The blue screen flickered, the [0%] stubbornly refusing to budge. My mind reeled. ’A system? Like in those other s? A ga interface, stats, skills? Was this my cheat code? My way out of this ss? Or was it just a hallucination, a final, cruel joke from my dying brain?’ The high-pitched whine persisted, a phantom sound that grated on my nerves. I tried to swipe at the screen, but my hand passed right through it. It was only visible to .
The crowd around continued to surge towards the arena entrance, oblivious to the digital anomaly floating before my eyes. I felt a surge of desperate hope, quickly followed by an even stronger wave of despair. ’If this was a system, it was clearly broken. And it was initializing at the worst possible mont.’ My death was imminent, and my supposed salvation was stuck at zero percent.
"You there!"
The voice cut through the din, sharp and authoritative, like a whip crack. It wasn’t loud, but it carried an undeniable weight, silencing the chatter of those closest to . My blood ran cold. I knew that voice. Even without having heard it before, the novel had described it: smooth, arrogant, laced with an inherent sense of superiority.
Slowly, reluctantly, I turned.
Standing a few paces away, flanked by two heavily armored guards, was a man who radiated power and disdain. He was tall, with sharp, aristocratic features, a cruel twist to his lips, and eyes the color of cold steel. His dark, tailored noble attire, adorned with subtle silver embroidery, stood in stark contrast to the common clothes of the crowd. A long, slender rapier hung at his hip, its hilt gleaming.
Theodric Von Alder.
My heart hamred against my ribs, a frantic, trapped bird. This was it. The mont. The one I tried to avoid. He was even more imposing than the novel described, his presence alone enough to make people instinctively step back.
His gaze, dismissive and bored, swept over , as if I were a particularly annoying fly. "You. The scrawny one with the bewildered expression." His voice was low, but every word was perfectly articulated. "Co here."
My feet felt rooted to the cobblestones. My mind scread at to run, to bolt, to disappear into the crowd. But my body, perhaps still under the lingering influence of Kai Lorne’s innate subservience, or simply paralyzed by terror, refused to obey. The guards took a step forward, their hands resting on the hilts of their swords.
"Did you not hear , commoner?" Theodric’s voice sharpened, a hint of impatience creeping in. "I said, co here."
I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. This was a direct command from a high noble. Refusal was not an option. It would likely an imdiate death, perhaps even worse. I shuffled forward, my eyes fixed on the ground, trying to appear as insignificant as possible.
"Look at when I speak to you," he snapped.
I forced my gaze up, eting his chilling eyes. There was no recognition there, no hint that he knew who I was, beyond being another disposable commoner. Good. That ant I still had a chance, however slim.
"The Elyndor Sword-Knight Annual Tutorial is about to comnce," Theodric announced, his voice carrying further now, drawing the attention of more onlookers. He gestured vaguely towards the arena. "And it requires a suitable opponent. You will serve."
My blood ran cold. "Sir... with all due respect," I began, trying to keep my voice from trembling, "I am not a fighter. I have no training. I would be useless."
A sneer twisted his lips. "Useless? Perhaps. But you will serve your purpose. Every great performance requires a backdrop, a foil to highlight true talent." He puffed out his chest slightly, his eyes gleaming with self-importance. "I, Theodric Von Alder, am the mightiest participant this ’Tutorial’ has ever seen. My prowess is unmatched, my blade unparalleled." He paused, letting his words hang in the air, soaking in the hushed awe of the crowd.
"However," he continued, his gaze returning to , a cruel glint in his eyes, "I am also a fair man. Even a worm deserves a chance to squirm." He paused again, letting the insult sink in. "Listen closely, commoner. If you can land a single strike upon , even a graze, I shall spare your life. You will walk away, a free man."
A single strike? The offer was ludicrous. Theodric Von Alder was a prodigy, a master swordsman even at a young age, as described in the novel. He moved like a phantom, his blade a blur. Landing a strike on him was like trying to catch smoke. But it was an offer, a sliver of hope.
