No matter what, she must find her teacher, the only person in this world who cares about her. Even if it means forcing him to his knees, even at the cost of her life, she must save him.

This is her resolve and determination.

"Hey, that's Hell ahead! It's not a place you can go." Outside the Royal Capital, a blood-covered man leaned against a rock, his conical hat covering him entirely, obscuring his appearance.

"I have something I must do! Old man, what happened in the city, where exactly is the Demon King?" Fafnir halted her horse and asked the seemingly suspicious old man.

"The Demon King has gone mad, he's just a killing machine, who knows how many he's killed, a million? Ten million? If you go in now, even against a Demon King officer you'd struggle with all your might and still lose, what could you possibly do?" The old man's stern reprimand brought Fafnir's rationality briefly back.

She understood this reasoning, but... there's no one else but her who can save the teacher in this world, only her...

"Head to the forest on the eastern hill, go there, a Sage has brought a Holy Sword that can save the world, only those who can pull that sword are qualified to face the Demon King and ultimately defeat him!" The old man finished, leaned against the rock, no longer speaking.

Fafnir looked east, the direction where her teacher first took her, where they encountered grapes and the little leaking hut.

"Thank you, old man." She imitated the gesture she had seen in sci-fi dramas, then urged her horse to leave the Royal Capital.

The skinny warhorse carried the frail young lady, their silhouette bleak and solitary under the setting sun.

Teacher, if the whole world betrays you, I will stand behind you, betraying the whole world.

The old man looked at the girl's back, and in the next moment, his body reverted to that of a 12-year-old.

Achilles, he remained in the Royal Capital.

Time is tight, the tasks are heavy, so only 12 can stay in the Royal Capital to clear out remaining evil monsters, while others must rush to other city-states and rid them of garbage at the fastest speed.

Likewise, many more wish to partake in this epic as part of it, not as antagonists within it.

But there's no other choice, the spots are limited, so according to Greek rules, duel!

Dueling decides everything.

Obviously, Achilles would be the victor, others died in the Netherworld, yet he lived until Homer's era before dying of old age, a century of martial arts honing placed him even above Hector, now only second to the godly Hercules.

By the Great Sage's standards, Hector is Mythic Level Initial Tier, while Achilles has reached Mythic Level Middle Tier.

"The time of the King's selection has come, looks like our epic is likely to continue even in the Otherworld!"

...

What these 12 Greek heroes did not know was, at a city-state on the Empire's frontier, a Greek hero broke through the city gates, shouting: "I am Patroclus, the hero who slays gods, we're only here to clear out the evil monsters!"

He's not like those battle-driven heroes who don't explain and charge on; rather, he uncovers the demon's human skin, exposing their true form.

"We've slain the cruel Divine King and saved the world, now we've returned just to sweep the lands clean, to protect a Pure Land!"

Increasingly, more Greek heroes discovered their friend's little actions and began imitating them.

Isn't it to gain fame? There's nothing shameful about it. Isn't that what they've been pursuing all their life? Especially gaining fame in the Otherworld, since they've already lost the chance to join the protagonist group, they might as well find other ways to elevate their reputation elsewhere.

Thus, these Khorne's chosen started spreading their names and deeds while slaughtering, they flayed the demon skin revealing the true form, and their tales intrigued the Otherworldly folks deeply.

Can't deny it, the effect was quite convincing, perhaps years later, a city-state might even erect statues in their honor.

...

As the sun sets, the golden plains are crowded with people.

They gathered by a giant rock, eager and excited.

Upon the rock, an unremarkable long sword stood embedded, as if it could be pulled out effortlessly.

However, no matter how many strong men tried, not one could budge it by an inch.

Outside the crowd, a boy under a white hood quietly watched everything, in the distance, the clatter of hooves echoed, and the boy's mouth curved upward.

"With effort, with effort! Whoever pulls out that sword will lead us to slay the Demon King, and become the new king of the world!" Among the crowd, Hector disguised as a bystander shouted.

Nevertheless, one after another, people stepped forward but couldn't move the sword an inch.

The sun dipped, dyeing the sky blood-red, the wind rustled the wild grass, everyone was waiting, waiting for someone to pull out the Holy Sword, to become the new king.

"I'll do it!" The young lady stepped forward.

She was frailer than anyone present, yet just standing there, her aura nearly suffocated everyone around.

"Where did this little girl come from, this isn't a place for playing house, get out..." A brawny man's words trailed off, facing Fafnir, he was too intimidated to speak further.

In her eyes, like a burning Giant Dragon, just by meeting her gaze, he lost the courage to continue mocking.

She walked past everyone, stepping onto that giant rock.

As the setting sun bled across the horizon, the golden plains shimmered faintly in the twilight, a gentle breeze lifted her bangs, the grass blades swayed softly, producing a rustling sound.

Fafnir slowly extended her hand, fingertips touching the cold hilt.

Everyone held their breath.

The sunset pierced through the clouds, under the plains sky, wind seemed to cease its breath, everything fell into an eerie stillness, as if the whole world fixed its gaze here, upon the young lady clasping the sword in the stone, her boundless will seemed to transform into a spiritual pressure, intensifying the gravity surrounding her.

"Crack!"

The stone beneath the Holy Sword seemed to fracture, the cracking sound pierced everyone's eardrums.

Holding her breath, Fafnir tightly gripped the sword hilt, gave a hard tug, the stone under the Holy Sword broke, the sword emerged with a cloud of dust rising.

At that moment, every blade of grass, flower, and grain of sand on the plains seemed to celebrate its emergence, as the setting sun cast a radiant Light Blade from the Beloved Holy Sword, weaving a magnificent tableau.

Everyone gazed in shock at the scene as if witnessing a myth being born before their eyes.

"Rejoice, inheriting the power of the former Hero, destined to slay the Demon King, to expel the Evil God, to become the ruler of all, their name is 'Knight King', this is the moment of birth!"

The little Mage under the hood held the Magic Book, chanting loudly.

In the sunset, the little Mage and Fafnir locked eyes.

The Light Blade from the Beloved Holy Sword dissipated, somehow, Fafnir felt a familiar aura from this stranger Mage.

"Who... are you?" she asked the little Mage.

And the little Mage merely bowed slightly, under the hood revealing himself with thick glasses, just like thousands of years ago: "Wise Man Yushua, a humble little Mage, also the Watcher of this Holy Sword."

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