Min-Maxing My TRPG Build in Another World: Volume 6 [Parts 1 to 13] by Schuld

Author:Schuld
Language: eng
Format: epub

[Tips] Martial tournaments in the Empire are recreational events that, legally speaking, are similar to private military parades. More than just the hobbyhorse of militaristic nobles, the occasions serve as a proving grounds for wandering fighters seeking employment, and many warriors will cross national borders aiming to partake.

Signing up for the one-on-one duels went by without incident. The clerk I spoke to didn’t put up any protest, and nobody had turned up to make a hackneyed remark about how letting a snot-nosed punk like me in the ring was assisted suicide with extra steps.

Not that I’d wanted that, of course, but I’d been a bit worried—what with my appearance and all. However, according to the clerk, plenty of farm boys fresh from their coming of age ceremonies gathered around to show off their strength and put their names out there. Anyone was allowed to enter so long as they paid the fee, and two copper quarters were all it took to book a place in the competition.

The same could not be said for Dietrich.

It seemed that this was the first time a zentaur had ever expressed interest in this tournament series’s horseback archery category, and the clerk had the same reaction as me, ultimately prompting them to call their boss: “Horseback archery? Horse? Back? Uh...is that allowed?”

Figures. I mean, she’s not on a horse’s back. She’s just part horse. That has to be cheating.

After getting the manager, the manager then sent a message to the lord hosting the tournament, who allegedly responded with an energetic, “Sure, that sounds fun!” Despite the noble’s decision, though, the desk worker handling our reception still seemed unconvinced. Don’t worry, I’m right there with you.

Yet the confusion during the sign-up process was nothing compared to the state of chaos that followed.

You see, on this occasion, the local lord had opened an official gambling circuit on the outcomes of the event. Probably hoping to undercut the profits of criminal organizations and the inevitable underground bets they’d host anyway, they’d set up a counter next to the one for tournament entry so the employees could shift around the odds whenever a strong-looking challenger showed up.

The actual betting wasn’t open until after the registration period closed, but a handful of loafers were hanging around like this was the paddock of a racecourse—fitting, considering my company—in order to scout for potential winners. When they caught wind that a zentaur was entering in horseback archery, the crowd went wild.

As far back in time as the Age of Gods was, tales of the Living Scourge survived to the present day. On top of that, memories of the dromedrin—think zentaurs, but with camel bits down below—giving the imperial army serious trouble were fresh in the Rhinian zeitgeist. Anyone who was anyone knew that four-legged demihumans made for killer archers.

The number-keepers went back and forth over fears that odds so stacked would kill business and the reality that Dietrich would almost certainly win. I quickly lost count of how many times they shifted the payouts.

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