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

Under the blazing midday sun over the capital, thousands of gold-threaded banners from the great noble houses snapped in the wind around the Royal Arena's stands. Round 2 was already wilder than the morning session — this was where the real contenders started showing up.

In the shaded VIP section on the west side, Lucian sat with his legs crossed, an apple in one hand, biting into it with a satisfying crunch, while the other hand flipped through a stack of chits Sylvia had just brought back from the betting counter.

His Round 2 match had ended ten minutes ago. His opponent — a young mage from an eastern earl's house — had tripped over his own feet and broken his nose after Lucian used Silent Blink to step aside from a fireball. Another three thousand clean gold, dropped straight into his pocket without breaking a sweat.

BWAAAM!

A silver ceremonial horn rang out from the arena's honor entrance, cutting through the crowd's chatter.

A procession of six solid-gold carriages, pulled by winged white horses of the Holy Church, rolled slowly onto the ceremonial platform. Dozens of High Priests in red silk robes stitched with silver thread carried smoking magic censers, trailing clouds of fragrant incense, followed by two ranks of Holy Knights in gleaming silver armor, their long spears standing upright like a forest of steel.

The sheer opulence of the entrance stunned a hundred thousand spectators into silence. Everyone expected some radiant Grand Holy Knight to step down from the lead carriage to demonstrate the Church's might.

But when the main carriage door swung open, the figure who climbed out left the entire arena speechless.

It was a girl, maybe sixteen years old.

Her ash-grey hair was cut short and slightly messy at the shoulders. She wore rough grey cloth patched at both elbows, and scuffed leather boots caked in road dust. At her hip hung a plain iron sword with no ornamentation, its grip wrapped in coarse burlap — the kind of thing you'd find in a roadside market stall for five copper.

The girl stepped off the carriage, blinking in confusion at the sea of cheering faces, hands clutching awkwardly at the hem of her dress like a farm girl who'd wandered into a royal palace by mistake.

"People of the realm!" The Cardinal's booming voice rolled out over the arcane speakers. "Behold the Church's Divinely Chosen Seed — Competitor Astra! One who carries the highest blessing of the gods themselves!"

Ting.

The Combat Power scanner mounted on the central flagpole swept over the girl, and pale blue arcane text lit up above her head:

[PUBLIC STAT SHEET: COMPETITOR ASTRA]

Level: 31

Rank: E — Rookie

Combat Power Reading: 411,892 (411K)

Four hundred eleven thousand.

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A short silence passed. Then the whole arena broke into snickers and mocking whispers from the noble seats.

"Four hundred thousand? A ragged Rank E?" "Did the Church get their budget cut this year?" "Sending someone in patched cloth onto the royal arena floor — what a joke."

Up in the VIP section, Lucian took another bite of his apple, glanced at the "411K" on the display board, and blinked twice. He triggered the System v2.0's deep scan.

[TARGET: ASTRA]

Level: 31

Rank: E — Rookie

Physical Strength: 42,110

Speed: 51,200

Endurance: 68,440

Mana: 88,000

OVERALL COMBAT POWER: 411,892

Genuine rookie-tier numbers. No hidden mana surge, no faked energy fluctuation leaking out anywhere.

Lucian turned to Sylvia beside him and raised an eyebrow.

"The Church's finances must be in freefall if this is the best knight they could hire. This girl steps onto that sand and some tank's going to swing a hammer and turn her into fish paste."

Sylvia didn't laugh. Her silver beast ears stood straight up, her sapphire eyes tracking the grey-haired girl's every step across the arena floor.

She shook her head slightly, her voice going serious.

"That's not it, Lucian. Look at her center of gravity."

Lucian narrowed his eyes and looked again.

Despite the coarse clothes and dazed expression, every one of Astra's footsteps landed on the stone as solid as bedrock. Her spine was perfectly straight, the gap between her heels held at exactly thirty centimeters, her shoulder and wrist joints completely relaxed and ready to unleash force from any angle at any moment.

That wasn't the posture of an inexperienced fighter.

It was the posture of someone who had survived enough real fights that balance had become instinct.

Across the ceremonial platform, Princess Eleanor stood with her arms crossed, her sharp blue eyes narrowed with suspicion, fixed on Astra.

As a military commander, Eleanor understood the Cardinals' cunning far too well. The Holy Church was a religious institution with millions of followers, holding onto its secretive, generations-old "Divine Blessing" arts. They would never send someone genuinely useless onto an international stage just to be laughed at.

Down on the arena floor, the competitors from the great houses started eyeing Astra with contempt. They assumed the Church was deliberately insulting this prestigious tournament by fielding some peasant girl.

Ting.

Inside Lucian's mind, the System interface gave a faint pulse.

[ANOMALOUS COMBAT PROFILE DETECTED.]

[Insufficient data for classification.]

Lucian finished off his apple, tossed the core into the magic trash bin beside him, and leaned back to enjoy the breeze. He didn't care what political game the Church was playing. What he cared about were the odds on the next match.

The referee's arcane bell rang out crisply.

The referee strode to the center of the arena, raised the match list high, and bellowed through the speaker:

"ROUND 2 — MATCH 4!"

"Competitor ASTRA (Representing the Holy Church — Rank E) versus... GREATSWORDSMAN GOLAN (House of Baron Golan — Rank D — Combat Power 1.8 Million)!"

A hulking man over two meters tall, a long sword scar across his face, hauling a fifty-catty greatsword, stepped onto the arena floor to a wave of frenzied cheering.

On the other side, the grey-haired girl Astra strolled onto the sand at an easy pace, one hand digging into her pocket to pull out a fragrant roasted sweet potato. She broke it in half, took a small bite, and looked up at the towering opponent in front of her with clear, untroubled eyes.

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