The world blurred around me.
Snow. Dirt. Wind.
Everything was streaks of color as the horse and I tore across the countryside, racing the clock, racing fate, racing the end of everything I'd worked for.
My lungs burned.
My stomach twisted with hunger.
My eyes wouldn't stay open unless I forced them to.
But I couldn't stop.
Not now.
Not when I had come this far.
Today was the final day.
Four hours until the Director announced who passed.
Four hours until my chance to stand amongst the knights of Lionhearth died forever.
And I was still miles away.
The horse beneath me—my borrowed companion—could feel it too.
My urgency.
My desperation.
My will.
It ran with everything it had.
Its breath steamed in the freezing air, mane whipping wildly, hooves pounding the earth like a war drum. Even though I was weak, even though my body kept collapsing forward, the horse held steady—almost carrying me rather than being ridden.
We had bonded without noticing.
Somewhere along the road, through the fear and the danger, through the nights resting together beneath broken trees and the brief moments of warmth shared by fire—
we had become partners.
I didn't know when.
I didn't know how.
But the horse understood me.
And it ran.
Hours passed in a painful blur.
My vision doubled.
My breathing became shallow.
The orc's core in my bag felt heavier than iron itself.
But every time I thought I was about to faint, I repeated the same words in my head:
Don't stop.
Don't stop.
Don't stop.
This is only the first step, Rain.
The walls of Lionhearth finally came into view—towering stone gates, city guards, and crowds gathering for the ceremony.
Thirty minutes left.
I pleaded with the horse to go faster, leaning low, gripping the reins so tightly my knuckles turned pale.
Twenty minutes left.
The outer gates were open, but a long line blocked the entrance—merchants, adventurers, travelers all waiting to be inspected.
I couldn't wait.
I patted the horse's neck, my voice hoarse.
"Please… one last push."
It understood.
It launched forward, blasting through the line.
A shockwave of wind rolled behind us.
The guards at the checkpoint recoiled.
"HUH—?! What was that!?"
"Did something just—fly past!?"
But we were already gone.
Ten minutes left.
The colosseum loomed before me—massive, roaring with voices, the air vibrating from the sheer number of people inside.
This was it.
Inside, the five prodigies had already been praised as the top of the generation, placed into Class S without hesitation. They stood proudly on the main stage, their achievements announced, accepted, celebrated.
But one spot remained empty.
The last candidate.
The one who took the "difficult mission."
The crowd whispered anxiously.
"Is he dead?"
"Did he run away?"
"Sir Zenite's student… where is he?"
"I guess he failed."
"What a shame."
Sir Zenite stood among the ten knight captains, arms crossed, expression unreadable—but his eyes were sharp with expectation.
Juno fidgeted nervously, glancing toward the colosseum entrance every other second.
Even the general, the commander, and the royal family waited silently.
Five minutes left.
Then—
GAGAGAGAGAGAGAGAGA—
Hoofbeats echoed through the entrance hall.
Thunder.
Pure thunder.
Everyone turned.
A white horse burst into the arena tunnel, steam rising off its body like smoke. My cloak was torn, my face stained with dried blood, my eyes barely open.
But I was still holding on.
Still alive.
Still fighting.
I leapt off the horse the moment it skidded to a halt, stumbling but forcing myself to stand tall. The noise in the colosseum died instantly—as if the entire world inhaled at once.
The Director's eyes widened.
"He's here," he said, breathless. "HE'S HERE!"
The colosseum exploded.
"HE MADE IT!!!"
"RAIN!!"
"THE BOY WHO CHOSE THE DIFFICULT MISSION!!!"
My heart pounded.
My legs trembled.
But I stepped forward.
The Director raised his hand for silence.
"Well then, Rain… the question on everyone's mind is simple."
His voice carried across the stadium.
"Did you abandon the mission and return out of fear…?"
The audience leaned in.
"Or did you actually slay an orc?"
The world went quiet.
I reached into my bag.
My fingers closed around the core—the thing I nearly died for, the thing I bled for.
I pulled it out and held it high.
The gem-like core pulsed with faint red light.
The silence lasted one heartbeat.
Two.
Then—
The royal family stood.
The knight captains shouted in shock.
Sir Dragoneth burst out laughing in disbelief.
Sir Zenite actually smiled—small, but real.
"HE DID IT!!!"
The stadium erupted in a roar so loud the ground shook.
"The boy who took the second hardest quest… has returned with the core of an orc!"
"The sole student of Sir Zenite!"
"RAIN!!!"
I placed the core into the examiners' verification box—light scanned it, pulsed green, and ignited into symbols that meant only one thing:
Authentic.
Now came the ranking.
The Director raised his hand once more, and a massive magical screen formed in the air—numbers spinning, calculations flashing.
Trial 1 Score: Rank 1
Trial 2: Passed
Trial 3: Difficult Quest – Completed
The room held its breath.
The letters formed slowly, dramatically.
CLASS — 1 — S
Then:
RAIN
REPRESENTATIVE OF THE FIRST-YEAR CLASS
The crowd lost their minds.
Applause thundered.
People screamed my name.
Some even cried.
Sir Zenite closed his eyes, exhaling like he'd been holding that breath since the moment I left.
Juno punched the air so hard he nearly fell off the viewing platform.
And me?
I raised my fist to the sky.
I didn't even feel my exhaustion anymore.
My hunger.
My pain.
I felt only pride.
Burning, blinding pride.
I'd done it.
The first step.
The first victory.
The first acknowledgement from the world.
Eighteen candidates passed this year.
But only one stood at the top.
Only one was announced as the representative.
Rain.
My name echoed through the colosseum.
My chest tightened—warm, overwhelming.
I wanted to collapse, right then and there.
But I couldn't.
Not because I wanted to impress anyone.
But because I needed to show them—
I am strong.
I am capable.
I belong here.
I didn't know it yet…
But by standing on that stage, fist raised proudly in the air—
I had painted another target on my back.
A big one.
And in Lionhearth, the strong always attract challengers.