"And if I refuse?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
His eyes narrowed. "Then my guards will drag you in, and you will die a far less honorable death. Probably before you even reach the sand." He smiled, a chilling, humorless expression. "So, what say you, Do you accept the generous offer of Theodric Von Alder?"
My mind raced. Refusal ant imdiate death. Acceptance ant a slim, almost impossible chance. But a chance nonetheless. I had to buy ti. I had to think.
"I... I accept," I finally croaked, forcing the words out.
A ripple of murmurs went through the crowd. Theodric rely nodded, a satisfied smirk on his face. "Good. A wise choice, for a commoner." He turned to his guards. "Take him in. Prepare him."
As the guards roughly seized my arms, I was dragged towards the massive archway. My heart pounded, but a desperate thought began to form. ’A single strike. Where could I possibly hit him? His movents were said to be too fast, his guard too perfect.’
Then, a detail from the novel, sothing I’d barely registered during my casual reading, flashed into my mind. A passing comnt about Theodric’s fighting style, his absolute confidence in his frontal defense, his disdain for anything less than a direct confrontation. He was so focused on overwhelming his opponents head-on that he sotis, just sotis, neglected his extre periphery, particularly his lower body, his heels. It was a miniscule weakness, one that no one had ever exploited because no one had ever survived long enough, or been fast enough, to even consider it.
It was a long shot. A suicidal, desperate long shot. But it was a plan. Hit his back heel. It would be an undignified target, an almost laughable one for a noble of his stature. He wouldn’t expect it.
We were pushed into a dark, narrow corridor that slled of sweat and fear. Monts later, I was shoved into the blinding light of the arena. The roar of the crowd was deafening, a monstrous sound that vibrated through my bones. The arena was vast, its sandy floor stained with countless battles. Nobles sat in elevated boxes, their finery a stark contrast to the grim reality below.
Theodric was already there, standing in the center of the arena, his rapier drawn, its tip glinting in the sunlight. He looked utterly confident, completely at ease.
"The commoner accepts!" a booming voice announced from sowhere above, amplified by magic. "The terms are simple: if he lands a single strike, his life is spared!"
The crowd roared its approval, a bloodthirsty sound.
Theodric raised his hand, silencing the crowd. He looked at , a flicker of amusent in his eyes. "A weapon, commoner. So you may at least pretend to fight."
A guard tossed a short, dull practice blade at my feet. It was heavy, unbalanced, and completely useless against a master swordsman. I picked it up, my hands trembling.
"Co, then," Theodric taunted, his rapier held casually. "Entertain ."
I took a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart. This was it. The mont of truth. I had to be quick. I had to be unpredictable. I had to aim for that one, tiny, almost invisible spot.
I charged. Not directly at him, but in a wide, arcing run, feinting left, then right, trying to confuse him, to make him shift his weight. He rely watched , an amused expression on his face. As I got closer, I lunged, not with the blade, but with my body, aiming to get past his guard.
He moved with impossible speed, a blur of motion. His rapier flashed, and I felt a searing pain in my shoulder. I stumbled, but kept my montum, trying to get behind him. He was too fast. He spun, his blade a silver arc. Another searing pain, this ti across my chest.
I fell to one knee, gasping for air, clutching my chest. Blood blood across my tunic. The crowd cheered, delighted by the swift, brutal display.
Theodric stood over , his face impassive. "Pathetic," he murmured, his voice barely audible over the crowd. "A waste of my ti."
He raised his rapier, its tip glinting, aid directly at my heart. I closed my eyes, bracing for the end. ’This was it. The end of Kai Lorne. The end of Alex Miller.’
The blade plunged. A searing, agonizing pain ripped through my chest. I gasped, a strangled sound, my vision tunneling to black. My body convulsed.
Just as the darkness threatened to consu , the blue screen exploded into vibrant, stable light. The high-pitched whine ceased, replaced by a clear, resonant chi. And from that very mont—my journey began not just as an Extra, but as a cosmic force.
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