The Hunter's Guide to Monsters

There were no swordwielders in Cerkanst. 

The only one who might conceivably know taught staves, not swords.

Jamutaltei restarted a conversation with the people in the balcony above.

Krow deliberately caught Hulach's eye. He removed his mask and the distinctive dark Travelcoat.

The herbalist's eyes widened, his lips twitched, turning down at the edges.

Krow glanced up at the balcony.

Hulach exhaled hard, turned his attention to the draculkar from Tamvost. "You think we'd accept such a losing proposition?"

The other sneered. "What, could it be you can't come up with a contract of your own?"

Hulach reached into his coat, brought out a scroll. He lifted it, a blue woven knot with a seal dangling for all to see.

The sound of the crowd heightened.

"A lifetime contract," murmured a siren beside Krow, craning his head from within his stall. "It's really a losing proposition."

Krow took a plain cream-colored shawl scarf, woven linen, from the siren's stall. He left two silver serpens on the table. Winding the scarf over his shoulders covered much of the white starting gear shirt.

Did he look enough like a villager?

The discussion between the Tamvost representative and Hulach wound down.

He stepped forward.

Hulach sighed again, eyes resigned. "Can you actually use a sword?"

  "The question is: does he even have one?" The Tamvost draculkar snickered.  He caught sight of the knives on Krow's left leg, and his eyes became even more confident. "A butcher? That's who you send against me? It's not exciting at all!"

"If I may," one of the people nearby ventured. "There is a blacksmith blade competition at the west field. They're just signing participants now."

"Great idea!" cried the opponent before Hulach could refuse. "I, Dabalt, will have a good warm-up."

"You might not even fight each other!" cried one of the spectators.

"Yeah, what about our bets?"

"Whoever doesn't reach the semi-finals has lost! Oi, butcher! If you reach the semi-finals, I won't say anything about Cerkanst again, if you lose before then, you'll move to Tamvost and work for my family."

[You've been challenged to battle!]

"That's better!"

"Place your bets!"

Ey, whoa.

This was supposed to be a private challenge.

How did it become a spectator sport all of a sudden?

Challenging non-players was a loss either way.

Players found that out quickly enough.

If a player won, the rewards were less than a fifth of a PVP challenge. If a player lost, quests and quest rewards would be lost as well.

Then there was the fact that unlike player challenges, which were easy to force, a non-player had to be goaded into taking the challenge.

Then there were the non-players that challenged on their own.

"Butcher, you take that side," Dabalt jerked his chin to the longer line.

"And if you lose before the semi-finals?"

"What?" The Tamvost representative, basking in the attention, turned to Krow.

"If I get to the semi-finals and you don't, will you follow to Cerkanst?"

The draculkar laughed, derisive. "Why would I want to go to your village?"

Why would anyone want to go to yours? Krow let out a loud sigh.

The draculkar's face curdled. "Fine. If I don't reach the semi-finals and you do, I'll put in another contract."

He slammed it down on the registration table.

That was the third one already.

Krow nodded, turned to leave.

"If you win this whole competition," Dabalt stopped him. "I'll give you this."

He tossed a badge beside the contract.

Krow looked at it quizzically.

[Greater Trade Warrant Badge of the Cyzar]

"An insignificant village like yours, probably never seen anything like it," said Dabalt, smiling. "This is a badge you can use to trade with any town in the kingdom."

…he could already do that.

Shkav, were the rules for villages different?

It wasn't like there was any other town that was near Cerkanst.

Krow shrugged.

Dabalt scoffed at his non-reaction. "Ignorant."

They separated to different tents. There were only two blacksmiths workshops competing.

That was great. This might not even take the whole morning.

Blacksmiths had limited swords. With lending them to amateurs, the swords would inevitably lose durability and be bent or nicked.

Most blade competitions were PR stunts.

Krow hefted a sword, similar in style to the one he wielded in his last life.

He had nothing against the weapons. He was just averse to having an opponent so close.

Well, people said exposure therapy worked, right?

[Avaldan's Shortsword]

[Quality: B][Common]

He twirled his wrist.

Too light.

He fell into the stance of a familiar starting motion, his mind seeing the follow-through perfectly. His body was another matter.

His limbs were longer than before. He was stronger than before, taller.

He put the sword down, picked up a bigger one, a greatsword.

The man behind him laughed. "Bigger doesn't mean better, kid."

  "It means heavier though." He tested again, the same motion and follow-through.

Better, but the greatsword was too long.

  "Do you have something with a shorter blade but similar weight?"

The dwarvir blacksmith who'd been eyeing him impatiently, snorted. "Got a falchion here."

He kicked open a crate, brought out something that actually looked a little bit like his cleaver. Haha, blacksmith.

[Avaldan's Falchion]

[Quality: C+][Common]

Krow tested it.

Eh.

He accepted the scabbard, tied it to his belt.

The weight fell against his hip, and his body adjusted accordingly. Like an old friend returning, they fit together even after a long time apart.

"You'll have to lose the knives," the blacksmith grunted, tossing him a token with the number 157 on it.

Krow returned to the herbalist group, unequipping the holster and knives from his left leg.

"You walk like you know how to use that," an herbalist observed.

"I…know the basics?"

With a weapon not allowed by his battle-class, the damage and defense were reduced.

But he still knew the basics, because those were all the skills StrawmanScare had. Even when he chose a path other than battle, he practiced those starting motions religiously for years.

Zushkenar was not a safe place for a person who couldn't defend themselves.