Editor : Amethyst00



Leo stood atop the dueling stage, gazing down at the two knights.

Everyone around them was completely mesmerized.

Jeswan Turek, the so-called Hellhound, didn't know how to react.

He was a man who had risen to the rank of Hero in his late twenties—a rare feat in itself.

Born in the war-torn southern continent, where countless small nations waged endless wars over land and power, Jeswan had been a mercenary on the battlefield since his late teens, where it was kill or be killed.

He received no formal education.

He survived by killing his opponents.

To survive, to grow stronger, he shamelessly copied and learned any knightly technique he could snatch on the battlefield.

Ten years of that hell later, he finally struck down the man once known as the Mercenary King on the field of battle—and that moment catapulted him to international fame.

With that triumph, Jeswan was elevated to the rank of Hero and used his newfound influence to bring an end to the conflict in his homeland.

After that, he left.

A hero with no nation, no banner—just a former mercenary roaming the world.

And because he was such a powerful force—someone whose mere presence could alter the military balance of a nation—countless kings across the continent sought to recruit him.

But none succeeded.

Jeswan was not a man of nobility. He was wild, unruly—a mercenary raised on the blood-soaked battlefields from childhood.

He didn't fit the mold of a "typical" hero.

Thus the name "Mad Dog" spread, and stuck.

Though he called himself a "wandering knight," he never truly saw himself as one.

He had always thought of himself as a mercenary—and still did.

One day, he heard of Leo Plov of Lumene.

An All-Class—unprecedented, peerless.

But Jeswan scoffed at the time. He figured Leo was just another flashy upstart with a quirky talent.

"Nothing good ever comes out of Lumene anyway."

Sure, there were a few real monsters there—but they were rare.

Yet not long after, he heard something that made his eyes widen.

Leo had already ascended to the rank of Hero.

'At what—seventeen? Younger?'

Only someone who had actually become a hero knew just how impossible that was.

It stunned even Jeswan, and that was saying something.

But before the shock could wear off, the next rumour came:

Leo had become the King of the Beginnings.

Jeswan grew deeply curious about this man called Leo Plov.

Of course, that didn't mean he acknowledged him as king.

Sure, the kid was being hailed as the leader of the next generation of heroes, but what did that have to do with Jeswan?

He just wanted to fight the guy and see how good he really was.

And so he came to Letin.

But meeting Leo was far from easy.

Even as a Hero, you couldn't just walk into another nation and demand an audience with its future king.

In fact, Heroes only had that kind of privilege because rulers wanted to meet them.

If the interest wasn't mutual, there was no way in.

So Jeswan submitted a formal challenge.

It helped that there were plenty of other strong individuals looking to test Leo, too—so he didn't feel out of place.

But nearly every duel request was rejected—specifically by Crimson Wave, Sith.

In truth, it was absurd.

A mere wanderer demanding a duel with a soon-to-be-crowned king?

That was the kind of thing that only happened in old fairy tales.

Jeswan had clicked his tongue at the absurdity of it all.

But then—Leo personally showed up for Nazlin's duel.

That pissed him off.

So he'd taunted Leo out of spite. Made that crack about wanting a job and a royal stipend.

To the average ear, it might've sounded like he was seeking a position as a knight in Arhi.

But Jeswan had no such intention.

He just wanted to provoke Leo.

Irritate him. Stir his temper.

A kid that age, with that kind of fame, would definitely have some pride in his abilities.

Jeswan figured if he poked him hard enough, he'd get his fight.

'Not like any sane king would actually want someone like me in their knighthood anyway.'

A hero so infamous even rulers feared to approach him— That was Jeswan Turek, the Hellhound.

He never planned to truly serve anyone.

He was just a walking disaster waiting to happen.

So when Leo pointed to him and spoke, "You pass the interview,"—

Jeswan blinked.

'What the hell is this kid saying?'

He stared at Leo, who now stood calmly atop the magically erected dueling stage.

Despite it being conjured in mere seconds, the arena was crafted with such precision and durability that it didn't budge in the slightest.

Jeswan, despite his lack of formal training in magic, instantly recognized the nature of the arena.

'High-tier alchemical magic…'

Even without deep magical knowledge, Jeswan could feel how unusual this was.

'So that's what All-Class means, huh?'

He sneered internally as he looked up at Leo.

Seventeen years old.

Young enough to still be called a brat.

But Jeswan could see it—the monstrous force lying behind that calm gaze.

People often said Jeswan was "chosen."

An orphan of war who had never learned aura cultivation or formal swordsmanship.

Yet he became a Hero, revered as one of the world's greatest.

Everyone said it was proof he'd been born with talent beyond comprehension.

They said it couldn't have happened otherwise.

But Jeswan never liked hearing that.

'They're saying I'm just some lucky bastard.'

They erased his pain, his struggle, his life—and reduced everything to mere talent.

From Jeswan's perspective, it was an unpleasant truth.

'If you're really someone 'chosen,' you probably grew up in a good place with good talent.'

