcon beak hung partially open. "Don't tell me that's just spatial conjuring I just saw," Valren's voice paired with his thudding footsteps broke the stillness. I turned to find him trudging towards us. When he got near us, he immediately focused on me. "Hey, you said you're not an adventurer. How come you can do that?"

I swallowed against the growing lump in my throat. My bad. Never should've let them see that. Gotta think about how to get out of this one.

Fortunately, I didn't have to because a familiar cat-headed man strode inside the arena followed by the man with the long pink hair. From the distance, Cavya's placid but calculating grin was unmistakable.

"Greetings, min kharien," he said the moment he reached the outer rim of the bleachers. He didn't join us inside, even when Nazran, the pink-haired guy, lugged ahead and sat beside Ahrian. Then, Cavya turned to me. "Are you ready, blue boy?"

Again, with the nickname. What the hell was a blue boy anyway?

I straightened and summoned the spare sword from my inventory. Behind me, Ahrian's whispers to, no doubt, Mirani rang. Cavya's triangular ears twitched left and right atop his head. How much had he gathered about the sword Mirani gave me? "I'm ready," I answered, stepping off the confines of the bleachers and straight into the flat expanse of the arena.

From there, the same awe which sat in my gut hours ago at the sight of the stadium returned. Things like things reminded me of how inconsequential and small I was. The sound of metal clinking tore my attention away from the domed ceiling sporting murals of figures I didn't recall being elaborated on back in the game. I turned to find Cavya pointing a thin rapier at me.

"The rules are simple, blue boy," the cat-head said. "The first person who makes their opponent drop their weapon for longer than ten seconds wins. Any type of magical attack, skills, and abilities are allowed. The moment I drop into a stance is when we begin. Are we clear?"

I nodded. "Clear."

A blur of beige and black zipped towards me. What...? I didn't even see him drop into a stance! "Wait—!" My sword clanged against the tip of Cavya's rapier. When did I even swing it to block? Just what's going on?

Cavya's slitted eyes due to the sunlight streaming past the arena's arched windows narrowed. "Good reflexes," he said. "I'll give you that."

Before I could even say "thanks" and mutter a witty quip, a flash of silver streaked to my right. It's aimed towards my right. My hands moved to swing my sword down, to block it, but I forced it not to. He's going to disable my hands around the hilt if I take the feint. Instead, I gritted my teeth and sidestepped Cavya. The rapier whizzed inches away from my waist. With a click of my tongue, I leaped a few steps back, widening our distance.

"Quick thinking," Cavya said, straightening up. "As you have observed, I am using a rapier whose damage range works best in close quarters."

What? I was trying to stay alive, man.

Then, Cavya lunged again. This time, judging from the glint in his eye, he's not going to go easy on me anymore. He's going in for the kill.

Well, so was I.

I spread my legs, rooting me in place, and gauged his distance and his speed. If this was a normal game, it would have taken a full minute. Cavya reached me in three seconds. This time, I let my body handle avoiding being skewered—it seemed to be able to do that without my interference—and focused on a single name in my head.

Cavya's rapier connected with my blade. "Come, Butterfly Blade!" I yelled. Bright light pulsed between us as Mirani's sword materialized in my other hand. The cat's eyes widened a fraction as I swung the new weapon. He leaped out of the way just as the tip of my blade slashed at him.

The world tunneled around me. My ears couldn't register any sounds from the rest of the Dragnasand Knights, focusing instead on the sound of my heartbeat and my ragged breathing. Sweat trickled from the sides of my face before tapering on my chin.

Cavya didn't say anything but it was clear my sword-summoning trick fazed him. At least, a little. The gray and white fur around his head looked thicker and fluffier than usual, making his head look bigger, and his eyes, narrower.

I fell into a stance with both hands occupied with swords. My conviction to never use swords was upturned by my need to survive. If I was to get out of this world, I needed Dragnasand's power, and I couldn't do that if I was found on the other end of Cavya's metal stick.

The leader lunged again. Without more tricks, I resolved to stay standing for as long as I could. Block. Parry. Swing. Duck. Slash. Dodge. My limbs followed my mind's instructions as fluid and graceful as they could, which made no sense. I had no idea how exactly I was able to move and keep up with Cavya's expert movements, but it seemed like I only had to think of the action and my body would obey. It defied everything I knew and was familiar with, but this was life and death. Let's just roll with it.

Cavya's rapier slammed against the spot on the ground where my leg had just been. I whirled just in time to catch one of his blows between my blades. Using them like pruning shears, I forced the rapier higher. Then, seeing an opening from below, I drove my heel into his gut.

He gurgled and yowled in pain. I slammed the hilt of my spare sword against Cavya's wrist, making him open his hand...or paw. The sound of the rapier's guard hitting the stadium's floor made out of quarry echoed in the air. I swept my foot to the side, kicking Cavya's weapon as far as I could while I counted in my head.

Two. Three. Four. Five.

The rapier flew towards Cavya's waiting hands. Before my surprise could register, he thrusted his sword towards my gut—not even my hand to make me drop my weapon. It's like he was aiming to kill me from the get-go.

I scrambled back, my senses struggling to get my bearings back. What just happened? The rapier was on the ground, far from Cavya to retrieve on time. The sword simply returned to his hand as if it was beckoned towards it. Was it an unspoken spell? Or...was it the quality of the sword? There was no time to test either option as Cavya bore down on me with a loud clang of our weapons.

