The king's voice echoed across the grand hall, heavy with authority.
"This is the Hero Trial. There will be competition to earn the title of hero. Even killers may rise as heroes. Thirty-one candidates have already been chosen. Now, with this last arrival, we have thirty-two."
He gestured toward me. "Put the sword into the black holy, hero."
Hours passed until night fell. Then, a girl strode forward, her steps arrogant, her eyes gleaming. She seized the sword.
"Now I am also a candidate. Invite me when preparations are ready."
The king frowned. "This girl is arrogant… but it matters not."
Later, I whispered to Narrate, "Where can I stay? I don't have money for an inn."
"You only want to sleep, right? Then sleep in the stable. I'll rest in the clouds. Bye."
I sighed. "Just one day… I'll endure it."
The next morning, all thirty-two candidates gathered in the arena. The king stood tall, his crown gleaming.
"I am Silvon Nye Poker, king of this realm. Beside me is my daughter, Redrine Nye Poker. We are here to find the true hero who will destroy the Demon King.
These thirty-two candidates will fight in contests of strength and skill. Those who win will evolve their swords into the Holy Sword's true form. Let the contest begin! Citizens, feast your eyes upon the birth of a hero!"
The first match was mine. My opponent: Clever Claris, a berserker of immense strength.
The battle began. I ran, dodging his furious swings. His eyes burned red as he unleashed Bloody Berserker, a killing strike meant to end me.
But fate twisted. I tripped near the edge of the arena, and Claris stumbled over me, tumbling out of the ring.
Last Minute Luck had activated.
The crowd roared with laughter at Claris's humiliation. I felt a pang of guilt. "He was strong… but luck betrayed him."
The second battle came swiftly. My opponent: Bange Gange, an agile killer.
Fear gripped me. I ran, but his Intent Steps closed the distance.
"You can't escape," he hissed. "I'll use Absolute Death."
The blow came close—too close. My skill activated again.
I hurled my sword blindly. It struck his eye, forcing him to stumble. Seizing the moment, I shouted, "Come here!" and lured him toward the edge.
Step by step, he followed—until he crossed the boundary and fell out of the arena.
The crowd gasped. I had won again.
Thus, I qualified for the quarterfinals. A newcomer, surviving not by strength, but by skill… and by catastrophe's luck.
The Hero Trial has only begun. What awaits Dransart in the quarterfinals—and how long can luck carry him?