Sky Qi opened his eyes, ready to stretch—only to slam both hands hard against the headboard. The force shook the entire wall violently.

Damn! He sat up on the bed.

THUD! A can of paint left on the windowsill last night crashed to the floor, splattering white sludge across his face.

Shit! He wiped his face furiously, stepped off the bed, and carefully slipped on his shoes—unaware of the spreading paint. His foot landed squarely in the puddle. He stumbled and crashed face-first onto the floor.

@*#✘%^$&! Cursing inwardly, he slowly dragged himself up. With a flick of his wrist, clear water materialized above his palm. He swept it gently across his face; the sticky paint vanished without a trace. He clenched his fist—the murky water disappeared.

Unbelievable. Just getting out of bed invited this much trouble.

He rushed to the mirror, rubbing his cheeks with narcissistic concern. Had the paint damaged his handsome face?

Ha! Even if heaven swapped my SS-rank luck for F-rank, it’s meaningless. Pathetic! Did they think such trifles could kill me? Absurd! Hands on hips, he threw his head back and laughed. “HAHAHA! I’m still the strongest! HAHA—*gurgle*!”

Overnight rain, seeping silently through the ceiling, poured straight into his open mouth.

HOLY—?! His heart lurched. *Purification Spell!* The filthy water vanished from his body instantly.

He dared not open his mouth again. This F-rank luck was no joke. Only his mastery of every magic, every tactic on the continent—truly a jack-of-all-trades—kept him alive. Weapon skills, spells, survival tricks, trap-setting, killing arts… all honed to perfection. Yet F-rank luck still wrecked him.

He’d once been a man blessed with SS-rank luck! Strolling and finding Divine Artifacts. Sipping cola to discover gems inside. Digging a random hole and unearthing treasure!

Now? Reduced to this. Barely escaped the Infernal Dragon this morning, only to endure this string of disasters.

A walk outside now meant ambush by hidden blades. A sip of cola brought poison. Digging a hole? He’d fall into it himself.

Back when I had S-rank luck, I slaughtered evil dragons for fun! Now? A sudden gust of wind—just as I dodged dragonfire—shoved the flames straight onto me. Only Purification and Rain-Calling spells saved me from becoming charcoal.

Thank goodness I’m the Continent Strongest. An ordinary person would’ve died thousands of times over. Daily nuisances alone would’ve killed them hundreds of times.

Normal folks hovered between B and B+ luck. His? F-rank. Shit-tier luck. How he got it… well, that’s a long story.

But the deal was: trade my SS-rank luck for women! Where were the women?! WHERE WERE THE WOMEN?! (Important things must be said thrice!)

Where’s my harem? Where are the curves? After three days of life-and-death struggles, nothing changed. Worse—rumors spread that my luck had run out. Challengers now flooded in nonstop.

What goes around comes around. He sighed helplessly.

But a chilling premonition gripped him. Lately, whenever he passed a pretty girl, his mana dropped instantly.

Terrifying. If others learned this weakness, they’d exploit it—flooding him with beauties while plotting his assassination.

He’d made many enemies. Becoming Continent Strongest at fourteen—thanks to peak luck—bred endless jealousy.

If this luck-drain secret got out? He’d die without a grave.

Time to lie low for a few days.

He poured himself a glass of red wine. Hesitated. Then pulled a silver needle from a drawer and dipped it into the glass.

The submerged tip turned pitch-black. A foul stench rose when he sniffed it.

Someone’s trying to kill me! Sky Qi slapped the glass away. *Are all my wines fake lately?!*

The spilled wine soaked his trouser leg.

His eye twitched. *Classic F-rank luck. Reliable as ever.* He calculated: every five minutes brought such absurd drama. At this rate, he’d die not by an enemy’s hand—but from the thousand cuts of daily life.

WHOOSH! A dart sliced through the air. Sky Qi ducked sharply. It grazed his hair and thudded into the wall—right into his newly renovated plaster.

Damn it! That wall was fresh! Tears welled in his eyes. But he was unharmed. That dart had missed his skull by a hair. One second slower, and it would’ve pierced his brainstem. Instant death. No revival chance. Cold sweat beaded on his brow. He patted his chest, forcing a shaky laugh.

The dart’s erratic path revealed a master thrower—using air currents to rebound and propel it. Mechanical energy, sustained over miles. This dart had crossed mountains to reach him.

But must you show off? Couldn’t you just run over with the letter? Or use a messenger bird? Why tie a note to a poisoned dart?!

Even if it missed people, it could hurt flowers! He rolled his eyes, stood, and yanked the dart free. Sure enough—a letter was concealed within its shaft.

CRACK! A wineglass slid off the table and shattered on the floor.

Sky Qi’s hand jerked. The dart’s blade sliced his finger. Black blood oozed seconds later. His finger turned ashen. The darkness spread like vines up his arm—soon it would consume his whole body.

Goddamn it! Sending a letter is one thing—why poison the dart?! He cursed inwardly, helpless.

*Purification Spell!*

A flash of light. The creeping darkness receded rapidly, vanishing completely within seconds.

【To Continent Strongest Sky Qi: The Sacred Knight Heroic Corps sincerely requests your aid in exterminating the Bloodline army. The stakes are critical. Rewards will be disclosed upon your arrival—we trust they will interest you. We await your presence.】

Still so blunt. Sky Qi chuckled wryly. The Corps had sought his help many times. Their offers were always generous. This time’s promise of “great interest” meant something exceptional awaited him.

He rubbed his nose. *So my F-rank luck still gets job offers? Who says F-rank can’t survive?* Slaughtering vampires with my strength? Child’s play!

I am the continent’s sole strongest. Sure, a few S-rank warriors exist—but none have my… wait.

His smile froze. *My luck is F-rank now.* Sky Qi wiped cold sweat. Meaning: zero luck.

Whatever! Pride kept him idle for three months. Even the strongest need to eat. Need to live.

This job’s mine. He gritted his teeth. Flame erupted from his palm, incinerating the letter to ash. A flick of his wrist summoned a breeze; the ashes scattered among the tree branches outside.

Sky Qi pulled a black box from under his bed, strapped it on his back, and roared: “HA! Bounty money, I’m coming!”