Jimbo laughed like a maniac.
---Jimbo the Dungeon Core LV 4
-Ether: 330/400
Watching flesh and steel clash at fifty kilometers per hour was entertaining enough. But Jimbo's true joy lay in how fast his ether was rising. The cheering crowds, the warriors giving their all, the pulsing emotions—it all exuded torrents of energy that the dungeon eagerly absorbed.
The only thing Jimbo missed was having a body with a mouth to eat. He would have loved a tub of ice cream or a bowl of popcorn while watching the fights.
He saw Axiel ride past and booed him; it didn't matter that he couldn't be heard, the guy still irritated him for being the realm's typical pretty boy. Though he had to nod in acknowledgment seeing him win against the giant. Yet, to his surprise (and his relief), the next participant was far more impressive.
"Ser Goro IV Segismundo, the Golden Promise, grandson of Goro the Eight-Times Undefeated!" announced the obese Master of the Joust.
"Nine times! My honorable grandfather will add one more tally when he returns from vanquishing the rebel kings," Goro IV replied loudly, his lance pointing to the sky. "I fight for myself and for my illustrious family, the Segismundos! I require no maiden's favor!"
The golden knight unhorsed his enemy with the very first strike. He needed no more, nor did he exert himself much, lacking the flourishes or acrobatics that Axiel had required.
Jimbo joined the crowd's applause.
«What an aura! What presence! You're the man, Goro! Looks like his grandpa is pretty OP too. The power hierarchy of this world just shifted!»
He whistled.
Marcus's sister's boyfriend won too. No one complained that the dark-skinned man jumped the wooden barrier with his wolf, so Jimbo assumed it was a valid move.
New favorites of both Jimbo and the public followed in the arena. Colón the Barrel, a large, fat man with a dark beard forever damp with foam, wearing a stained copper breastplate and carrying a massive beer barrel on his back from which he kept his tankard full. He rode a boar with bunches of grapes hanging from its long, yellowed tusks. Despite being undeniably drunk and swaying like a mast in a fierce storm, he managed to knock his rival down with astonishing ease, before hunching over and vomiting in the middle of the lists.
Ser Richard, the Knight of the Clover, a very skinny man with a bony face and eyes so tired one could swear he was dragged to the jousts by force. He rode an old mule that looked just as average as he did. In contrast to the knight's mundane appearance, he wore bright jade-green armor with a clover engraved on the breastplate. Upon lowering his helm's visor, Richard actually managed to impose a bit of presence. He broke three lances against his rival, before the adversary's horse ended up stumbling and breaking a leg, falling on its rider and snapping his legs in turn.
Richard was declared the victor. The priests ran to help the fallen rider.
Patricia the Orc. Jimbo assumed the 'orc' part came from her musculature and two-meter height, but realized his mistake when she removed her steel helm, revealing a lion-like mane of hair, a green face—a mix of brutish and graceful—and two tusks protruding from her lower lip. With that sight, Jimbo discovered that orcs existed in this world.
When introduced, Patricia announced at the top of her lungs that her prize would be the virginity of the strongest man in the tournament, earning a murmur from the crowd and scandalous disapproval from Queen Gineber, who shook her head.
The orc steered her warhorse toward the line of participants. Her flat nose and nostrils twitched, almost as if she could sniff out the men's purity…
«Wait, can she actually do that...?» Jimbo was left wondering.
Patricia's gaze first landed on The Shadow, the mysterious warrior, who shuddered beneath his hood. Then it moved to Marcus, who turned his face away. She ended up choosing a third, whom she unhorsed with a single blow of her flail.
Patricia snorted, visibly dissatisfied by how easy it was. She didn't even deign to take a second look at the fallen warrior struggling to catch his breath.
The Master of the Joust announced the prelude to today's penultimate bout.
"Ser Fey of Frey, the Knight of Melodies! Fighting under the favor of Amore, Goddess of Love and Fertility!"
