On the right side of the private balcony sat Mu Yichen.

  His posture was straight, elegant. His expression was calm.

  At his side, Seo MinHyun was uncharacteristically quiet, arms folded as his sharp golden eyes stayed fixed on the stage below.

  The atmosphere was heavy.

  Not a word was spoken between them.

  The Air Was Tense.

  Inside the vast hall, the temperature felt colder, despite the lack of any draft.

  It wasn’t magic.

  It was pressure.

  Expectations.

  And fear.

  The kind of stillness that came before something divine either blessed or destroyed.

  The lottery had long been drawn. The chosen participants had taken turns.

  One by one, they approached the container.

  One by one, they were rejected.

  Some were tossed backward violently, hitting the invisible barrier with bone-shaking force.

  Others collapsed where they stood, emotionally defeated, not physically hurt.

  A few shouted in frustration.

  Some stood in stunned silence, unable to process the rejection.

  “Why not me?”

  “Did I do something wrong?”

  “What did I lack?”

  There was no answer.

  Only the sword, still glowing softly. Still untouched.

  Time dragged.

  The sunset cast golden beams through the hall’s arched windows.

  Shadows lengthened. Tension thickened.

  No one left their seat.

  Not the viewers in the stadium.

  Not the VIPs in the sky booth.

  Not the millions watching on screens.

  The sword hadn’t moved. But it felt like it was growing heavier in everyone's hearts.

  The final participant of the regular list stepped forward.

  A girl with a lean frame, dual blades on her back. Her face was pale but determined.

  She reached the five-meter mark, and instantly, the same invisible wall slammed her backward.

  She barely rolled to her feet, lips trembling, then bowed silently and walked off the stage.

  The room fell quiet.

  There was only one name left.

  The one everyone had waited for.

  Mu Yichen.

  The announcer didn’t speak.

  He didn’t need to.

  The entire nation held its breath.

  The security team silently deactivated the final layer of barriers.

  The glass container shimmered.

  The path to the sword was clear.

  Mu Yichen stood. His every movement was fluid and precise. He adjusted the cuffs of his black uniform, the insignia of the Shadow Guild embroidered in silver on his chest.

  He stepped forward without hesitation.

  Seo MinHyun didn’t say anything, but his gaze followed his friend.

  As Mu Yichen walked toward the holy sword, the world watched.

  People in cafés, homes, streets, hospitals, guild buildings, they all leaned in, eyes fixed on the screen.

  “This is it.”

  “He’s going to be chosen.”

  “The son of the hero… just like in the old stories.”

  Even those who doubted him now waited in reverent anticipation.

  The walk to the center felt eternal.

  Mu Yichen stopped exactly five meters from the container.

  He raised his hand slowly.

  And stepped forward.

  The ceremonial hall was silent.

  Breathless.

  All attention was fixed on Mu Yichen.

  He walked with unwavering steps, dark uniform flowing behind him, boots clicking against the marble as if time itself held its breath.

  No one dared to speak.

  Even those who had doubted him were standing now—anticipation woven into every breath they took.

  The cameras zoomed in.

  The world was watching.

  Qin Yue, watching from her private office in the Shadow Guild, sat with clenched fists. Her usually calm eyes were burning with pride and tension as she whispered softly,

  “You can do it… Yichen.”

  And on the stage..

  Mu Yichen approached the holy sword.

  It stood upright, suspended in mid-air inside a transparent glass casing, its silvery-blue blade faintly glowing with divine runes etched along its length.

  The hilt was forged in the shape of ancient wings, pulsing faintly like a heartbeat.

  The pressure it gave off wasn’t violent, it was sacred. Regal. Unyielding.

  For others, getting within five meters had been impossible.

  But Mu Yichen...

  He walked past the barrier. Effortlessly.

  The invisible force didn’t push him back.

  Gasps filled the hall. The entire world watching from afar erupted in excitement.

  “He really is the one!”

  Stolen novel; please report.

  “As expected of Mu Yichen!”

  “The sword accepted him!”

  He stood directly in front of it now.

  No barrier.

  Just the sword… waiting.

  Mu Yichen reached forward, his hand extending slowly.

  Qin Yue stood from her seat unconsciously.

  His fingers brushed the hilt..

  And in the next moment, a violent force exploded outward.

  Mu Yichen was thrown back, his boots skidding across the smooth floor.

  The hall went completely still.

  Even the cameras seemed to hesitate.

  The light of the holy sword surged with intensity, glowing with rejection.

  Some viewers gasped.

  Others froze in denial.

  And atop the viewing platform, guild leaders and politicians shot up in alarm.

  Seo MinHyun jumped to his feet in disbelief.

  “What…?”

  Mu Yichen rose slowly from where he’d been thrown, expression calm, posture composed, but his fingers slightly trembled.

  He didn’t show it on his face, but inside, his heart was stirred for the first time in years.

