As Maxwell stood among the crowd, a realization struck him like a bolt of lightning—just before he defeated Tadesse, he had heard a mechanical voice echoing in his mind. The memory sent a chill down his spine. And then, as if summoned by fate, he saw him—the mysterious man from the bar. The man he was certain had given him the power to win that battle.
Shock froze Maxwell in place. He had assumed their encounter was a once-in-a-lifetime event, yet here he was, standing amidst the bustling crowd as if waiting for him. His pulse quickened. Desperate for confirmation that he wasn't hallucinating, he tapped Fay on the shoulder, urgency in his touch.
"Fay, look over there," he whispered, pointing at the man. "Do you see him? The guy with glasses and that weird outfit?"
Fay followed his gaze, her brows furrowing in confusion. "Who? There's no one there." She placed a hand on his arm, concern evident in her voice. "Are you feeling okay?"
Maxwell swallowed hard. He knew what he was seeing. And then, the man spoke.
"She can't see me… actually, no one can." His voice was impossibly clear, cutting through the chaotic noise of the crowd as if speaking directly into Maxwell's thoughts. "No one but you, that is."
A cold dread coiled in Maxwell's chest. Was he losing his mind? No, that couldn't be it. The power he had wielded against Tadesse had been real—undeniable proof that this man was no mere hallucination.
Steeling himself, Maxwell regarded the man carefully. "Who exactly are you?" he asked, keeping his voice low so Fay wouldn't notice the conversation.
The man smirked. "I thought I told you… I'm just a man of culture."
Maxwell narrowed his eyes. "I didn't expect to see you again. Not that I'm complaining, but why are you here? And why did you take back the power you gave me?"
The man sighed, as if dealing with a particularly slow student. "I'm here because you still don't get it. You still don't understand how your power works—or even what your power is." He leaned in slightly. "You're still thinking like a side character, Maxwell."
That struck a nerve.
"Your power isn't gone," the man continued. "It simply went dormant again."
A wave of relief washed over Maxwell. He hadn't lost it. The power that could free him from the curse of being a side character was still his. But the bigger question gnawed at him: How do I use it? What even is this ability?
The man of culture frowned, clearly unimpressed. "You didn't listen to a word I said that night in the bar, did you?" He sighed again, shaking his head. "Then again, you were drunk."
Before Maxwell could respond, the man reached out and lightly tapped his forehead.
Suddenly, memories flooded Maxwell's mind, as clear as if they had just happened. Every word spoken at the bar that night replayed with perfect clarity. And then, one phrase stood out:
"I'll grant you a protagonist's most important talent. But here's the catch—you'll only be able to use it to its full potential when one of two requirements is met: either you step up as a hero… or the odds are against you."
Maxwell's mind raced. A protagonist's most important talent… His first thought was courage. But courage alone wasn't enough to wield forbidden magic without consequence. There had to be something more.
And then he remembered the voice—the mechanical voice from before he defeated Tadesse.
"ODDS REQUIREMENT MET. PLOT ARMOR ACTIVATED."
His breath hitched. That was it. Plot armour. That was the ability. And to activate it, he either had to become a hero… or be in a situation where the odds were against him.
As the realization sank in, a ripple of movement spread through the crowd. The greater council had finally arrived to address the people.
Mr. Pendragon, Arthur's father, stepped forward, his commanding presence silencing the gathered crowd. As the head of the greater council, he spoke not just for himself but for the entire governing body.
"Before we move forward, it is important to remember where we came from," he began, his voice carrying across the plaza. "Let me tell you the origins of the greater council… and the birth of adventurers."
A hush fell over the audience as he continued.
"Thousands of years ago, mortals lived in terror. The demon clan roamed freely, their power unmatched, and the people had lost faith in the deities who had long abandoned them. Though all mortals were born with mana, it was weak, barely enough to cast a spark. Against the demons, they stood no chance.
But the elves… they were different. Blessed with vast mana reserves, their magic rivalled even that of the demon lords. If anyone could stand against the demons, it was them."
Pendragon's gaze swept over the crowd, his tone heavy with the weight of history.
"It was Richard Pendragon, my ancestor, who first recognized this power. He travelled to the land of the elves, begging them to take up arms against the demons. But the elves were a peaceful people. They would not spill blood, not even that of their enemies. Time and time again, Richard pleaded with them, only to be turned away."
A pause. A slow breath. Then, his voice dropped lower.
"But Richard was not a man who accepted defeat. If the elves would not share their power willingly, he would take it. Each time he visited, he stole bits and pieces of their knowledge—fragments of their magic, secrets of their mana. And after years of study, he made a discovery that changed the fate of all mortals."
He let the moment sink in before delivering the revelation.
