Chapter 41 – The Accidental Arbiter

I arrived in Oakhaven a full day early.

Turns out I’d massively underestimated how fast this puppet body could move once I got the hang of it. The stumbling walk from last night had smoothed out into something almost functional. I’d made decent time through the woods, avoided tripping over exactly three roots, and only face-planted once when a squirrel startled me. Progress. The problem was that now I had a whole day to kill before the tournament started, and I looked like a rejected art project.

The morning sun beat down on the town square, highlighting every flaw in my craftsmanship.

I caught my reflection in a shop window and winced. The puppet’s face stared back at me, all lumpy clay and rough wood grain. One eye sat slightly higher than the other. The mouth was a crooked slash. The proportions were nightmare fuel. I looked like something a kid would build for a school project and then immediately apologize for.

This was bad.

People were already staring. A woman clutched her grocery basket tighter when I walked past. A kid pointed and his mom pulled him away. I wasn’t even doing anything weird. Just existing. Just standing here in my terrible wooden body.

I needed to hide this mess.

A clothing stall sat at the corner of the market, heavy fabrics hanging from wooden racks. I shuffled over, moving carefully to avoid the stiff-joint stumble. The merchant looked up from his ledger and froze. His face went pale. His hands started shaking.

“Good morning. I need a cloak.”

My voice came out flat and echoey through the puppet’s mouth. The merchant flinched like I’d threatened him.

“Of course, honored one. Right away.”

Honored one? That was weird. Maybe he thought I was some kind of monk. The puppet did have that carved-statue vibe. Creepy religious icon energy.

He pulled down the heaviest cloak he had, a thick wool thing with a deep hood. Dark gray. Perfect for hiding my face. He held it out with both hands, arms trembling.

“No charge, honored one. Please accept this humble gift.”

I reached for my coin pouch, but he actually recoiled.

“I insist. Please.”

Okay then. Free cloak. Not gonna argue with that. I wrapped it around the puppet’s shoulders and pulled the hood up, letting the shadow swallow my terrible wooden face. Much better. Now I just looked like a mysterious hooded figure instead of a cursed doll.

The merchant bowed so low his forehead nearly hit the counter.

I left before things got weirder.

The tournament grounds sprawled across the eastern field, colorful banners snapping in the breeze. Wooden stands ringed a central arena, still under construction. Workers hauled lumber and hammered boards. The energy was chaotic. Exciting. Exactly what I needed to cure my boredom.

I wandered through the entrance, scanning for a place to sit and wait.

Two men in official-looking tunics stood near the main gate, arguing in frantic whispers. One held a clipboard. The other kept running his hands through his hair like he was two seconds from pulling it out.

“We’re doomed. Absolutely doomed.”

“There has to be someone. Anyone. We can’t run the tournament without a head judge.”

Head judge? I slowed down, pretending to examine a banner while I eavesdropped.

“Lord Castian sent word this morning. He’s not coming. Some political mess in the capital. He apologized but we’re on our own.”

“The fighters arrive tonight. The crowds are already gathering. If we don’t have a judge, the whole event falls apart.”

The clipboard guy looked ready to cry. His partner paced in tight circles, muttering curses under his breath.

I felt kind of bad for them. Running an event this size without a key person sucked. Been there. Organized a festival once back on Earth. The band canceled last minute. Total disaster.

I took a step toward the arena.

Both men stopped talking. They turned toward me in perfect sync. Their eyes went wide. The clipboard clattered to the ground.

“You.”

The word came out like a prayer. Or maybe a gasp. Hard to tell.

I glanced behind me. Nobody there. I looked back at them.

“Me?”

They rushed over, moving way too fast for people who’d been in despair three seconds ago. The taller one dropped to one knee. The other followed, head bowed.

What.

“Forgive our blindness, Grand Magistrate. We did not sense your arrival.”

Grand Magistrate? I opened my mouth to correct them, but the kneeling guy kept talking.

“The heavens have answered our prayers. Your presence here is a blessing beyond measure.”

I looked down at my cloaked puppet body. Okay, sure, the hood made me look kind of official. And the cloak did have that dramatic flowing thing going on. But Grand Magistrate was a serious stretch.

“I think you’ve got the wrong—”

“Please, we beg you. Our head judge has abandoned us. The tournament cannot proceed without an arbiter of your caliber.”