  No one had ever seen him falter.

  Even now, as thousands stared through screens and hundreds watched live, his face remained as noble and unreadable as ever.

  His SSS-rank Knight class wasn’t just rare, it was unprecedented.

  And it came with a hidden passive skill unknown to the public:

  [Sovereign Blade] — Loved by all swords.

  It was this very skill that allowed Mu Yichen to wield any blade with natural ease, from ancient relics to custom-forged weapons. In combat, he danced with swords as if they were extensions of his soul.

  He knew better than anyone else that the holy sword wouldn’t recognize someone just because of power.

  But still, deep in his heart…

  He believed if no one else was worthy, then he could make it yield. Not through force but through resonance.

  Yet now, even after activating [Sovereign Blade], even after pouring his mana and intent into the sword.

  He had been rejected more strongly than anyone before him.

  Mu Yichen’s mind raced, though his features remained perfectly composed.

  This isn’t about skill,

  This isn’t about strength…

  He turned his gaze toward the glass case that still contained the hovering holy sword. Its aura remained calm. Untouched. Cold.

  Everyone else had failed.

  From guild-trained prodigies to rogue swordmasters, the sword had cast them aside.

  Even him.

  He clenched his jaw faintly.

  “Then… who?”

  If it wasn’t him, if it wasn’t anyone here..

  Then who had the holy sword been waiting for?

  The thought burned in his chest like ice.

  He didn’t care for fame.

  He didn’t need the title of Hero.

  He was already revered, already unmatched in reputation and power.

  But the holy sword rejecting even him meant something far more terrifying.

  That its true owner... might not be someone the world would accept.

  Mu Yichen stood still for a moment longer, the invisible force of the holy sword still humming through the air where it had cast him aside.

  Thousands held their breath, their eyes glued to the screen, waiting for the impossible to make sense. But all they saw… was the nation’s brightest star walking away.

  He turned slowly, expression unreadable, back straight, and footsteps steady.

  The holy sword rejected him

  No words.

  No excuses.

  No outburst.

  He simply returned to his seat.

  And that silence was heavier than thunder.

  Among the guild leaders and high-ranking government officers, whispers turned into murmurs, and murmurs into low panic.

  "Is it broken?"

  "Was the sword not meant for this generation?"

  "Did we misunderstand something about it?"

  The commentators in the live broadcast struggled to find words.

  “This is… truly unprecedented. Even Mu Yichen, the SSS-rank Knight, has been…”

  Meanwhile, far from the clamor and lights, in a ruined wasteland covered in vines and shadows..

  A tall, monstrous creature let out a deafening roar.

  Its muscular frame towered over fifty meters, covered in jagged plates of bone armor and crackling with black mana.

  Its red eyes glared down at a single figure.

  A boy with long, unkempt black hair, draped in old clothes stained with dried blood, standing with nothing but a bent iron stick in hand.

  Lee Aseok narrowed his eyes.

  He could feel it. A strange pulse in his chest, like someone whispering into his soul.

  Calling him.

  “Shut up,” he muttered to no one, and ignored it thinking he was going mad.

  He shook off the feeling and looked up at the monster calmly.

  Then without hesitation, he charged.

  The boss lunged with a sweeping claw that shattered the cracked asphalt beneath them. Lee Aseok ducked, sliding beneath its legs, and slammed the iron rod into the joint of its knee.

  A sharp crack echoed, and the monster staggered.

  It screamed, twisting around, hurling a burning chunk of earth at him. Lee Aseok flipped sideways, the debris grazing his arm and slicing open his shoulder. He barely flinched.

  Blood trailed down his sleeve, but he advanced.

  The monster opened its jaw and released a shockwave of sound and cursed mana. Aseok’s ears rang, his vision blurred but he endured, biting into his lip until he tasted iron.

  His footwork was raw, without grace but precise.

  His swings were imperfect, yet merciless.

  He leapt onto the boss’s back and jammed the iron rod into the base of its skull, using gravity and desperation as his allies. The rod bent from the force but it pierced deep enough.

  The creature screamed one last time before it collapsed, its mana dispersing into a haze.

  Lee Aseok dropped beside the corpse, breathing heavily, his body bruised and burning.

  He looked at the corpse with indifference and muttered,

  “It’s over.”

  But the strange pull in his chest didn’t stop.

  Instead, it grew stronger. Lee Aseok touched his heart and his reddish brown eyes were full of confusion. “What the…..Am I finally losing it?”

  Somewhere, far away in the capital..

  The holy sword trembled softly inside its container.

  None noticed.

  Except one.

  Mu Yichen paused as he reached the elevator, his fingers twitching.

  A second later, the holy sword released a faint hum. A resonance, so quiet, it was like a whisper only the worthy could hear.

  But… no one in that hall was worthy.

  The sword had begun to wait again.

  Far from the crowds.

  Far from the screens.

