Chapter 18: The Hero Candidates

  It had only been two days since the Goddess’s divine announcement, but the Academy City was already buzzing like a hornet’s nest soaked in mana oil.

  Gone were the passive lectures and slow card experiments. Gone were the half-hearted duels in the courtyard. The Crucible was real now. The world was watching. And most importantly, the students could smell blood—specifically, their rivals’.

  Three months remained until the first round. But among the top of the class, tension had already become a battlefield of its own.

  [Riven Caelthorn – The Scorching Resolve]

  Riven stood by the marble balcony of her estate room, holding a letter in trembling fingers. It wasn’t sealed with any wax, just a folded form marked Status: Unknown.

  Her brother Nolan—her useless, sweet, ever-curious younger brother—was missing.

  “Unfit for magic,” the nobles had said. “Waste of a bloodline.”

  She’d laughed at those words once. Because Nolan didn’t need magic to be kind. But now…

  Now he was gone.

  And no one could tell her why.

  “I should’ve fought harder to keep him here,” she muttered.

  Flames rippled up her sleeves, uncontrolled. The scarlet veins of her DPS uniform shimmered with threat.

  She could feel the mana furnace within her roar.

  “If I couldn’t protect Nolan,” she whispered, “then I will protect everything else. I’ll become the hero. I’ll burn down the darkness before it takes anything more.”

  [Kaelen Dreystar – The Strategist of Scorn]

  In the private lounge of the upper west tower, Kaelen reclined in his velvet chair, sipping enchanted tea and reviewing files like a bored merchant inspecting wares.

  Candidate logs floated before him in neat panels—scores, family trees, card profiles, and previous duel footage. A red quill hovered behind him, jotting annotations.

  “This one’s strong but crude… that one’s clever but arrogant. Hmm… I could use her for tempo balance...”

  He tapped a sigil and zoomed in on the Core Hero profile.

  Lucien Evervault.

  His nose wrinkled.

  “No lineage. No ceremony. No trials. Just... picked.”

  Kaelen's lip curled. “Even dirt must glitter under divine light, it seems.”

  He wasn’t worried. Nobility played the long game.

  He’d gather candidates with promise, use his family’s resources to form a stable alliance, and when the Crucible reached its final stage—

  He would make sure his “allies” never reached the podium.

  [Thara of the Pale Grove – The Rooted Sentinel]

  Far from the clamor of walls and sigils, Thara stood waist-deep in mud within the Grove District.

  Her shield, forged from dungeon-bark, rested at her side. Her hands were pressed against the wounded roots of an ancient ash tree.

  It pulsed faintly—sick with dungeon corruption.

  The spirits had grown quieter over the years. The forest less green. The mana less pure.

  Even the trees were preparing to die.

  “They say we have ten years,” she said quietly to no one.

  A vine wrapped around her ankle in gentle affirmation.

  She reached for her wood spear.

  “I’ll give the world ten more.”

  [Zephyr Quillace – The Melody of Mayhem]

  In the east wing’s music conservatory, Zephyr Quillace was dancing between chairs with a silver flute in one hand and three mana-gel packs in the other.

  “I heard we’re going to be thrown into a battlefield with DPS maniacs,” said one healer nervously.

  “So?” Zephyr replied, spinning mid-hop. “That’s how concerts work. Crowd rush, screaming fans, flames—only instead of noise complaints, I’ll get to patch wounds!”

  “But they’ll target us first!”

  “I know. Isn’t it romantic?”

  Zephyr grinned.

  “I’ll just keep everyone too healed to die. Or I’ll charm the enemy into friendship.”

  The other healers exchanged horrified glances.

  She curtsied anyway.

  [Velnira Shadesong – The Seeker in Shadow]

  In the Archive Dungeon’s forbidden wing, Velnira lit a floating glyph with the blood of a dungeon beast. A mural shimmered to life—a half-buried map of ancient exile routes.

  He traced a finger over the border of shadow and light.

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  “Father…” he muttered.

  A crow landed on his shoulder. “Still chasing ghosts?”

  Velnira smiled faintly. “He’s not a ghost. He’s the best liar the world’s ever seen.”

  “Maybe the world’s tired of liars.”

  “Then I’ll become the truth.”

  “And the hero program?”

