On the third day, the competition event was an eight-person dodgeball free-for-all. Representing Fairy Tail was Sting—but due to a hangover from the previous night, he was in poor condition and ended up placing third, earning only six points.
Charles gave him a thorough scolding, and Sting ended up squatting in a corner to reflect on how his arrogance had gotten the better of him.
With the competition round over, the battle segnt began. This ti, Fairy Tail's opponent was Quatro Cerberus. And this ti, Charles himself stepped onto the field.
By the third day of the Grand Magic Gas, Charles had only been observing. Every now and then, he felt like getting so exercise himself.
And by pure coincidence, Quatro Cerberus sent out Bacchus.
Bacchus grinned at him and said, "Wild! Didn't think we'd et again so soon!"
Charles sighed. "I could've gone a lot longer without seeing that smug face of yours."
Bacchus chuckled. "Don't be like that. Since we've got the chance, how about a little wager? Let's bet on who wins this round—you or ."
Charles looked at him. "Oh? Feeling that confident?"
Up in the stands, Quatro Cerberus's guild master Goldmine's smile suddenly froze. For so reason, he had a very bad feeling.
As an S-Class mage, Bacchus naturally had the confidence of the strong. But when confidence turns into blind arrogance, that's just hubris.
Goldmine wasn't sure what Bacchus was planning, but he had a strong sense that his subordinate was heading toward a really bad outco.
Bacchus, on the other hand, felt none of this. Like a fisherman who'd hooked a prize catch, he grinned wide and said, "So you're in! Let think about the stakes… Oh yeah, that pretty little lady from yesterday? She was quite the beauty. How about this—if I win, she's mine?"
Charles's expression darkened, and the pressure on the battlefield dropped significantly.
Up in the Fairy Tail stands, Stella wasn't angry about Bacchus's crude intentions toward her—because she knew there was no way Charles would lose.
What concerned her more was Charles's current state.
Sting clutched his hair. "Oh no, Charles is mad!"
Rogue, beside him, also wore a cryptic look.
The two of them had lived with Charles for quite so ti when they were younger.
To them, Charles was the very embodint of maturity and cool-headedness. He almost never got angry.
Which was exactly why the few tis he did lose his temper were burned into their mories.
Kagura, watching them, asked in confusion, "What, is Charles really that scary when he's angry?"
Sting's eyes went blank, as if he were recalling so traumatic mory. "Ah… he's terrifying. Seriously terrifying."
Rogue nodded. "Charles is usually very gentle, but when he gets mad… he becos sothing else. Cruel."
Cruel? Everyone nearby had question marks pop up over their heads. It was hard to associate that word with soone like Charles.
Rogue nodded again, firmly. "It's not just brute force. It's scarier than that… like he'll destroy what matters most to the person who made him mad."
Back on the field, Charles raised his head. His face wasn't twisted in anger—but the icy chill in his expression was enough to send a shiver down anyone's spine.
"Out of respect for Master Goldmine, I was willing to pretend yesterday's provocation never happened.
I don't care whether you ant it or not—but there are so things you don't joke about."
"Shit…"
Bacchus's cocky grin vanished as he instinctively retreated a few steps, now fully on guard.
"Wild… I think I've made a really dumb mistake."
Muttering to himself, Bacchus pulled the gourd from his waist and took a deep swig. At this point, there was no room for holding back. He had to go all-out, or even he couldn't imagine what his end would look like.
Tossing the gourd aside, Bacchus made the first move.
His speed wasn't particularly fast, but every step he took seed strangely elusive and disorienting. This was the signature of the Drunken Pigua Palm, designed to make it impossible to predict his movents.
Staggering forward like a drunk, Bacchus closed in and launched a flurry of palm strikes at Charles.
In just an instant, he delivered twelve blows. Having downed enough liquor, Bacchus had fully entered his drunken state, boosting both the power and speed of his attacks.
Most opponents wouldn't even be able to see how many tis he struck, let alone react.
But every single strike was clearly visible to Charles.
With fluid motions, Charles blocked all twelve attacks, not missing a single one.
Bacchus recoiled, his upper body leaning back, his technique completely disrupted. He had never imagined soone could read and block every one of his attacks so precisely. His face paled.
But Charles didn't take the opportunity to counter. Instead, he shook his head and said, "Is that all? Then how about this—"
He put one hand behind his back and extended his left hand toward Bacchus, beckoning with a curl of his fingers.
The audience erupted in shock. Everyone knew that Bacchus's strength lay in his martial arts, and now soone was mocking him by fighting with just one hand.
Especially Charles—fad for his Fire Dragon Slayer magic—and yet here he was, not even using magic at all.
Kagura gripped the railing and muttered, "So that's what he ant… That's cruel."
Her fighting style was similar to Bacchus's, so she understood him well.
To fighters like them, martial arts were as noble and worthy of mastery as magic. For soone like Bacchus, who had invented a unique style, it was a deep source of pride.
And Kagura could see exactly what Charles intended—to crush that pride completely.
Even she felt a twinge of pity for Bacchus.
Why'd you have to run your mouth? And in front of the scariest person here, no less…
As for Bacchus himself, all he felt now—aside from humiliation—was rage.
"You're really making my soul tremble!" he growled through clenched teeth.
And he charged again. Bacchus had a healthy fear of Charles's strength, but to be challenged like this, to be insulted by soone who wouldn't even use both hands or his magic? That was more than he could stand.
But despair soon set in. Even with just one hand, Charles blocked every attack with ease.
This is insane! Bacchus thought. My Drunken Pigua Palm—completely seen through? And Charles hadn't moved his feet once the entire ti.
Yawning, Charles looked as if he were bored out of his mind. "I think I overestimated you. This is getting tedious—I'm falling asleep. Let's wrap this up."
This man… he wasn't just beating him physically—he was going for the soul too.
For the first ti since entering the match, Charles moved.
In an instant, he appeared in front of Bacchus.
Bacchus instinctively lashed out with a palm strike, but Charles caught his wrist.
"What a feeble attack. Let show you what real martial arts look like."
And with that, Charles slamd his palm into Bacchus's abdon.
Bacchus felt like his insides were being crushed. He flew backward.
Barely managing to get back on his feet, he looked up—only to see Charles appear in front of him again and ram an elbow into his ribs.
He flew again. Before he could hit the ground, Charles appeared yet again, delivering a spinning kick that launched him even farther.
After six consecutive bursts of acceleration, Bacchus was finally embedded into the wall of the arena.
Charles looked at the Bacchus-shaped dent in the wall and raised a hand to signal the referee to announce the result.
…
That evening, the mbers of Quatro Cerberus gathered around Bacchus's hospital bed.
Gone was the cocky fighter—his eyes were lifeless, as if even the pain had been forgotten.
"How could he be so strong… What am I even worth?" he mumbled.
Since waking up, it was the only thing he'd been able to say.
Goldmine sighed. "Good grief… he's been broken completely."
Word of Bacchus's state quickly spread throughout the other guilds. After all, he was a well-known S-Class mage.
And Bacchus's fate sent a clear ssage to everyone:
Unless you're prepared to risk your entire future, don't ss with Fairy Tail.
(End of Chapter)
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