  Where no one would look.

  In the long history of awakened relics, the holy objects always found their master, eventually.

  Even when the process was delayed or obscure, the one chosen would be revealed, either through fate, accident, or battle.

  But this time… the holy sword rejected everyone.

  The final participant was thrown back by the same invisible force. The moment they hit the ground, gasping and stunned, the entire hall fell into suffocating silence.

  On the live broadcast, millions of viewers watched in disbelief as the ranking board dimmed.

  One by one, the names disappeared. The screen declared in cold letters:

  “No one chosen.”

  The reporters froze. Commentators were silent. Even the crowd, so full of excitement before, was now steeped in quiet chaos.

  Confused whispers turned into shouting.

  Doubt. Suspicion. Desperation.

  Some questioned the authenticity of the sword, others questioned the participants. A few dared to whisper something even more dangerous:

  “Maybe… There is no one chosen this time.”

  Mu Yichen walked quietly back to his seat, expression unreadable. His cape fluttered slightly behind him with each slow, deliberate step.

  No one blocked his path.

  No one dared speak.

  He didn’t look angry.

  Didn’t look disappointed.

  But he looked like a man who had started to doubt something he once believed was absolute.

  Seo MinHyun stood beside him, arms crossed tightly, golden brows furrowed in disbelief.

  “That thing… It rejected you.”

  “You.”

  “Of all people.”

  His voice wasn’t mocking. He was stunned.

  Seo MinHyun glanced at the glowing blade, still untouched in its sealed container, and then muttered, almost like asking fate itself,

  “Then who the hell is the real chosen one?”

  Mu Yichen's calm voice echoed faintly in the observation hall:

  "I don’t know either."

  His words were like a stone thrown into a deep well, no splash, just an eerie silence. Seo MinHyun looked at him again, brows furrowed, but said nothing. Even he knew: whatever just happened went far beyond talent or ability.

  The glowing holy sword remained motionless inside its containment field. Silent. Proud. Unyielding.

  Soon after, the government intervened.

  Escorted by high-ranking Hunters and armed personnel, the sword was sealed once more inside its reinforced vessel. Protective enchantments glowed faintly as it was moved with reverence and caution.

  The crowd stood still, many in disbelief.

  News anchors struggled to maintain their composure.

  “The holy sword… is returning to HQ.”

  “Still without a master.”

  The broadcast ended with the image of the radiant sword being loaded into a military-grade carrier, disappearing into the distance beneath a setting sun.

  At the same moment, deep inside Shadow Guild Headquarters, A sharp crack! echoed through the quiet, lavish office.

  The TV remote shattered in Qin Yue’s palm, the plastic fragments dropping noiselessly to the floor. Her fingers were pale from how tightly she had clenched them.

  Her face was a mask, elegant, composed, yet eerily blank.

  “Prepare the car,” she said flatly.

  The staff immediately moved. No one asked where she was going.

  They didn't dare.

  As the doors closed behind her, the only thing left was the faint glow from the paused screen of her television, displaying the holy sword… glowing, but untouched.

  It was a terrifying truth that the world refused to say out loud:

  Without a chosen one, the "Hell Gate" could not be opened.

  Without opening it, it could not be cleared.

  And if it was not cleared… The world would end.

  The holy sword was more than just a symbol, it was a key.

  Only the one chosen by it could enter the hell gate and close it from the inside. That was how the first hero, Mu Tianchi, had sealed the last one.

  That was why the chosen were worshipped, revered, protected like divine treasures.

  But now?

  Now the key existed, but no hand could wield it.

  Still, not all hope was lost.

  The holy sword had always ended up in the right hands. That had been the truth of history.

  Maybe the chosen one… simply hadn’t awakened yet.

  Maybe they hadn’t stepped forward.

  And so, under pressure from both guilds and the public, the International Hunter’s HQ issued a global directive:

  “All awakenings with sword-based skills are to be reported immediately.”

  “Observe and assess them for potential compatibility.”

  “The chosen one must be found.”

  And somewhere far, far away, in a crumbling five-story building hidden by vines and silence.

  A young man with waist-length hair wiped goblin blood from his cheek with a rag.

  He hadn’t looked at the news.

  He hadn’t touched a phone.

  He didn’t care.

  The world calmed, but only on the surface.

  After the chaos of the ceremony, after the holy sword had rejected every hand, guilds, the government, and the masses clung to a single, fragile hope:

  "Perhaps… the chosen one hasn't awakened yet."

  It was a comforting thought, one the world could accept. After all, the holy sword had never made a mistake before.

  The International Hunter’s HQ released a global directive:

  All awakenings with sword-related skills were to be monitored.

  Any potential candidates were to be reported. Quietly. Discreetly. Immediately.

  Eyes turned toward training academies, awakening centers, even low-tier guilds. Somewhere, the true wielder must exist.

  every Monday and Thursday. Yes, every week!