"What the fuck is that luck?" Hector gripped the short sword he had taken from a corpse before, pointing it toward the lion beast's chest.
Each of his steps felt like dragging lead weights. This was, without a doubt, the first time he had ever experienced such intense.
That was just a coincidence
Everything had happened so fast. He knew nothing about these damn creatures; his knowledge, once a source of pride, was now completely useless.
No one in the arena could have predicted what happened next.
The creature's once-healthy form was now past. Its body, once thick with layers of muscle and tough, thunderous skin, had weakened into a frail frame of skin and bones.
It was dying.
Its last attack must have drained itself, leaving it barely clinging to life. Hector couldn't afford to waste this great opportunity.
The gap between him and the lion beast shrank rapidly—two meters, then one.
Thud!
The sound echoed, faint but long, as layers of muscle and steel scraped against each other, marking the vital moment.
Right now, his sensations were completely different, a strange mix of nervousness and excitement. It was so weird, almost real.
After all, the lion beast had been killed by his hand. Its body froze in place, now nothing more than a lifeless corpse. Blood trickled from the stab wound in its chest, staining his hand a deep crimson.
The sword had pierced its heart, leaving no chance for survival unless, by some unnatural twist, the creature had two hearts.
Hector's tense gaze locked onto the lion beast's lifeless, large eyes. Slowly, he felt his body begin to relax.
"Phew! Is it over?" he muttered, pulling the sword out carefully. His eyes turned upward, meeting the gaze of the King who had been observing everything with an unmistakable look of excitement.
But the King didn't say a word. Instead, he just grinned, quietly.
Suddenly, a chill ran down Hector's spine as he caught the look in the King's eyes. It was as if the King was silently asking him:
"Take a guess?"
Hector's instincts kicked in. Without hesitation, he ran, distancing himself from the corpse.
"Damn it! What now?" he growled, grimacing in worry and scanning the surroundings in tension.
He wasn't the only one feeling this way. Everyone else in the arena shared the same unease.
Yet, as time passed, nothing happened.
Thirty minutes later.
People began to relax, though their caution never fully disappeared.
"Hey! You go ask the King!" someone whispered.
"No way! He'll kill me! You do it! I'll pray for you!"
The group fell into an awkward silence, unwilling to make a move.
Hector, meanwhile, sat alone near the corner of a wall, resting his weary body. No one came near him. In fact, everyone seemed to keep their distance from each other.
Of course, no one dared to fight again—not even the monsters. They all knew that reducing their numbers would only make them weaker. If another beast appeared, survival would be nearly impossible.
Each of them withdrew into their own worlds, lost in thought.
Then, breaking the heavy silence, the sound of footsteps echoed faintly. The source of the sound was moving directly toward Hector.
A heavy silence lingered for a moment before Hector looked up and narrowed his eyes. Slowly, he stood and found himself face-to-face with a pale young man.
"Nice to meet you, winner," the pale young man greeted with a sly smile, his narrowed eyes closed as if sizing Hector up without fully looking at him.
He was a man with perpetually narrowed eyes, wearing in what was once an elegant set of black yakuza-style clothing. Now, the outfit was ragged and torn from previous battles.
The moment Hector laid eyes on him, one thought immediately came to mind: Wolfe Clan.
One of the three most powerful clans in existence. Known for their strongest swordsmanship.
That realization made the pale young man in front of him all the more dangerous.
Hector knew better than to show any weakness. If he did, this man would exploit it without hesitation. Steeling his emotions, he replied in a flat, emotionless tone, "What do you want?"
"Nothing much. Just a few questions." The pale young man's sly smile never wavered, though he cast a brief, cautious glance at the King watching from above. Afterward, his smirk widened.
"Answer every one of my questions if you want to live."
The threat sent a chill down Hector's spine. His mind raced, distorting under the pressure. He struggled to form words, but fear took his voice down.
"What do you mean?" he finally managed to stammer.
The pale young man chuckled in disdain, his laughter sharp and cutting.
Shing!
It happened too fast. A streak of light flashed before Hector's eyes, followed by the unmistakable sound of a sword being drawn.
A sharp, stinging pain flared on his forehead. Moments later, the pain deepened, and warm blood trickled down the bridge of his nose.
The pale young man grinned, his eyes fixed on the shallow cut he'd inflicted on Hector's forehead.
"So, you're not the hidden master I thought you might be," the man sneered.
"After all, you're just a cunning little rat! No power backing you."
"Don't waste my time with your pointless words. I've seen all."
"Hell, even you know it," he added mockingly. "You filthy rat! You're not worth the highest reward."
While the pale young man continued to hurl insults, Hector's mind raced, trying to find a way out of this situation. His options were grim.
Given his poor display of fighting skills earlier, no one would believe he was connected to a powerful clan. After all, anyone associated with a massive clan would have undergone harsh training.
And yet, this pale young man must have someone powerful backing him. That much was clear when he mentioned "massive, powerful force."
The term wasn't used lightly. It implied power—true power—but even that wasn't enough. It had to be massive.
Damn it, Hector thought bitterly. Why do I have to deal with this crazy dog?
At this point, his chances of survival seemed nonexistent.
If he fought back, he'd die. If he surrendered, he'd still die.
Then, something stirred inside his mind.
A chuckle escaped his lips, surprising even himself.
He looked at the pale young man straight in the eye, his gaze calm and unwavering.
"You're right," Hector said with a smile. "I'm just a rat."
The pale young man tilted his head, intrigued by Hector's sudden confidence.
"But listen closely."
The man raised an eyebrow in curiosity.
"Go on," he said with a quiet smile.
Hector let the silence stretch for a moment, then suddenly shouted at the top of his lungs:
"I'm Hector Lyder! And I'm your grandfather!"
The arena fell into stunned silence.
"I know you've been looking for your grandfather!" Hector added, his voice ringing out.
The crowd erupted.
"Grandfather? He's found his grandfather?"
"What a filial child!"
"Yes, truly devoted!"
Countless murmurs and whispers filled the air as everyone turned their eyes toward the pale young man. Sympathy replaced suspicion in their gazes.
The pale young man's face twisted in fury, his expression a mix of humiliation and disbelief.
Never in his life had he felt such shame.
His trembling voice barely managed to say, "G-Good! If those are your final words..."
With that, he drew his sword once more, the blade vanishing from its sheath in an instant.
"Then die!"