At first, Jimbo mistook him for a woman, but the knight only needed to speak to prove him wrong. He was a handsome, slender man with golden hair cut shoulder-length, sky-blue armor, and a purple hat with folded brims, adorned with feathers. He wielded a bronze lyre with silver strings. He offered a smile to Marcus and tapped his shield with his lance.
"Marcus, son of Henry! The Spring Soldier! Fighting under the favor of Hilda, Fourth Captain of the Realm!"
Marcus, in his wooden armor, displayed a much humbler bearing in comparison. Only a few folks in the sun-beaten bleachers offered him a stray word of encouragement. The betting odds were stacked against him.
Jimbo noticed King Marc lean forward, resting his chin on his intertwined knuckles.
The participants positioned themselves at opposite ends of the lists. The trumpet sounded. Marcus struck the flank of his mount with his heel, and the Genyornis newtoni launched like a missile. Marcus nearly fell to the ground from his own mount's sheer speed.
The crowd's eyes shifted from Marcus to Fey. Seeing the Knight of Melodies still as a statue, the crowd held its breath, waiting for the strike. Then the lyre played, and Marcus was launched into the air.
The lance spun and smashed against the arena wall.
The soldier bounced three times before coming to a halt, skidding face-first through the dust and straw. Several meters back, the thunderbird stood with dilated pupils. The music played, and the dinosaur remained frozen like the victim of a spell. It swayed its head, closed its eyes, and slowly pulled its legs in until it was sitting, fast asleep.
Marcus planted his shield and used it as a crutch to stand. He barely managed to get on his feet before a wooden lance shattered against his chest, sending him back to the ground.
Jimbo's jaw dropped.
Fey reached the other side of the arena and tipped his hat to greet the crowd, bathing in their praise. But when the cheering died down, he frowned and looked at the center of the lists, finding Marcus on his feet once again. The knight dropped his broken lance; a squire ran up to hand him another.
Fey returned his hands to his lyre and played. The melody changed; it was still sweet, like the chords of a love song, and this time Marcus felt a numbness spreading through his body. It started in his spine, a full-body cramp that made him stiffen like a board, followed by a sensation of relaxation. His vision blurred, and he lacked the strength to even draw his sword.
The music stopped, but the heaviness lingered, and in the blink of an eye, another lance shattered against him. This time, he landed chest-first on the ground.
Fey, back at his starting position, tipped his hat again. But the eyes of the crowd were not on him, and murmurs rippled through the stands as soon as Marcus stood tall once more.
The music played, numbing the soldier again, but he managed to hold his shield up before the lance burst against it. The edge of the shield struck his helm, and he fell to the lists once again, only to rise shortly after.
Four.
Five.
Six.
Fey broke seven lances against Marcus. The final one sent the wooden helm flying, revealing the young man's bleeding expression.
«This kid doesn't know the meaning of giving up.» Jimbo couldn't decide whether to feel admiration or pity for him.
The Knight of Melodies rejected the new lance his squire offered and began playing his lyre again.
Before anyone could expect it, blood fell.
A gasp grew within the crowd. King Marc rose from his seat, eyes wide. Hilda nodded. Fey went mute. Jimbo looked away, feeling nauseous despite lacking a stomach.
Marcus gritted his teeth and pulled; his index fingers came out painted red. Blood from his ears soaked his black hair, slid down his nape, and stained his wooden armor and green-leaf cloak. Now deaf, he was immune to the bard's skills, though he struggled to take two steps without swaying completely.
Fey drew his short sword and shook his mare's reins. He rode to finish Marcus once and for all.
"[Max Power]!" the young soldier exclaimed.
His sword pierced the mare's neck, traveling upward and decapitating it. The blow struck Fey in the chest, sending him flying. As he landed on his head, the crunch of a breaking neck echoed out.
The crowd rose to their feet and erupted in cheers. Jimbo threw his ethereal arms up and celebrated. All those who had bet against Marcus slumped into the bleachers.
King Marc dropped into his high-backed seat and brought a hand to his face. Hilda nodded once more.
Marcus was declared the champion of the bout, though he didn't hear a word of it. His knees gave out, and he collapsed, but Pit was there to catch him.