Then, a strong blow slammed into my side. My feet left the ground as I sailed away. Did he just...? The rapier's tip flashed towards me, taking along a blur of beige and black. Was he kidding me? I haven't even landed!

I gritted my teeth. Flip. Control my trajectory. Land on a stance. Pain shot towards my ankles as my body struggled to carry out those orders. Cavya's blade slammed against my swords, driving me backwards. The pain in my legs intensified as I tried to hold my ground.

Cavya's eye twitched as he applied a little more pressure. My ankles felt like they were going to burst. Bones creaked and groaned. A pained noise gurgled from my throat but I forced myself to hold on. Hang in there. Just a little more.

But...just a little more of what? Cavya's been the victor even before the match even started. With that sword of his, there's no way an opponent could make him drop his weapon for longer than ten seconds. Unless they cut his hands or something...

Cutting hands...

"Time's up, blue boy," Cavya purred.

He took two steps back then swung his sword. The blade connected with my wrist. The strength of contact alone drove me to the ground. "Withdraw!" I swiped my hand over my face on my way to receive the practice sword back into the inventory. Using my remaining sword, I slashed a huge arc in Cavya's direction while I rolled out of the way of his signature piercing attack. He wasn't even using magic and I was already struggling this hard? God.

The menu blocked most of my view of Cavya and his attacks but I zeroed in on the skills list. Come on. Give me something other than the corny starting ones. I needed something advanced. Something that'd ensure my victory. My world spun and crashed as my arms barely blocked Cavya's next attack. Then, they never stopped. A slash there. A jab here. Clangs and sparks danced around my head and my arms, but there was nothing to be done but to keep blocking.

Then, Cavya swept his leg in a wide arc, his heel catching my chin. The impact sent me backwards, blurring my view of my skills list. My butt hit the ground. Something thick and wet dropped from my face. Couldn't it be...blood?

A shadow loomed over me, followed by a flash of silver. It's over.

Until I glimpsed a familiar line in my skills list. Memories of me using it in the console client on my third restart whizzed from the back of my brain. That's it.

Cavya slammed into me with a loud shriek of metal against metal. "Trade!" I yelled, focusing all of my magic into a specific part in my opponent's body. Heat flared from inside me as weight pinned me to the ground. While my magic worked, I growled and pushed against the weight. Red tinged my vision, blurring even the menu pulsing in my mind. With a yell, I threw the weight over me. Now, I was the one applying pressure from my side.

"Blue boy, that's enough!" Mirani's voice snapped me out of whatever murderous trance I've ended up in. Slowly, my senses returned to normal. Then I looked down to find Cavya looking up at me with wide eyes, his own ragged breathing nowhere near as erratic as the one ringing in my ears and wracking my chest.

That's when I noticed it. My arms weren't quite mine. Underneath the tightness of my long sleeves, I felt...fur. When I looked at Cavya's hands gripped around my wrists, they were...my own. And pressed below the part where fur met skin was the silver rapier. The only difference was that I was the one doing the pressing.

"Nine. Ten," Mirani's breathy voice said behind me. "It's decided. Blue boy wins!"

Cavya hissed. "You heard that? Now, get off me," he said. "And give me my hands back."

Like a thousand weights easing from my shoulders, I stumbled off the leader and collapsed on the arena's floor. "So it was a quality of the sword," was the first observation that came out of my mouth since the match started. "I can't believe I wagered on a fifty-fifty chance with everything I can to lose. Talk about taking a risk."

"What was the other option?" Cavya groaned, bracing his knee with my needle fingers on his way up. "You mentioned a half-and-half chance."

I rolled to my side and pressed my hand against the ground to follow suit. "I thought about you using unspoken spells to call the sword," I admitted, turning to face Cavya. Was this his first time losing to someone leagues beneath him? He's taking it well.

Cavya merely hummed and held out his arms. "What did I say about bringing my arms back?"

"Oh," I scrolled through my skills list and found a release spell among the starting spells. "Skill Release."

In a flash, my arms were back to where they belonged. A hiss caught my attention back to Cavya, who turned his gloved paws this way and that. Visible relief flashed in his slitted eyes. Then, he turned to me.

"Technically, I didn't drop my weapon," he said.

"Now, Cavya. Don't be a sore loser," Valren shouldered past me, the scales on his arm scratching my muscles. Against flesh, his arm felt like a rough rock wall. "Blue boy has won this fair and square. You did say any skill is allowed."

Yaora huffed. A column of smoke rose from his nostril. Could these dragon hybrids actually breathe fire? I made a mental note to never piss off Valren and Yaora. "You forgot he's a valdyrsi and thought he's some sort of spiria, right?" he tilted his head framed with a green mane to the side. "Those two races do look alike."

Cavya ignored his comrade and turned to me instead. His ears twitched to opposite sides then back. "As per our agreement," he held out a gloved paw. The guard of his rapier glinted by its sheathe by his belt, already tucked away and ready for another provocation. "I welcome you to the Dragnasand Knights and into the Dragnasand Guild as an adventurer. To finalize the paperwork, I'm going to need your name, min khari."

A lump caught in my throat. Name? Should I give my real one? Nagara Rin. It did sound nice...but it might be a bit too exotic for this world. It's bound to raise more questions than what I was comfortable with. So, let's settle with the other name, the one that has been with me through every game, every battle, and every world.

"Kora Chrysvern," I answered. Eyes snapped towards me in a heartbeat. I made sure to smile and appear innocent for whatever reason. "Pleased to make your acquaintance."