I looked around and asked, "Why are there so many people?"

The question sounded as if I were speaking to myself, but I was actually directing it at Lorcan. So why wasn't he answering?

"Lorcan," I called.

Lorcan was startled.

I had no idea what he was thinking, but he was standing there in a daze. I waved my hand in front of his unfocused eyes. "What's wrong? You seem completely out of it. Are you nervous?"

"No."

As a man who worked in an industry where underestimation equaled death, Lorcan answered such questions almost reflexively. Yet his face was pale and his lips were dry. He appeared so off that anyone could tell that something was wrong.

"Then why do you look so nervous?" I asked.

"I told you, I'm not nervous..." Lorcan started to deny it again, but his expression changed. He then sighed. "No, you're right. I am nervous right now."

"So why?" I pressed.

"My target clan also came to watch this promotion match," he replied.

"Clan? Which one?"

"Over there."

I followed the direction of his gesture. Their expressions were too fierce for typical heroes. Their attire reminded me of the warriors of the south, and a flag hung from a pole set between them.

"The pattern engraved there is... a scorpion?"

Lorcan nodded. "They're Desert Scorpion, a hero clan that mainly operates in the south."

"Really?" I had likely seen them a few times, but I wasn't familiar with them at all.

This wasn't unusual. The mercenaries who collaborated with the Hero Society were at least A-class. In my previous life, I had barely scraped by as a B-class mercenary right before my death, so it was natural I had never crossed paths with them.

Lorcan explained, "We went on a mission together. They were extraordinary. Their strength was not limited to executing the plan. Their improvisation, cooperation, and fundamental judgment all stood out. They operated on a different level from the average mercenary. What surprised me most was their way of thinking."

"Their mindset?"

"There was a church member they had been tracking for a month. It might have been closer to half a year if you include the time spent uncovering the first clue. That alone shows how long the Hero Society had been pouring resources into it. I joined the mission midway through the pursuit and ended up falling into a trap," he elaborated.

I crossed my arms and waited silently for him to continue.

"Do you know what the most important thing is in the mercenary industry?" he asked.

"Completing the mission," I answered. "It doesn't matter how many people die or get injured. The client, the broker, and even the mercenaries all think the same way."

"Yes." Lorcan nodded. "I was prepared to die. I had also abandoned my comrades for the sake of missions many times, so I believed it was finally my turn. However, the heroes of Desert Scorpion prioritized my rescue without hesitation. They didn't even care whether traces of the church member disappeared. From then on, I lost interest in being a mercenary and started looking into being a hero."

That was the moment admiration took root.

"They've probably forgotten about me, but I still want to join Desert Scorpion. I want to stand beside them as an equal and thank them properly for what they did." Lorcan laughed like a madman, then asked, "Isn't that ridiculous for a mercenary?"

I shook my head. "No. It is cool."

"What?"

I smiled. At the very least, he had a much better dream than the Luan Badniker in my previous life.

That's right. A person can become a hero even without a blessing. Why did I fail to grasp such a simple truth back then?

"Be strong, Lorcan," I encouraged him. "I will support you wholeheartedly."

Then I saw the three A-class heroes we would face today. There were two men and one woman. One of the men wore a western-style coat draped over his shoulders, with a cigar clenched between his teeth. A gun was clearly visible, strapped to his waist.

The western part of the empire was notorious for poor security, though in a way unlike the south. Ulkah, known as the worst city in history, lay within that region.

Due to the area's characteristics, its scientific development was far ahead of other areas. Perhaps as a side effect, dozens, if not hundreds, of forces operated within it. Countless so-called gangs tangled together in a dense, volatile web.

The primary weapon used in that chaotic area was the gun, a tool that allowed even a small child to kill a knight.

I tilted my head slightly in doubt. Will that kind of weapon work in a confrontation between strong fighters? Still, there has to be a reason he secured an A-class position.

The next person was a woman with a blank expression, but her pointed ears gave a fairy-like appearance. She didn't carry any visible weapons, and her clothing amounted to little more than a thin layer of fabric, with no obvious place to hide anything. From her appearance alone, it was impossible to tell how she fought.

Then there was the last person. The figure standing in the center had a face I knew all too well: Heero Badniker.

At that moment, a flat, emotionless voice made an announcement. "Ghost Spear Baron Chedrak. Step onto the stage."

The third promotion test started without any signal.

Baron stepped onto the stage. Following him, the man carrying a gun emerged from among the A-class heroes.

Baron spoke first. "Gunslinger Rockhead."

"Do you know me, noble?"

"Yes. I know all the famous A-class heroes."

"I see." The gunman exhaled thick smoke from his cigar and said, "Start."

"May I make the first move?" Baron asked.

"Of course. There is a custom in the third test. The examiner must respond to the challenger's first attack without drawing a weapon," the gunman said.

Baron glanced at the revolver hanging from the gunman's waist. "That seems rather disadvantageous for you."

I felt the same way, so this battle was bound to be interesting. Baron's level wasn't low at all, and I wanted to see how the gunman would react after giving up the first attack.

"Do you wanna try it?" the gunman asked while still smoking the cigar.

"I will." Immediately afterward, Baron turned into a flash of light and shot toward him.

His posture looked strange. He was running while gripping the shaft of the spear with both hands, yet his stance resembled someone pulling a cart.

Not a thrust? Not using the spear's greatest advantage at such a golden opportunity? Maybe he has another plan.

As expected, Baron's spear split into two when the distance between the two of them closed to about five steps. Of course, it didn't break. The weapon was clearly designed to separate into two halves from the start. In an instant, it transformed from a single spear into two slender clubs.

For a brief moment, the air seemed to rush into Baron's mouth. He brought the clubs down in rapid succession. The strikes fell like a drumbeat. His speed was so extreme that his hands vanished from sight.