The priests arrived to carry off Marcus and Fey. The Master of the Joust's attendants dealt with the dead mare, but showed fear when approaching the still-sleeping thunderbird. Jimbo woke the dinosaur and made it docilely obey the attendants.
The last bout of the day would be won by The Shadow. It wouldn't give people nearly as much to talk about as the determination of the Soldier of Spring, who had just become one of the new favorites.
With the jousts concluded, the stands emptied, and the streets filled.
---Jimbo the Dungeon Core LV 5
-Ether: 8/500
Jimbo returned to the dungeon, highly satisfied with the show and the ether he had gathered.
He was now capable of using the skill: [Construct Avatar No. 1], but the cost of that power remained inconvenient, so he had no interest in tapping into that option just yet. The upside? His radius of influence had grown; now he could reach further and absorb more ether.
«I'm still not strong enough to ascend to the sky like when those mages used that weird ritual... But maybe I'll reach that zenith of power someday, through my own means. I just need to keep playing my cards right!»
His role in this world remained uncertain. Was he a servant? A protector?
«I'm a survivor, but I want to be more than that.»
He was never the kindest person. He had always been isolated in his own world, wrapped up in his whims, perfectly happy with the universe a computer screen offered him. But in this new reality, he had been forced to collaborate and think outside the box to keep from being smashed to pieces, and along the way, he discovered he actually liked helping people.
Marcus's victory filled him with ether, but also with pride and a sense of self-improvement.
«I don't think it's a coincidence. If destiny made me reincarnate here as a floating crystal, maybe that's why. They gave me the chance to help, to grow, to change this world clearly filled with conflict! Yeah, it was a bit messed up at first. But it's a path full of opportunities, a path where I'm capable of becoming whatever I want to be.»
Though if Jimbo had been given any say in how he was reborn, he would have chosen to be a humble farmer with a heart of gold, half-elf (not dark), half-bastard son of the king (not Marc), possessor of a dragon egg, and wielding a mysterious, destructive power that was simultaneously a vestige of a demon king sealed inside him.
«Now that would be peak! But I'm not gonna complain about what I have. Being the dungeon is pretty cool.»
Passing through the laboratory, he saw Dowmy at a table next to Marnie, studying a book. Dowmy slowly repeated the syllables until venturing to form words, and then complete sentences. It seemed she had found a distraction in her reading and writing lessons.
Jimbo was happy for her.
The night and the festivities in Stoicus continued peacefully. Only two murders occurred: the first over a dispute regarding a horse two men wanted to buy, and the second when a prostitute was thrown off a balcony for refusing to service a man due to his foul stench. The culprits were apprehended by black-coated guards and taken to the castle dungeons.
Marcus celebrated in the barracks alongside his comrades-in-arms, though he was already saying his goodbyes to go meet his family. A messenger stopped him at the barracks door to hand him a pouch full of coins.
Fey, after being resurrected, had sent payment to ransom his armor and lyre, which now legally belonged to Marcus according to tournament rules. Added to the pouch was the value of the mare Marcus had decapitated in the heat of battle (mounts were not resurrected by the priests, but they did have to be paid for).
"Ser Fey is a highly honorable man," Marcus said. With all the thrills he had experienced, he had completely forgotten about the ransom.
"It's not just honor; it's the rules," said Pit.
Baldo took the pouch and began counting the coins to ensure the amount matched the approximate price of the mare and the armor.
The young soldier accepted the pouch, and the messenger departed. Baldo threw an arm around Marcus's shoulders and advised him to go partying with Red and her friends. Pit recommended saving the money.
Marcus followed Pit's advice. There were still two days of jousting ahead, and a silver-ranked adventurer to defeat.
At dawn, all the bells in Stoicus tolled. Via messenger birds, news arrived of the victory at Ten Hills, southeast of Great Conquistia, and the intoxication of triumph blended with the intoxication of love.
Meanwhile, in the subterranean depths of the Underdark, war banners were gathering.