3-9 The A-Rank Exam, Settled

Who the hell benefits from a macho, human-form dragon warrior like this?!

If you’re going to bring out a dragon, at least make it a gorgeous woman!

Of course he breathed Dragon Breath and flew.

Because he was a real dragon.

But for some reason, he stomped right up to me and demanded:

“Who are you? I’ve never heard of a human who can breathe a breath attack.”

“It’s not like they don’t exist. Just… they’re rare.”

“Even in human form, I’m still a dragon—yet you breathed a stronger breath than mine. Very well. I’ll admit defeat cleanly. It seems my training is still lacking.”

After declaring that, he walked over to the referee, announced his own loss, lifted one hand, and left.

“Huh? What the hell was that?”

I stood there, spaced out, watching him go.

“Winner: Alphonse.”

And the match itself… didn’t exactly light the place up.

Damn it—well, at least it was better than that dead silence earlier.

I was about to cry.

Maybe because it had been so intense up to that point, the crowd felt kind of unsatisfied, and the stands buzzed in confusion.

When I glanced over, the guy was laughing and chatting with his wife and kid.

Then he scooped his child up and left, looking happy as could be.

When I appraised them, the wife was human!

And she was unbelievably beautiful.

The child was a little girl—ridiculously adorable.

And when I appraised the kid, her race came up as Half Dragon.

First time I’d ever seen that.

God bless you.

I really hoped she wouldn’t get discriminated against later for being a rare race.

So he’d married a human woman, turned human, and lived in the city… huh.

And just like that, another wave of defeat washed over me.

Life—no, dragon-life—he’d completely won.

And me… well…

No, no.

There were still matches left.

I slapped my cheeks with both hands and forced myself to reset.

Two more matches and I’d take the title. Next was the semifinal.

And my next opponent was a man wearing some kind of bizarre armor.

The instant I saw him, something surged up inside me—so violent that, even though the match was about to start, it felt like I couldn’t move a muscle.

An impulse so strong it might’ve been the most intense thing I’d ever felt in my life.

“CAUTION.”

Heavy.

Two simple characters, yet they flooded my mind with unbelievable pressure.

I’d never felt anything like this on Earth.

This was my Seventh Sense—

A violent warning from that thing inside me.

And it even came with white-out double brackets?!

It was choosing words to warn me, short and sharp.

Was it really that dangerous?!

This wasn’t like Antonio.

Back then, it had felt like I still had room to breathe.

But this time, there was no discussion.

What the hell?

That thing hadn’t even reacted to the dragon guy earlier.

So what was this?

A sensation boiling up from my core—like Niagara Falls had reversed inside my body.

Like my heart was being gripped by something cold and obscene.

Uneasy and alert, I narrowed my eyes as if weighing him.

Someone who didn’t know this “Seventh Sense” feeling could never understand.

Anyone who didn’t “keep” this thing inside them could never understand.

It’s him, him, him—my inner him is saying it.

[CAUTION].
System_end

But the match had already started.

Keeping that warning in mind, I fired a Flare right away.

But the Flare I launched at him vanished an instant before impact!!

That wasn’t good.

Without delay, I maxed Physical Enhancement and drove my fully boosted mithril sword in at maximum speed.

I held back and didn’t use orichalcum.

And yet—no damage. Not even a scratch.

That actually shocked me.

“It’s pointless. No matter how strong you are, you cannot damage me while I wear this armor. This is less ‘armor’ and more a kind of curse. Nullifies magic effects. Nullifies physical attacks. Even poison is considered a physical attack. You can’t defeat me.”

What kind of nonsense was that?

That was cheating even by cheat standards.

And yes, I knew I had zero right to complain—still, I was saying it anyway:

That’s unfair.

That’s dirty.

Referee! Get the administrators in here!

“What’s the downside of that curse?”

“That I can never take it off. For life.”

Ugh…

If it were me, I’d never wear something like that.

“Can I ask you one thing?”

“What?”

“Uh… how do you handle the bathroom?”

“…There is such a thing as cleaning magic.”

So… you just let it flow and magic-clean it.

This guy was like an astronaut.

Or a medieval knight.

I mean, better than diapers…? Maybe?

I’ll say it again: even if it made you invincible, I’d still refuse to wear it.

“Enough talking. Let’s go.”

He drew a mithril greatsword in a smooth motion, and his form was unreal.

He moved like someone forged by endless training.

If I fought him sword-to-sword, no matter how much I trained—no matter if we fought a trillion times—I’d never beat him.

This was bad.

He wasn’t just relying on the armor—his actual combat skill was absurd.

No argument: he was a tougher opponent than Antonio in the B-rank exam.

He was clearly in an “above A-rank” category.

So why the hell was he taking this exam now?

Cold sweat ran down my spine.

Alright.

Time to try something a little underhanded.

I formed a small shield around him and ripped the air out of it.

Instantly, via Item Box.

A vacuum-pump style attack.

Could that armor nullify this too?

Nope.

He started thrashing and collapsed immediately.

No way!

The referee—who’d been keeping distance because he’d sensed danger from our “bad aura”—rushed in and declared:

“Winner: Alphonse.”

If he’d had modern scientific knowledge, he could’ve countered even that.

Just generate air instantly with wind magic.

But he didn’t seem to understand the mechanics of breathing.

Or more specifically, the atmosphere.