"He found a way to increase mana. A way to strengthen the weak. A system that allowed mortals to grow stronger, to develop magic of their own."
His eyes gleamed as he spoke the words that reshaped history.
"This was the birth of leveling up."
A murmur ran through the crowd. Even those who had heard the tale before couldn't help but feel its significance.
"With this knowledge, Richard did not keep his findings to himself. Instead, he formed the first greater council, uniting the races under a single purpose. Together, they shared this power, and thus, the first adventurers were born."
Pendragon's voice rose with conviction.
"And so began the war that turned the tide against the demon clan."
As the tale of the past came to an end, Mr. Pendragon straightened, his expression growing serious. The weight of his next words settled over the crowd like an impending storm.
"Now," he began, "let us address why we have gathered you all today. This announcement does not only concern adventurers—it concerns every single citizen of Legostream."
The crowd murmured in anticipation.
"As you all know," he continued, "since the rise of the demon clan's terror, no one—not even the Big Three Adventurers—has been able to kill a Demon Lord. And that is because no one has reached Level 100.As you all know, the higher your level, the harder it becomes to level up."
From within his cloak, he pulled out the insignia of Tadesse, the 10th Demon Lord.
"This," he declared, holding the insignia high, "belonged to the 10th Demon Lord, Tadesse."
A hushed silence fell over the crowd. Then, Mr. Pendragon dropped the news that shook the entire city.
"But as of yesterday… that has changed. A Demon Lord has fallen."
Gasps rippled through the people like a shockwave. Faces paled, whispers erupted—fear, disbelief, excitement.
"This is good news," he reassured them. "Do not be afraid. Some of our adventurers encountered the demon clan and returned with this proof. The 10th Demon Lord is dead."
Yet even as he spoke, Mr. Pendragon was careful—he knew the weight of his words. He did not disclose the adventurers that had encountered Tadesse or where the battle took place. Panic was the last thing they needed. If the citizens believed the demon clan would retaliate against Legostream, it could send the city into chaos.
"However," he added, his tone measured, "we do not know the identity of the adventurer responsible for this victory. Which means the one who slew the Demon Lord… is still out there."
In the crowd, Maxwell clenched his fists, anger bubbling inside him.
Beside him, the Man of Culture leaned in with a smirk. "Look at them," he murmured. "They hand credit to others so easily. Your achievement, stolen. All because you're still too incompetent to prove yourself."
The words cut deep. Maxwell's grip tightened. He wanted—needed—the recognition, the attention, the glory that any true protagonist deserved.
Meanwhile, Mr. Pendragon continued. From his cloak, he retrieved a rolled parchment, unfurling it for all to see.
A detailed drawing covered the surface—a young boy, holding a black rock, with a yin-yang symbol embedded in his eyes.
"And now," Mr. Pendragon announced, "a new quest has been issued." His voice rang with authority.
"Find this boy and bring him to us alive."
"We have received information from a reliable source," he continued, "that this boy holds the key to defeating the demon clan. This is an open quest—for all adventurers. No time limit. And a bounty of one million gold coins."
The crowd erupted in a frenzy.
A million gold coins. The number alone was absurd. And with no time limit, adventurers could take on other quests while searching for the boy.
Fay grinned to herself, already calculating how many gadgets she could build with that kind of wealth. Hana wondered how many more katanas she could add to her collection. Arthur, however, only had one thought: Just how powerful is this boy… for the demon clan to be after him?
For the first time in a thousand years, the greater council had found a lead. A chance—a real chance—to defeat the demon clan.
The council members turned and took their leave, while adventurers immediately began discussing their next move.
Maxwell, however, remained frozen in thought.
The Man of Culture let out a chuckle. "So, you've finally figured out the name and requirements of your power. But don't fool yourself." He turned, beginning to walk away. "That doesn't mean you understand the full extent of your ability."
He paused briefly, glancing back with a sly grin.
"It's funny, though… You've been given the gift of being the new protagonist—without ever asking of the fate that will befall the old protagonist?"
And with that, he vanished into the crowd.
Maxwell's heart pounded. The words lingered in his mind, and another statement also lingered in his mind.
'What exactly are the burdens of a protagonist?'
Meanwhile, in an unknown location…
A cold wind whispered through the trees as a young boy walked through a dark, twisting forest. His footsteps barely made a sound against the damp earth.
In his hand, he clutched a black rock, its surface pulsing with an eerie glow. His eyes—marked with a yin-yang symbol—reflected the dim light.
A deep voice resonated from the stone, low and commanding.
"Remember our deal, mortal. Protect me from the clutches of the demon clan, and I shall grant you power—power enough to vanquish the Demon King."
The boy's grip tightened. His voice was calm, unwavering.
"Understood, Gin."
The rock pulsed again.
And the hunt for him had already begun.