  “A tool,” he said flatly. “If I become a hero, I’ll unlock every sealed dungeon in the world. And he’ll have nowhere left to hide.”

  The crow laughed. “Now you sound like your old man.”

  [Lucien Evervault – The Prism in Progress]

  The room was a maze of crystals, inks, scrolls, and half-formed spells.

  Lucien didn’t mind the clutter.

  He was testing something new.

  His Prism talent allowed him to wield any attribute without recoil. Most users burned out after switching more than three types. Lucien was holding five, and he wasn’t even sweating.

  He wasn’t content.

  “I think I can handle forty,” he muttered, aligning mana flow across parchment layered with dungeon-forged crystal dust. “But there aren’t forty good ones.”

  He studied elemental conversion charts.

  Fire into blood. Ice into silence. Earth into echo.

  He’d make his own.

  Because the world didn’t need a shining star. It needed a polymath who could hold the sky when it cracked.

  That evening, another Academy-wide transmission glyph activated. This time, the tone was purely administrative.

  The Principal’s voice was colder than usual.

  “In three months, the Crucible shall begin.”

  “Stage One: Solo Trials. Direct combat in a regulated arena. Winners proceed. Losers are out.”

  “Stage Two: Team Draft. Temporary units will be evaluated based on cooperation, mana harmony, and support capacity. Points will be awarded for performance.”

  “Stage Three: Hero Ascension. The final ten will be allowed to form permanent squads. From those squads, roles will be assigned to protect each quadrant of the world.”

  A pause.

  “The tenth hero has already been chosen. He will observe, not participate.”

  Lucien’s face flickered across the light.

  Applause followed—but not all clapped.

  Many nobles whispered curses.

  Too many commoners cheered too loud.

  The divide was growing.

  And the Crucible hadn’t even begun.

  The remnants of battle were quiet now.

  Nolan sat cross-legged beside the scorched remains of his campfire in the dragon’s lair, flicking through shards of bone, molten crystal, and burned parchment. The soft hum of mana still echoed in the cavern walls, residual traces of the duel with Vaelreth clinging to the air like smoke that refused to leave.

  He rubbed his temple. “Deck’s a mess. Too many trigger cards. Not enough tempo.”

  Nearby, Vaelreth—the same dragon who’d once tried to roast him—lay curled around a pile of ancient stone, whispering to herself in Draconic. Her claws scraped against scales she was pulling loose, some still laced with blood and glinting with dormant magic.

  Neither of them said much anymore. Not since they agreed to not kill each other.

  “You’re not going to win a tournament looking like a ball of burnt bacon,” Nolan muttered to her without malice.

  “Neither will you if you build a deck using kindling and regret,” she snapped back.

  The sarcasm stung a little, but she had a point.

  Then, like she always did when the timing was suspiciously narrative, the Akashic Record arrived.

  Reality didn’t warp. There was no thunderclap or glowing portal. One moment, Nolan was alone. The next, the robed woman stood beside him, arms crossed, glasses glinting like she’d just stepped out of a poorly lit database.

  “You’re still here,” she said.

  Nolan didn’t look up. “Some of us don’t have omnipresent privilege or teleport macros.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “And yet you’ve taken to dungeon survival with less whining than expected.”

  “I worked corporate,” Nolan replied. “This is practically a spa.”

  Vaelreth snorted behind him.

  The Akashic Record rolled her eyes. “Touché.”

  She stepped closer, scanning the half-finished cards and arcane scraps. “Still rebuilding your deck?”

  “Trying,” Nolan said. “Not exactly easy. Dragon bone has high resonance, but combining it with fire-sapped crystals risks triggering wild mana detonation.”

  “Use soul-glue stabilizers from her blood,” she suggested. “Two drops per sigil line. Keeps the flux from collapsing.”

  He blinked. “Why do you know that?”

  “Because I made the damn system.”

  Nolan grunted and reached for a card scroll. “If you’re here to lecture, skip it. I’ve got four days until I leave for that Lich dungeon.”

  “Oh, right,” she said, tilting her head. “You read from the system log.”

  “Yeah. Mysterious undead ex-genius who walked something called the ‘Glory Road’ and got erased from memory. Sounds like a company man.”