I noticed a few other things. Did he activate his blessing? Baron, this man descends from a Great Family. That stormy offensive is a real threat. Even from this distance, the wind pressure reaches me. But...

The gunman spoke in a calm voice. "Is it over?"

He showed no injuries, and even his clothes seemed untouched. Only one thing had changed.

"You put out my cigar. Good job," the gunman praised.

Almost at the same time, a sharp bang echoed. Baron collapsed as smoke billowed from the gun in the gunman's hand.

"I use rubber bullets, so it won't kill you. Ah, you might have a few bruises," the gunman said.

I narrowed my eyes slightly. How many people here could precisely track that person's rapid fire?

It is just like the sword-drawing technique of a master swordsman.

The shoulders, elbows, wrists, and above all, the fingers—this gunman could probably crush steel with his grip strength alone.

In any case, Baron's defeat was decided in an instant, and the heroes at the scoring table recorded the results. Honestly, I didn't know what their evaluation criteria were, but if it were up to me, I wouldn't give this match a very high score.

A-class is definitely on another level.

I could understand why the empire kept an organization like the Hero Society in check. If they possessed at least 100 such monsters, with S-class heroes above them, their total strength would rival the imperial family itself.

The stiff-looking man in the announcer's seat spoke again. "Chain Scythe Lorcan, come forward. Step onto the stage."

The opponent still appeared to be the gunman. At that moment, I finally understood this promotion test's format. There were six of us and three of them. In other words, one A-class hero judged two challengers. Going second clearly offered an advantage over going first. There were probably extra points for going first to offset this penalty.

I said, "Do your best."

"Yes." Lorcan stepped onto the stage, his expression rigid.

The gunman had pulled out a fresh cigar and lit it. "Are you a mercenary?"

"That's right," Lorcan answered.

"What about your weapon? Ah, a chain scythe."

Wasn't this an obvious provocation? Or was it simply his nature? Either way, Lorcan didn't get angry or lose his composure.

"I'm looking forward to it," the gunman said.

Lorcan hummed in response.

As Lorcan prepared to fight, I considered how I would deal with the gunman. I came up empty. He had not defeated Baron through any clever strategy. The outcome came from an overwhelming difference in their levels from the start. At the final moment, for instance, the gunman did not even need to pull the trigger. A single flick of his finger had been enough to knock Baron unconscious.

Our physical abilities might be equal, and I might even hold a slight advantage... However, his instantaneous firing speed easily exceeded my maximum reaction speed. If I faced him directly, wouldn't the match be decided in an instant?

The outcome hinged on a single condition. I would win if I managed to react to his rapid fire. If I couldn't react, he would win.

At that moment, a loud crash echoed across the stage.

I wondered what was going on and saw Lorcan swinging the chain in his hand like a whip, smashing the stage. At first glance, he seemed half mad, but that was not the case. I had a rough sense of the strategy he had chosen, and it struck me as a clever one. The heroes seated at the judging table were likely thinking the same thing.

After shattering the stage, Lorcan moved across the shattered ground and continued to swing his chain.

The gunman easily dodged the attack, but the damaged stage clearly restricted his movement. To make matters worse, stable footing was scarce. When he faltered for even a moment, the chain snapped around his right hand.

At last, the gunman drew his gun with his left hand. Before he could take aim, Lorcan had already darted behind an overturned slab of the stage and taken cover.

Isn't he smart?

As expected of a mercenary. He quickly understood the nature of firearms and transformed the battlefield to suit himself.

A gunman could only attack in a straight line, which made this terrain extremely disadvantageous. There were too many places to hide. By contrast, Lorcan's chain could strike from any angle like a whip without restrictions, limited only by his level of skill. If he used the stage fragments scattered across the ground as barriers, he could maintain a sustained, one-sided assault.

It was an impressive strategy to devise on the spot. The gunman's right arm remained bound, and without his dominant hand, flaws in both accuracy and drawing speed were inevitable. If Lorcan dragged out the fight, made his opponent impatient, and took advantage of that opening at a critical moment, he could win.

At that moment, the gunman's bound right arm bulged. His muscles swelled fiercely until the chain creaked under the strain. Then he gripped the chain with his bare hand and hauled it with brutal force.

The sudden strength caught Lorcan off guard, and he flew through the air.

"Welcome." The gunman grinned and drove his left hand into Lorcan's face.

Lorcan coughed as he hit the ground.

"Are you still awake? It is because I used my left hand?" the gunman asked while shaking loose the chain binding his right arm. "Do you want to keep fighting?"

Lorcan shook his head. "No. I've lost."

"Alright. You fought well."

Lorcan nodded.

Surprisingly, scattered applause followed this time. In my opinion, Lorcan had performed much better than Baron. His practical experience as a mercenary showed, and he had put up a good fight. What Lorcan had failed to account for was the gunman's fundamental physical strength.

Was it because his weapon was a gun? Most people assumed that a gunman relied on weapons rather than physique, but the reality was the opposite. His body was as well trained as that of any elite warrior.

I gave a thumbs up to Lorcan as he returned. "You fought well."

"Thank you," Lorcan replied.

I turned my attention back to the stage. I could already predict who the next A-class hero would be. I am fifth, and Heero is my opponent. The female hero with the forgettable presence will step forward.

These matches are more engaging than I expected. Watching the true level of A-class heroes firsthand is genuinely enjoyable. I was thinking this when I made eye contact with Heero for a brief moment.

"Huh?" A faint sense of unease crept in.

His usual drowsy look had completely disappeared. His eyes appeared sunken, his face stripped of expression. Such a combination reminded me of someone.

The Iron-Blooded Lord?