The Feast of Blades was a festive affair beyond any other, teeming with the pride and tenacity of the average blacksmith. No one could ever mistake or belittle the beauty of their work, begotten of lines upon lines of anvils, furnaces, and grinding stones, all put to their best use without rest. Above their heads were strings of flags, presumably because every corner of Swordland had participated.
On the other hand, Hajime wished he could comment on the overwhelming stench of burning coal in the air. Blocking half his nose granted him a lengthy stare from the Brazen Couple beside him, but he smiled. He smiled because the Centennial Fair had much to offer, even outside the art of metal and fire. His gaze became glued to a surprising event—an oval track with contestants at the ready.
Amidst the crowd erupting in pure excitement for their favorite racer, he discerned each name before any proper announcement. The first contestant was the Iron Sprinter, equipped with the foretold armor from head to toe, appearing cumbersome to the point he might be unable to stand straight. The second was the Blue Ambler, wearing an obvious rubber suit that depicted a reptilian humanoid with sharp claws and slit eyes.
The third was Hajime’s favorite, the so-called G.I. Robert. The man had nothing special going for him besides wearing a sleeker, perhaps more aerodynamic, steel attire. But he remained confident that this advantage alone would be enough to turn the tides. The fourth and final contestant also caught his attention as the only woman in the upcoming race, who sported an unnatural yet fascinating crown of lavender hair.
He chuckled next to Haruto, nudging his shoulder with his elbow. “Take a look at her, man. She’s got some style with that—”
Unbelievable. It took a second glance for Hajime to come to his senses over who the fourth racer was in the first place. Only one person in Swordland could have such hair, and he now wondered why he failed to realize that Haruto was alone beside him. It didn’t help that the crowd howled in cheer more than before, crying out the name Lightwalker.
“Caught you by surprise, huh?” said Haruto with a raised eyebrow of undistilled pompousness. “Tokiwa can do more than just craft thirty blades in thirty seconds… because her domain has always been speed. You should see her second job sometime.”
“Pray tell, Light Novel Boy,” Hajime replied. “What else does she do for a living? Shouting at demon lords about the power of friendship?”
Haruto laughed, eyes closed, his head turning above. “Good one, Orca, but let’s just say she does more than speed through things in life. Sometimes, you gotta help those as slowly as possible, especially from the womb.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Don’t ‘nothing’ me, bruh. That was hella weird. Just tell me.”
“Okay, okay. You see, Tokiwa is a—”
Before he could have Haruto explain what might’ve been the most unlikely profession for a treader, the booming noise of a flare gun assaulted his senses. The race had finally begun. Despite his previous predictions, the Iron Sprinter had woven through the other racers with every chink and clank of his armor. By then, it wasn’t out of the question that he deliberately hampered his running prowess for a fair game.
However, halfway through the track, Tokiwa copied the Iron Sprinter’s maneuver with more finesse than a prima ballerina following through a renowned symphony. Each step she took proved her title without effort, dodging her opponent’s attempt at pushing her out for the race. The Iron Sprinter did it again with a vengeance, but it seemed her foresight was beyond the realm of pure instinct.
The next attempt at sabotage involved the Iron Sprinter swinging his dummy sword with less coordination than a washed-up prima ballerina on a non-denominational play. No matter how much he tried defying the looming result of being in second place, Tokiwa seemed to have a body of paper, thin and graceful, with the wind on her face.
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The final lap ended with the crowd gasping at the Iron Sprinter’s folly, tumbling into fourth place like a thrown beer can on the sidewalk—followed by the Blue Ambler and G.I. Robert, who finished their share of the fun close to a tie. Although Hajime had a heavy heart over his favorite racer not winning in the slightest, he applauded. He applauded because the Centennial Fair really had much to offer, especially when shown to him by his childhood friend.
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Hajime and the Brazen Couple exited the event with tons of spoils, mostly a bag of Drachma banknotes and a few coins at the bottom. He couldn’t care less, considering he got an autograph from the lovely and welcoming G.I. Robert, having no shame that he expressed a bit of his inner child before him. The rest were bags of a unique, confectionary delight that he wolfed down without a second thought.