He lost his air in an instant and couldn’t respond.

When I hit him with a strong heal, he revived safely.

Still…

For all that unbelievably violent Seventh Sense warning, the match ended way too cleanly.

I couldn’t quite accept it.

But… well… things like that happened.

…Right?

No.

I didn’t believe that for a second.

Impossible.

There was no way that was all it meant.

But I won.

Even if it didn’t sit right, I had no choice but to accept it for now.

“So I lost… You’re incredible. Win the whole thing.”

He left behind that short encouragement and walked away.

Once it was over, he actually seemed like a decent guy.

A ridiculous enemy—absurdly strong.

Maybe it really had just been my imagination?

But… the Seventh Sense…

There was no way that explosive impulse had meant nothing.

No way.

Hmmm.

Hnnnngh.

And then, without caring about my doubts, the final began.

My opponent was a mage.

And he felt like a serious one.

I could sense he had enormous mana.

Apparently he sensed the same from me, because he didn’t throw out cheap magical taunts.

Then he walked straight up to me.

“I have a proposal.”

Oh?

“If you and I trade spells, this arena probably won’t survive.”

Fair point.

“Let’s both cast shields to protect the venue while we fight. Otherwise, afterward, we’ll both—”

Yeah, yeah.

We’d get chewed out hard.

I was planning to do it anyway, but he was surprisingly considerate.

“Agreed. The Guildmaster told me the same thing.”

“Then shall we begin? I’m looking forward to your magic.”

Then I’d meet that expectation.

Shield. High Shield. Magic Shield. Barrier.

I layered defensive walls of magic all around us, plenty of them.

He did the same.

“Alright—let’s start. I’m ready whenever you are.”

“Roger!”

Magic armor was too lethal—I might kill my opponent by accident.

So I’d kept it as an emergency insurance policy.

That was why I’d been late against the assassin geezer.

But now? This was exactly when I should use magic armor.

Still, I sealed its greatest weapon—speed.

This would be a stationary spell duel.

In boxing terms, like trading in the pocket.

Or rather… more like a Western showdown.

And we fired.

Inside my Item Box, I had stored “master copies” of spells.

I also prepared countless duplicates.

From those, I launched defensive magic for myself and attack magic at him.

Out of respect for his excellent, first-rate spirit, I sealed away all my cheap tricks—no weird magic tools, no physical weapons.

Just pure magic.

We both enjoyed a real spell duel.

It was dazzling—like a fireworks festival traded across the ground.

Everyone in the arena watched without moving.

Fire, explosions, lightning, ice, earth, wind—everything flew.

If someone here had a copy skill like my “Reading,” they’d be drooling.

This guy was incredible.

Magic aptitude and spell count on Armon’s level, plus terrifying mana reserves.

How much training did it take to reach this height?

This noble man hadn’t used any cheating shortcuts like I had.

He stood in a supreme realm you could never reach without high character.

And yet he wasn’t arrogant—not even a trace.

Even here, he never forgot respect for his opponent.

A man worthy of genuine admiration.

The beautiful fireworks show continued for nearly an hour.

Then it ended, solemnly.

His bombardment stopped.

He switched to defense only.

Sensing that, I stopped firing too.

Then he turned on his heel and quietly exited the arena.

What noble, clean decisiveness.

“Winner: Alphonse.”

In that moment, my victory was sealed.

I was grateful to that nameless mage.

It became a final worthy of the A-rank title.

At minimum, his spirit was A-rank—no, S-rank.

If we’d fought on an actual battlefield and I’d won, I would’ve allowed him to keep his sword and taken a commemorative photo with him as my prisoner.

Just when I thought nothing else would happen, they announced:

The winner would receive A-rank qualification from the King.

The guild was an independent organization spanning nations, but it still showed courtesy to the host kingdom.

My name was called.

I stepped forward, dropped to one knee, and lowered my head.

“You have performed a great service by winning. If you wish to enter service to our kingdom, you will always be welcome. In that case, I shall even grant you a viscount title. In celebration of your victory, our kingdom shall grant you a reward. What do you desire?”

So said His Majesty the King.

Not an honorary viscount title—an official one.

He valued me highly.

“In that case, with your permission. I have already obtained the title of Solo Dragonslayer. By that achievement, I respectfully request a recommendation for S-rank. Additionally, I wish to present a dragon to the royal family. Would that be acceptable?”

As I spoke, I released a dragon corpse nearly fifty meters long into the arena, and the whole place erupted in murmurs.

“Very well. We shall accept the dragon. We recognize your merit as sufficient. As the 25th King of the Albatross Royal House, I recommend the A-rank adventurer Alphonse for S-rank.”

According to the Guildmaster, that basically made my S-rank promotion official.

He’d already quietly coordinated with the royal family, so there shouldn’t be any issues.

From here on, it was an internal matter of the Royal Capital Alba Adventurers’ Guild, meaning the Guildmaster could elevate me to S-rank by his authority.

And because it happened publicly like this, shady nobles couldn’t openly make a move against me.

If they did, I’d raise hell—and their past crimes too would come spilling out like a chain reaction.

They knew that’s what I wanted, so they couldn’t use obvious tactics.

And anyone who tried something in the shadows, I’d crush without mercy.

At last, I’d established the framework I wanted.

Now then—

From here on out, it’s time for street stalls!