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

The twenty-meter dining table, carved from a single block of ebony, sat in the middle of House Vance's great hall, wreathed in fragrant smoke.

At the center of the table lay a four-meter Ancient Earth Dragon, roasted to a deep gold, its crisp, glistening skin sizzling with dripping fat on a massive silver platter. The scent of snow-mountain herbs mingling with the raw magical essence radiating off the dragon meat would have made any adventurer's mouth water on sight.

Lucian sat at the head of the table, knife and fork in hand, cutting off thick slices of dragon meat and devouring them with real appetite.

After three straight days gnawing on iron-hard black bread in the Oakhaven dungeon, the rich, sweet, meltingly tender taste of Rank A magical beast meat felt like nothing short of salvation for his taste buds.

Across from him, Sword Emperor Regulus wore a flowered apron over his expensive silk robes. He didn't bother with utensils — just flicked a finger.

Slish. Slish.

Threads of invisible sword-intent, thin as silk, glided across the dragon's body, carving thick cuts of meat into perfectly even two-millimeter slices, which then floated neatly onto his son's plate on their own.

Regulus kept plating meat for his son while asking, offhand, as casually as if he were making small talk about the weather.

"How was the scenery in Oakhaven, son? The trade caravans mentioned some Iron Blood Gang branch got smashed to pieces out there in under thirty seconds. Funny thing, that."

Lucian chewed and swallowed a bite of dragon meat, expression unchanged.

"Yes, I just went out for some fresh air and picked up a few old books. I didn't pay much attention to whatever was happening out there."

Valeria, sitting beside him, lifted a cup of deep purple herbal tea with elegant poise and took a sip. She smiled, tilting her head to look at her son with eyes full of affection.

"Good. Getting out and seeing the world is healthy. I heard yesterday that a few thugs disturbed you while you were sightseeing, so I sent a spatial binding curse to the Iron Blood Gang's headquarters."

Valeria took another elegant sip of tea.

"Their leadership should be hanging upside-down from the front gate by now."

Cough! Cough!

Lucian nearly inhaled a piece of dragon meat. He grabbed his fruit juice and drained half the glass.

"You did what?"

"I left the accountants untouched," Valeria added reassuringly. "Someone has to process the dissolution paperwork."

Lucian slowly lowered the glass.

He had dismantled one local cell.

His mother had apparently performed a hostile acquisition of the entire criminal organization before breakfast.

Stolen novel; please report.

Ting.

The matte-black System v2.0 panel flashed a brief notice.

[Nutrient absorption from Ancient Earth Dragon Meat (Rank A) complete.]

Endurance: 308,441 → 462,661 (×1.5)

Stamina fully restored.

The warm energy from the dragon meat spread through his capillaries, washing away every last trace of exhaustion from his dungeon expedition. His Endurance stat shot up past four hundred sixty thousand, hardening his skin and flesh into something like an invisible suit of armor.

At the corner of the table, Sylvia sat in an elegant charcoal-blue archivist's outfit, carefully cutting her own portion into small pieces with a knife and fork, her silver ears bowed low in respectful deference to the presence of two catastrophe-tier entities.

Valeria glanced at Sylvia, her deep red eyes resting briefly on the urn hanging at her hip, then gave a small nod.

"A descendant of the Silver-Winged clan? Bright eyes, and very pure spatial mana flow. Good choice of assistant, Lucian."

"Yes, she's my language tutor," Lucian quickly clarified, hoping to head off his mother's tendency to hand out casually cursed artifacts as gifts. "It's a clearly defined employment contract."

Regulus let out a hearty laugh and set his silver plate down. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a gleaming gold-trimmed vellum scroll, sealed with a firebird wax stamp bearing Emperor Alaric de Solaris's crest.

He set it on the table and slid it toward Lucian.

"Rest up for a couple days, then pack your things, son. The palace just sent an urgent summons this afternoon."

Lucian frowned, picked up the scroll, and unrolled it.

It was an official Summons to attend the Imperial Youth Selection, to be held in the capital of Solaris the following week.

This wasn't some casual student sports tournament. It was the Empire's largest military stage — where great noble houses, magic academies, and border legions sent their "adolescent weapons of mass destruction," carrying monstrous bloodlines, to compete for next year's mining quotas on strategic magestone deposits.

"I don't want you overworking yourself," Regulus said, crossing his broad arms over his chest, his tone brimming with a Sword Emperor father's pride. "But the capital's noble houses have been eating themselves alive with jealousy over our book sales. There's talk going around that House Vance is nothing but a family of merchants with no real martial strength. I know you've been sneaking off to hone your sword intent all this time, son!"

Regulus slammed a hand on the table, sending the silver platter bouncing.

"Time to go show the capital what House Vance's true swordsmanship looks like! I've already arranged three hundred armored knights and ten wagons of premium food to accompany you through the entire tournament!"

Lucian stared at his father, speechless.

True swordsmanship, my foot. I only went out there to escape your opera!

He was about to open his mouth and decline — all he wanted was to stay home and sleep — when his eyes landed on a line of italicized, gilded text at the bottom of the summons.

'Prizes for the Tournament Champion: 1. Five hundred thousand gold, clean, from the Royal Treasury. 2. A Special Access Pass granting unrestricted entry to the Royal Library and full copying rights to the entirety of the Ancient Archives.'

Lucian's pupils contracted slightly.

Five hundred thousand gold, clean.

And an entire vault containing every lost Ancient Tongue text the royal family had ever recorded, dating back to the empire's founding.

He folded the scroll neatly and tucked it into his coat, then looked up at his parents with the most serious, resolute expression he'd worn in his entire life.

"You're absolutely right, Father. House Vance's honor cannot be treated with contempt by the capital's nobility."

He turned to Sylvia, who stood waiting for orders.

"Sylvia, prepare the contracts and identification papers. We leave for the capital tomorrow."

Lucian took a sip of fruit juice, the corner of his mouth curving into a calculating smile.

"Five hundred thousand gold, clean, and the entire royal archive of ancient texts... There's no way I'm skipping this one."

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