By that logic, the one who truly looked like the chosen one—at least through Jeswan's eyes—was the boy standing before him now.

Leo Plov, the King of Beginnings.

'A natural-born talent so overwhelming that standing above others is just… inevitable.'

Still, Jeswan felt no urge to envy him.

Just as he had been born into the life he lived, so too had Leo been born into his.

'That's why I want to see for myself just how absurd that talent of his really is.'

Jeswan smirked to himself as he stepped onto the arena.

He looked at Nazlin and said, "Hey, girl. You coming up too?"

"I'll show my strength on my own. I didn't come here to gang up on someone."

"Heh. Talk about being carefree."

Jeswan scowled.

He might've been known as the Mad Dog, but in truth, he didn't hate that kind of chivalry.

In fact, having fought on many battlefields, he had come across truly noble knights a few times—and he respected them in his own way.

But…

'This woman… she's oddly irritating.'

Just as a flicker of instinctive annoyance sparked inside him, Leo spoke up.

"I said I'd judge both your skills at once."

Hearing that, Nazlin hesitated briefly, then stepped forward onto the stage.

The murmurs in the crowd swelled.

"She's the Sandcastle Knight, right? Didn't she once beat a hero in a duel?"

"Yeah, she's practically hero-class already…"

"Taking on two hero-class knights at once?"

"Will he be okay?"

"Hey, come on. He's the King of Beginnings! Chosen by none other than the Wise Queen herself! Even if he's young, of course he can overwhelm the others!"

"I actually really admire Dame Nazlin's noble attitude. Even knowing she might lose, she still wants to test herself…"

"Compared to her, that Hellhound…"

Jeswan could feel the judgmental stares fall on him.

But he didn't care.

He was used to not being welcome—no matter where he went.

Fwoosh—!

With a flick of his hands, twin spears of flame formed in Jeswan's grasp.

Shrring—!

At the same time, Nazlin unsheathed her bastard sword.

Both warriors stood ready in position.

Leo watched them silently, unmoving.

Meanwhile, just outside the arena…

"Ah~ they're really gonna fight, huh?" Elena shrugged with a sigh.

Those who faced Leo's skill unprepared would be met with despair far deeper than they imagined.

"What do you think will happen, Xia?" she asked.

But Chen Xia said nothing.

"Huh? What's up?"

Chen Xia kept her eyes fixed on Nazlin.

"What's wrong?"

"No, it's just… something about her bothers me."

"The Sandcastle Knight?"

Xia gave a small nod.

Waaaah!

Gasps rang out from all around.

Leo had summoned his weapon—a spear.

Seeing it, Jeswan grinned.

'I thought his main weapon was a sword. A spear, huh?'

As Leo's eyes met his, and the boy gave a small smirk, Jeswan grinned right back.

'You trying to test me with this? What an honor.'

Jeswan used short twin spears. Leo's long spear operated on a different style—but a spear was still a spear.

'Let's see what you've got, 'King.''

With eyes gleaming, Jeswan charged straight toward Leo.

Shhhhhhh—!

At the same time, sand began swirling fiercely around Nazlin.

'Aura in the form of sand… So the rumors were true. That's… unique.'

Jeswan cast a quick glance her way with a fascinated look.

He did want to cross blades with Nazlin eventually. But right now, Leo held all his interest.

'Show me what a 'chosen hero' is made of!'

He thrust his spear toward Leo, following it up with an upward swing from the second.

Like a two-headed beast, the twin spears lashed out.

Clang! Clang!

Leo blocked them effortlessly.

Jeswan didn't mind. He hadn't expected those strikes to land anyway.

The real surprise came from below.

Crack—!

A blade of sand shot up from the ground, targeting Leo's blind spot.

Tap—

Leo stepped lightly on the tip of the sand blade and used it to launch himself upward.

Then he countered with a precise spear thrust toward Jeswan.

Ssssh—!

The thrust was just fast enough to be dangerous—but not overwhelming.

'He's holding back? To keep that woman in the equation…?'

Jeswan furrowed his brow at the realization.

Just then, Leo's spear curved like a serpent, aiming straight for his throat.

Jeswan flinched and hurriedly batted it aside.

After that, Leo pushed forward.

Nazlin's attacks came at regular intervals from the side, but Leo ignored her entirely.

He focused all his attention on Jeswan.

'What the hell… is this guy?'

A chill ran down Jeswan's spine.

He suddenly realized—Leo's spear style… resembled his own.

No, it wasn't mimicry.

What Jeswan saw in Leo's technique was something deeper.

Experience.

Something only those who had fought and survived countless battlefields could cultivate.

Leo's spear carried the stench of blood.

Not blood shed in one or two battles.

It was the kind of thick, metallic scent that could only come from a lifetime soaked in war.

Even Jeswan, who had spent more than a decade in the trenches of conflict, had never seen—or smelled—anything like it.

This wasn't the aura of a noble hero raised in luxury and training.

Clang!

Jeswan parried another strike and swallowed hard.

He stared at Leo, eyes wide.

'Just… what the hell is he?'