  The Akashic Record gave a noncommittal shrug. “He’s not the worst you’ll meet.”

  Nolan looked up. “So… what is the Glory Road?”

  She hesitated.

  Then she smiled.

  The way a spiteful database might smile if it had lips.

  “Oh, it’s just that little storytelling pathway embedded in most worlds,” she said lightly. “The narrative blueprint that pushes certain people to become heroes, travel the world, grow stronger, save kingdoms, maybe fall in love, and eventually stab some apocalypse in the face.”

  Nolan blinked. “Wait, like the Hero’s Journey?”

  “Yes,” she said, dry as paper. “That. Just... capitalized.”

  “And this world doesn’t have one?”

  “Correct,” she replied. “Your world did. Not well-executed, but a few people pulled it off. Alexander the Great. Tesla. Einstein. World-changers. Here?” She looked around, gesturing to the dungeon. “Nothing.”

  Nolan frowned. “So this world’s basically stuck?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Ten years before the dungeon floods consume it. And most people still think I’m the villain.”

  He shook his head. “That’s rough.”

  “You’re telling me,” she muttered.

  They sat in silence for a few seconds. Then Nolan asked, “So the Lich was the first to try the Glory Road?”

  “Two centuries ago. Walked it. Survived it. Lost his name. Now he wanders a dungeon that no one remembers exists. Do not let him die again.”

  Nolan rubbed his jaw. “Why?”

  “Because he still holds fragments of the Road. And you,” she pointed at him, “have something no one else does. You can restart it.”

  He laughed. “Me? I’m not a hero.”

  “No,” she agreed. “But you’re honest. Practical. And unlike most people here, you don’t think with delusions of grandeur.”

  “Office work’ll do that to you.”

  “Exactly.”

  He set down the card he was etching and looked her in the eye. “So what do I do with this Glory Road thing?”

  “After three months,” she said, “you pass it on.”

  “To who?”

  “To the one chosen in the coliseum. The Battle Royale. The one they’ll crown as the next hero. You’ll know who deserves it.”

  Nolan nodded. “Alright.”

  The Akashic Record blinked. “That’s it?”

  “I’m not attached to it,” Nolan said. “I’ve worked long enough to know when someone else is better suited for a job.”

  She looked genuinely surprised. “No resistance? No speech about power or destiny?”

  “I’m a data analyst,” he said. “We delegate.”

  Vaelreth burst into laughter behind him.

  Nolan turned back to his cardwork.

  “So what kind of deck should I make, then?” he asked.

  She tilted her head. “A hero’s deck.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You just said I wasn’t the hero.”

  “I didn’t say you couldn’t build like one,” she replied. “Besides, wouldn’t it be funny? A villain, wielding a hero’s deck?”

  He smirked. “That’d make me your apostle or something.”

  She nodded. “Exactly.”

  Vaelreth approached now, her claws dragging several blood-soaked scales. “What about me?” she asked.

  The Akashic Record didn’t miss a beat. “Arcanis Dominus.”

  The dragon paused. “DPS? You want me to build a glass cannon deck?”

  “You have raw magic in your blood,” the Record said. “Your body’s already strong. Your deck should reflect your fury.”

  Vaelreth narrowed her eyes, then chuckled. “Fine. But I’m not doing it for glory. I’m doing it because I’m tired of people underestimating my fire.”

  “Good,” the Record replied. “Then burn brighter.”

  She turned back to Nolan. “Four days. Prepare your deck. Then find the Lich. After that, head to the Academy.”

  “Why the Academy?” Nolan asked.

  The Akashic Record’s voice dropped, serious now. “Because they believe I created the Glory Road.”

  “Didn’t you?”

  “No. But they think I did. The principal and the alchemist—they’re the only ones who know I’ve been holding this world together.”

  Nolan stood. “Then I won’t let their faith go to waste.”

  The Record gave a small, tired smile. “That’s more than I expected.”

  She vanished without ceremony.

  Just gone.

  Nolan turned to the cavern wall where he’d pinned his incomplete deck list. Then he turned back to Vaelreth, who was painting sigils in flame on her bloodied scales.

  “Ready to teach the world what a villain and a dragon can do?” he asked.

  Vaelreth growled in amusement. “Only if we make it look beautiful.”