The second day of the Govart Annual Tournament.
A cold wind blew from the northern tunnel into the arena. Rumor had it that today's challenger came from the frozen plains—where snow monsters and mist dragons fought over a sip of hot soup.
I—the legendary rotten egg disguised as a round golem—waited behind the stone stage.
My children, still disguised as small rocks, gathered under the spectator seats, peeking out with glowing eyes.
> [Contestant 143-B versus Contestant 077-K: Yurnakka of the Frozen Fang.]
The announcement echoed. The arena floor turned slick and frosty. Thin layers of ice crept along the walls. From the opposite side, a tall monster appeared—its body like a snow-scaled wolf with claws that could probably freeze breath itself.
I rolled into the center of the arena.
"Good luck, Dad!" Cimut shouted—followed instantly by "Sshh!!" from Belang and Putih.
Yurnakka roared. His claws scraped the ground, sending out a burst of frost. The temperature dropped rapidly. Spectators pulled out blankets.
I… unleashed my secret weapon: stink.
Gas from this morning's fermented breakfast—aged just right inside my personal dimensional stomach—was released in an invisible cloud.
> [Effect: Minor concentration disruption.]
But Yurnakka had a frozen nose. He was unfazed!
The first attack came fast: ice hurled like spears. I dodged with a low glide, bounced off the wall, and countered straight toward his belly.
But he blocked it with a shield of snow.
I bounced back. Uh-oh. Stink strategy failed. Rolling strike wasn't enough either.
Suddenly, from inside my *klou* space, I summoned an unexpected weapon: a piece of salted rotten fish I'd caught two days ago. Stored in dimensional space… which, somehow, made the smell even worse.
> "What is that…" a spectator whispered.
> "It stinks worse than death!"
I hurled the fish at my opponent. Yurnakka reflexively blocked—but the moment it hit, his body shuddered. The frost aura surrounding him began to clump… and melt!
"Fermented stench + salty effect… success," I muttered.
I used the opening to leap and slam my round body into his forehead.
**THUMP!**
> [Winner: Contestant 143-B.]
The crowd cheered—or fainted, I couldn't tell. But one thing was clear: the mysterious stinky golem had now become the talk of all Govart.
---
After the match, I returned to the waiting room. My children greeted me with expressions that were hard to describe—somewhere between proud, confused, and traumatized by fish.
"Dad… was that a fight or a failed kitchen experiment?" Abu asked quietly.
I smiled.
> "Remember, kids… victory isn't always about strength. Sometimes, it's about strategy.
> Sometimes… it's about salted fish."