“Man, these pistachio bunnies are amazing! What are they made of, Kendo Girl?” he said, opening another bag. Despite their name, they had hints of spearmint, honey, and dried fruit, depending on where he sank his teeth.
“Oh, it’s just chocolate and assorted natural ingredients,” explained Tokiwa. “You may not like the ingredients in question, though. They’re super nasty when you first hear about them.”
“Really? Then, tell me at least one.”
“Pickled dragon guts… for the honey flavor.”
Usually, anyone with a quarter of a brain would hurl the contents out of their poor stomach. Hajime did no such thing. Hajime instead shrugged at the idea that they needed exotic loot to enhance the cocoa goodness with every bite. As his great aunt once said, food was food. He enjoyed another mouthful in her honor if he hadn’t already.
“So, where to next?” said Hajime, stashing his hands inside his pockets. “I don’t suppose that was the only place unrelated to hammering steel all day?”
“Of course not! We have a lot more to do here,” Tokiwa reassured. “Now that you mention it, come. Follow me!” She ran with the same speed and dexterity she presented for the race, only now, she sported the face of an excitable young hero once again.
With encouragement from Haruto, he prepared himself for the highest and lowest expectations. He couldn’t imagine the Feast of Blades having another different event. Thankfully, it didn’t disappoint. As they traversed through a path obstructed by trees that towered over them like arches beckoning them to visit with all their happiness, he stopped in his tracks, his eyes growing further than the moon.
Hajime didn’t know what to anticipate, but it wasn’t a massive, mechanical automaton thrice his height wielding a microphone befitting their size. Their rotund physique seemed perfect for children to find joy and comfort in, even if he couldn’t help but notice its spiked fists that told a different story. It didn’t take long for this encompassing figure to surprise him further, brought to him by a song:
They call me Cato
I have silver joints
If you can beat me up, you’ll earn twenty points
He staggered upon realizing the familiar tune, harkening back to when he discovered a cartridge on his father’s SNES console, which had collected dust on a shelf for nearly four decades. It all made sense now. Down to the fireworks at the entrance and the race of oddly-named contestants, it appeared Swordland was keen on being one giant pop culture reference after the next.
Still, Hajime could at least say it wasn’t as egregious as he imagined. Perhaps even some warriors of light might scratch their heads at what this hulking robot was all about. It wasn’t entirely accurate to call it a niche taste, but what he played on that console had become a cornerstone for many fantasy role-playing titles after it, and it wasn’t Wizardry or Dragon Quest.
It had been some time since Hajime brayed like a hyena watching a game show. In fairness, Cato the Fighting Robot proved right up his alley regarding the word fun. “Seriously? Is this what your game is actually known for? Shoehorning mainstream IPs randomly? If I’m gonna fight some half-naked dude with a long-ass katana tomorrow, it better have appropriate Latin chanting.”
“Well, you haven’t seen the most blatant of them yet, Orca,” said Haruto, walking closer. “I once fought a dragon with pitch-dark skin that occasionally breathed purple flames on a blocky island in the middle of nowhere. Then, there was the time when we…”
Hajime listened with full intent to the Brazen Couple’s previous adventures that bordered between ridiculous and hilarious. One involved saving a princess trapped in another castle than the one they infiltrated. He could only guess what that was. Another involved finding out the imposter amongst a group of townsfolk with different matching colors for each family. How original.
“Honestly, that sounds dope,” Hajime responded. “Who doesn’t love reliving their grade school memories in the flesh? Don’t tell me you’ve never indulged in such fantasies.”
“Yes, I have, but what can you do about it? I used to think destiny led Tokiwa and me into this realm because of our appearance. Sometimes, I still do. My advice is to roll with the absurdity without overthinking it.”
Hajime caressed his chin, squinting at the robot as though it would gain sentience at any moment. “What can I do about it, you say? It sounds like a job for my knuckles to me. The idea sounds pretty fun, and fun is always free.”