Other than his shattered pride and bruised spirit, Vichtor remained mostly unscathed.
With a weary sigh, he hoisted his backpack onto his shoulders. The weight of the bag—and his journey—felt heavier than usual, perhaps from the accumulated failures.
His gaze shifted to the dagger that rested on the ground, an old companion that had seen half of his battles.
The dark-red blade stirred, trembling violently, before spinning once—its razor-sharp point, now, aiming for Vichtor's face.
It didn't stop there.
As if powered by an unseen engine, the knife began to hum.
Then, in a blur of motion, it shot forward with terrifying speed, a flash of metal hurtling towards him.
But it did not strike.
No, the blade halted mere inches from him, suspended in the thick, suffocating air.
Despite doing this many times, Vichtor still flinched. He turned away, crouching slightly, arms raised to shield his face.
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“Ahhh… scary…” he muttered.“It’s my own tool—a magiknife—but I’m still terrified it’ll misfire one day…”
After regaining foot, he picked the item with one swift motion and returned it well within the sheath on his waist.
This was a gift from his father.
The King!
Despite appearances, Vichtor was royalty. Unfortunately.
The dagger was a masterpiece—a craft above crafts. A weapon that did not know the meaning of failure. A thoughtful gift from His Majesty, who had failed—repeatedly—to talk his dumb, idiotic son out of adventuring.
Especially given the results.
And what were the results?
An impressive and unbeaten ZERO PERCENT SUCCESS RATE!
Losses followed Vichtor like a hobby, no—like a collection.
He had practically been checking the weakest section of the bestiary by hand.
Kobolds?Lost decisively. ✔
Goblin children?An undefeated defeat! ✔
Minions?How someone loses to a blob in a robe holding a stick remained a mystery.., but he managed it. Multiple times. ✔
Rabbits?The creature headbutted him, poking his rear with its antlers, and he couldn’t sit down for an entire day. ✔
Pigeons!?In a magic world, they’re slightly overgrown and technically require a well-prepared F-rank adventurer to defeat. Vichtor was F-rank, but still... ✔
And now…
Slimes. ✔
The collection grows.
There was another weak adventurer, trying to mock Vichtor while attempting to break his record. This unknown adventurer purposely lost every fight he ever got into, in order to outshine Vichtor, but somehow he managed to win by accident when a Minion had tripped and fell—the stick it held slapped its pointy hood and fainted.
Just... wow...
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