Champions were humanity’s vanguard against the Demon Race—its strongest warriors. Once chosen, their sole purpose was to sever the Overlord’s head. Though if the chance arose, they wouldn’t mind "visiting" the Demon Palace for souvenirs.

Most Champions died before twenty-five. Yet these youths formed the spearhead against the Overlords, despite humans rarely living past a century. There was reason for this.

**Champion Artifacts**—exclusive weapons and power sources for Champions.

Becoming a Champion had one condition: wielding a **Champion Artifact**.

No one knew where these artifacts came from or who forged them. But everyone knew one truth: they slaughtered demons with terrifying efficiency. These mystical tools granted Champions superhuman strength. Without them, these naive kids wouldn’t survive their first battle.

"Boy…" A voice thick with arrogance and authority choked the air. Soldiers nearby turned pale, knees trembling. "Where did you get that sword?"

Over five thousand human soldiers surrounded me. Four dragonriders and hundreds of griffin knights circled overhead. Every mage had me locked in their sights. Cannons on floating warships aimed squarely at my skull.

Yet no one moved.

I’d simply leaped from the castle wall and walked toward their center. My aura alone made mortals avert their eyes—none dared raise a blade against me. Wuluwu and Ona followed silently, their presences dimmed like ordinary girls. The crowd barely noticed them.

"This sword?" The male Champion blinked, stunned I’d ask about his blade first. Like visiting a tavern just to tease the barmaid. He felt insulted.

Truthfully, the sword *was* more striking than its wielder. Its silver blade glowed faintly, etched with elegant runes—a true work of art.

"Hmph. This **Hawthorn Oath** was inherited from Master Daenerys’s will. As the **Hawthorn** Champion, I’ll fulfill her dying wish: beheading you to honor those you’ve slain!" He gripped the blade, face cold.

"*Inherited* Daenerys’s will?" I froze—then burst into laughter. "HA! HAHAHA! Inheriting her will? To hunt *me*? Oh, this is rich! Wuluwu, Ona—best joke I’ve heard all year!"

My laughter shook the earth. Magic waves made soldiers flinch backward. Their tight formation cracked.

"Inheriting her will? You call *this* inheritance? Stealing her artifact before her bones were buried? And you dare call yourself a Champion to my face?!"

Killing intent erupted. Soldiers dropped weapons and fled. Mages broke their locks. Griffins shrieked wildly, ignoring their riders’ reins. Even the dragonriders climbed higher.

Only a few stood firm, blades pointed at me.

…The Champion’s **Companions**?

"Too green, boy. Wuluwu, Ona—deal with them."

"Yes."

I smirked at the so-called Companions. Wuluwu’s body flared with magic circles. Ona vanished. In seconds, the genius elf mage and demon panther-girl crushed them effortlessly.

"W-what?!" The sword-wielding Champion watched his allies fall. Those once-reliable warriors now lay motionless before two girls.

"Everyone!" He roared. His beautiful sword blazed with holy light, shattering my oppressive aura. Righteous power flooded the air, stinging my skin even through armor.

*Damn positive energy.*

"RRRAAAH! DIE!" Emboldened by the **Hawthorn Oath**’s glow, he charged.

"Told you—you’re too green." I didn’t dodge. My right hand caught the blade aimed at my neck.

The holy sword seared my palm, sizzling flesh. I didn’t flinch. "Raw power alone means nothing. No conviction. No unshakable resolve. Just borrowed confidence from a tool… And bringing an army? Did you think that could defeat me? Pathetic."

"What?!" His shock was palpable. I snorted, kicked his ribs, and sent him flying—still gripping the **Hawthorn Oath**.

"Pathetic." I tossed the sword back. Wuluwu caught it mid-air. Instantly, its glow died. The holy pressure vanished. The blade lay dull in her hands, harmless as scrap iron.

"Crawl away. For Daenerys’s sake—and because the **Hawthorn Oath** chose you—I spare your life. Take your friends. If I see you on any battlefield again…" I let the threat hang. "My collection needs a new trophy."

I stared at the Champion writhing on the ground, broken ribs heaving. My voice turned glacial. "Run."