The wind tore past my ears as I plunged headfirst into the abyss. The cliff face blurred by in streaks of gray and shadow, but no matter how long I fell, the bottom never appeared.
Seriously? Still no ground? I've been falling for what feels like half a chapter. Either this cliff is bottomless, or I've been blessed with the strongest ankles in history.
I tilted my head down, eyes narrowing at the endless blackness below.
Marvelous. Truly marvelous. Behold the power of plot armor. In the novel, this same abyss was where the protagonist stumbled upon a forgotten legacy. And how did he discover it? By sheer accident—falling down the cliff while fighting a measly beast. A nation-toppling inheritance, forgotten even by history itself, all because of gravity.
I snorted into the rushing wind.
And now, here I am, following in his footsteps. Stealing his opportunities. Becoming OP… except there's a very big flaw with this plan. Unlike those die-hard readers who memorize every detail of their favorite story, I was never that kind of fan. I liked the novel, sure, but I didn't even finish it. Hell, I don't even remember how many chapters it had. I only know the rough location and a few bits of the trials the MC went through. That's it. My grand plan to "steal fate" is built on half-remembered spoilers.
So how was I solving this fatal flaw? Simple.
I used the one cheat this world gave me—my background. My lovely uncle's resources. Entire teams of experts were sent to track down possible sites. Even for them, finding the right place was hellishly difficult. The location wasn't exactly like the novel described—of course it wasn't, why would fate ever make things easy? But all I needed was a month. My memory's good. Using the experts' narrowed-down maps and cross-referencing it with the fragmented scenes I remembered, I pinpointed this spot.
The wind screamed louder. My cloak flapped like a banner of defiance. The knights above were probably shitting themselves, but I had no time to look back.
And then, because some part of me was still poisoned by too many cultivation novels, I opened my mouth and shouted:
"I will not die, even if the heavens want me to! I will defy my fate!"
The words echoed back against the cliff walls. I immediately regretted them.
…Gods, that was cringe. Straight out of some third-rate xianxia protagonist's diary. I swear, if anyone heard that, I'll bury myself.
But before I could berate myself further, the space around me shivered. Reality twisted, folding like ripples in water. The abyss vanished—and I was standing in a dim, ancient hall carved from obsidian stone.
The Trial Grounds.
"...Hah." I rubbed my neck. "Guess cringe really does open secret realms. Noted."
No time to waste. I pulled a knife from my belt, pressed the edge to my fingertip, and sliced.
"Ah—damn it!" I hissed as blood welled. "Painful, but compared to my instructor's training sessions, this is nothing."
I crouched and drew a diagram across the cold stone floor, the lines precise, my blood glowing faintly red as it spread. With a sharp breath, I closed my eyes and began to meditate, focusing on the bond carved into my very soul.
The ground trembled. The diagram flared with light. And then—she appeared.
Lira.
She stepped out of the circle with calm grace, her figure illuminated by the blood-glyph's fading glow. Though her power was sealed to my level, the sheer pressure radiating from her presence made me feel like an ant standing before a dragon. Even sealed, she could crush ten of me without breaking a sweat.
I exhaled in relief. The gamble had paid off.
The trial was ancient. Too ancient. I bet everything on the assumption that its rules and mechanisms had decayed with time—or that it might even allow beastmasters. Of course, I'm no beastmaster. But I do have Lira. She's not a beast… but she is bound to me. My maid, my protector, my slave.
My hand clenched.
Yes, I hate the word. Slave. I'm against it. Always have been. But her existence… it's complicated. Lira's life is tied directly to mine. Her loyalty absolute, her will shackled to mine. I don't even understand why she chose this, why she bound herself so completely. I think—no, I know—it has something to do with my original parents. The ones whose faces I still see in fragments of the old Rishi's memories.
But regardless of my confusion, I couldn't deny the truth.
She was mine. Utterly. And if this trial wanted strength, cunning, or loyalty tested—then Lira was my answer.
I gave her a half-smile. "Well then, Protector. Your first task in this little adventure—help me claim this legacy."
Her eyes, calm as still water, met mine. "As you command, young master."
Some might call it cheating.
Me? I called it a loophole.
When this trial was created, there was no mana. Contracts, slaves, protectors—those systems didn't exist back then. So what was stopping me from using mine? Nothing.
Others have plot armor. I have loopholes.
I straightened, wiping the last trace of blood on my cloak.
"As for bravery, chivalry, or all that nonsense…" I chuckled. "Forget it. I'm not that kind of MC. The protagonist had OP cheats, plot armor, divine help—and even then, he barely scraped by. He always succeeded, yes. But just barely. Always dancing on the edge of failure. That's his path."
I raised my head, voice dropping low, confident, and tinged with arrogance.
"But me? I'm different. I'll use whatever cheat, whatever loophole, whatever madness I can grasp. And when the dust clears…"
My grin widened.
"Let the game begin."
My laughter echoed in the dark halls, sharp and mocking, as the trial stirred to life around us.