I Wrote Trash Novels to Level Up, Now Everyone Thinks I'm the Hero

The night's rain had just stopped, leaving the stone alley behind the inn drowning in mud and dark, standing puddles reflecting the faint glow of magic streetlamps in the distance.

Cold wind hissed through the cracks of ancient, crumbling walls, carrying with it the sharp reek of magical grease and poison-slicked blades.

Twelve figures in rivet-reinforced leather armor stepped slowly out of the shadows of the abandoned wooden houses, sealing off both ends of the narrow alley. In their hands were repeating magic crossbows, glowing a sickly green with viper venom, and metal anti-magic nets fitted with sharp hooks.

No knight's banner. No formal challenge. In Oakhaven, night hunters lived by one rule alone: lock onto the target, aim for the throat, pull the trigger, and end it in three seconds flat.

Sylvia dropped her center of gravity instantly, her silver ears pinned flat against her head. Sharp claws flared to life on all ten fingertips, glowing a faint silver, ready to charge forward and draw fire to clear a path for her master.

But the instant she lifted her foot, a small hand shot out and grabbed her by the shoulder, yanking her back behind a solid stone wall.

"Stay put," Lucian said coldly, not a trace of unease in his voice. "You're a thirty-thousand-gold intellectual asset. Stand still in the blind spot so I don't have to write off asset damage. Healing potions aren't cheap."

Sylvia froze, the mana gathering in her hand fizzling out mid-motion.

From the far end of the alley, the leader of the assassin squad — a hulking enforcer with a face scarred by sulfur burns, a jet-black poison dagger clenched in his fist — stepped out slowly. He spat into the mud and stared at the ten-year-old with the merciless eyes of a wolf.

"You've got guts for a Vance brat. Using your banknotes to humiliate Boss Bargon in front of everyone at that auction... If you know what's good for you, hand over the rest of those notes and that demihuman bitch, and I'll make sure you die whole — no skinning—"

"Sylvia," Lucian cut in suddenly, not even bothering to look up at the man. "That reinforced leather armor and those second-rate magic crossbows they're carrying — if we stripped it all down and sold it at the scrap market, how much would we get?"

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Sylvia blinked twice, completely unable to follow her employer's train of thought. "Um... torn leather armor, maybe two silver a set? And an old magic crossbow... probably five silver each?"

Lucian let out a long, deeply disappointed sigh.

"Pathetic. Total resale value doesn't even hit one gold piece. Honestly not even worth the effort of washing the blood out."

The leader bared his teeth in a furious snarl, the muscles in his face twisting at the insult.

"You little bastard! You're about to die, and you're standing there appraising our gear?!"

Ting! Ting!

The instant the killing intent from all twelve mercenaries erupted, a sharp system chime rang in Lucian's ear:

[Over-Threshold Combat Scenario Detected: 1 vs. 12.]

[Average opponent: Rank E — Trained.]

[UNDERDOG CHALLENGE TRIGGERED: Language experience gain increased 100%, skill cooldowns reduced 20%, for the duration of this encounter!]

[Objective: Survive / Neutralize hostile threats.]

Lucian stood perfectly still in the muddy alley, his small lips beginning to move, shaping strange syllables.

The low, guttural tones of the Demon Tongue wove together with the elegant, clipped cadence of High Elvish, spilling from his mouth soft and quiet as wind through leaves.

To the Iron Blood assassins, the sight of a child rooted to the spot, head bowed, muttering under his breath, looked exactly like prey frozen out of its mind with terror — desperately praying to the Goddess of Light before being torn apart.

"Look at him shaking!" the sniper up on the rooftop sneered, finger resting on the crossbow's trigger. "Typical soft noble brat who's only ever thrown money at problems!"

What none of them could see, beneath the ash-grey traveling cloak, was that Lucian's entire skill set had already activated and synced together with the precision of a perfect calculating engine:

Layered Focus: Twelve contact points locked. Sound Cadence: All magical sound waves fully suppressed. Silent Step: Body weight erased, 100%. Blink: Charged and ready, coordinates locked on the rooftop sniper.

To Lucian, this fight wasn't a display of courage or knightly honor.

It was nothing more than a simple subtraction problem on a balance sheet: how to eliminate twelve threat variables at the lowest possible mana cost.

"Shoot him!" the leader roared, slashing a hand through the air. "Blow out his legs, then strip him clean!"

Thwip! Thwip! Thwip!

Three crossbow strings snapped taut, tearing through the damp fog with a metallic crack.

Three black steel bolts, coated in poison and glowing a deathly green, screamed through the air at terrifying speed, aimed straight for the center of Lucian's forehead and both his shoulders.

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