Oh. Oh no. They thought I was here to volunteer. Or that I was some traveling official. This was a misunderstanding. A big one.

I should explain. Clear this up. Tell them I was just a spectator looking for entertainment.

But then I remembered.

Elizabeth and Sakura might be attending this tournament. Elizabeth loved watching combat. Sakura treated public events like reconnaissance missions. If I sat in the general crowd, hood or no hood, one of them would spot me. Elizabeth had insane instincts. Sakura could probably smell my mana signature from across the arena.

I glanced at the elevated judge’s box. It sat above the main stands, enclosed on three sides, with a perfect view of the arena. Private. Secluded. The kind of place where wearing a hood and mask wouldn’t look suspicious. Judges stayed impartial by hiding their identities, right? That was a thing. I was pretty sure I’d read that somewhere.

If I was the judge, I could hide under this hood, get the best view, and probably get free snacks. Tournament organizers always fed their VIPs. It was the perfect cover.

The organizers were still kneeling, looking up at me with desperate hope.

“Please, Grand Magistrate. Will you honor us?”

I hesitated. This felt wrong. Dishonest. I wasn’t qualified to judge anything. I didn’t know the rules. I didn’t know the fighters. I was literally just a guy in a wooden puppet body trying to watch some cool fights without getting recognized.

But that judge’s box though. Safe. Private. Elevated. Free food.

“Sure. I can do that.”

Both men gasped. The taller one clutched his chest like I’d just saved his life. Maybe I had. Career-wise, at least.

“Your generosity knows no bounds. Please, follow us. We will prepare the judge’s seat immediately.”

I tried to nod. The puppet’s neck joint was still stiff from the walk. Instead of a smooth, dignified nod, my head jerked forward in a sharp, mechanical motion. It looked aggressive. Intimidating. Like a predator sizing up prey.

Both organizers went even paler. One actually whimpered.

Great. Nailed the scary mysterious judge aesthetic. Totally intentional.

They led me through the grounds, bowing every few steps. Workers stopped hammering to stare. A group of fighters practicing near the south gate fell silent as I passed. The air felt heavier suddenly. Thick. Oppressive.

Probably just the midday heat.

We reached the judge’s box. A tall chair sat in the center, carved wood with intricate designs. Fancy. Way fancier than my wooden shack furniture. The organizers gestured toward it with reverence.

“Please, honored Magistrate. Take your seat.”

I climbed the steps, moving carefully. The puppet’s legs felt extra stiff today. Maybe the joints were drying out. I’d have to oil them later. Did wood need oil? Probably.

I lowered myself into the chair.

The wood groaned. Not a gentle creak. A deep, resonating groan that echoed across the arena. The frame shuddered under the puppet’s weight. I froze. Oh no. Was the chair breaking? Was I too heavy? I tried to shift my weight but that made it worse.

Below me, the organizers exchanged glances. The tall one smiled. Smiled. Like this was a good thing.

“Remarkable. He tests the foundation with his presence.”

“Such power. Such control. We are blessed.”

Testing the foundation? I was just sitting down. Badly. This chair was clearly not built for dense wooden puppet bodies. I needed to stay very still or I was going to collapse this whole thing and make a scene.

I gripped the armrests, locking the puppet’s joints into place.

The organizers bowed again, deeper this time.

“We will bring refreshments immediately, Grand Magistrate. The tournament begins tomorrow at noon. Until then, please rest and observe the preparations.”

They backed away like I was royalty. Or maybe a bomb. Hard to tell.

I sat in the judge’s chair, hood pulled low, hands locked on the armrests. The arena stretched out before me. Workers moved like ants below. Banners fluttered. The crowd was already starting to gather in the outer sections, claiming good spots early.

This was fine. Totally fine. I was just a judge now. A mysterious, hooded judge with a stiff neck and a chair that groaned under my weight. Nobody would question it. Nobody would recognize me. I’d watch the fights, eat the free food, and slip away before anyone figured out I had no idea what I was doing.

Perfect plan. No way this could go wrong.

The chair groaned again, softer this time, like it was settling into my weight. Or giving up. One of the two.

I stared out at the arena and tried to look dignified. Whatever that meant.

Tomorrow was going to be interesting.