The sun dipped low, painting the sky in crimson. The king's voice carried across the arena.
"Tomorrow, the hero shall be chosen from these two candidates. Rest well tonight."
Relieved, I smiled. "At last, I have enough money to rent an inn. A real bed… finally."
Narrate's tone was sharp. "Be careful. At your level, if someone attacks you, you won't make it in time. It's about time I explain your skills."
And so I learned the truth: my powers were not ordinary. They were catastrophic. Luck twisted fate itself, bending chance into calamity for others.
That night, I slammed my door shut, exhausted.
In the shadows, assassins whispered.
"Target is in room 408."
Another group echoed, "We'll strike in front of 408."
Blades flashed in the dark. The assassins stormed into 408 and killed their target. But it was not me.
Narrate chuckled softly. "When you slammed your door, the number panel fell. A drunk adventurer placed it on the opposite room. The assassins struck the wrong man. Fate bends for you, Dransart."
Morning came. The king whispered to his minister, "Dransart is dead, isn't he?"
The minister smirked. "I sent two groups of assassins. He cannot have survived."
But when the arena gates opened, I stepped inside. Alive.
The king's eyes widened. How?
The final match began. My opponent: Anatol Jefrin, the last candidate, wielder of the Sword's Reading skill.
Steel clashed. I slashed, but she dodged effortlessly, her blade predicting my every move. She countered with Swinger's Pierce, forcing me back.
Narrate explained quickly, "Sword's Reading predicts your techniques. You cannot win by normal strikes."
I gritted my teeth. Then gambled.
I dropped my sword. Kicked it across the arena. The blade struck her shoulder, distracting her. In that instant, I lunged, activating Lucky Looter. Her sword slipped from her grasp—into mine.
Narrate's voice rang clear. "When someone loses their sword, they lose the match."
The king raised his hand. "Dransart is the winner. He is the hero."
The crowd erupted in cheers. Against assassins, killers, berserkers, and royals, I had survived. Not by strength, not by magic—but by catastrophe's luck.
At last, Dransart was crowned Hero.