Clara thought to herself,
"They say I'm wasting a gift. That someone with this much mana should be an Archmage, but what they don't understand is—this mana is wasted. It's in my blood. A direct descendant from Raven the Champion, or known as the strongest hero of all time"
"But I can't cast a magic, not a single spell. The mana swells inside me like a storm with no sky to break into. And so, I chose the sword. Not because I'm good at it—but because I don't have a choice."
"I know I'm not the best. My strikes are clumsy. My stance is flawed. But every time I fall, I rise again. Because I have something no one else does, it's my endurance. I can fight longer, push harder, survive what others can't. Not because I'm skilled, but because I refuse to give up."
"I don't know how much time has passed. I've been fighting alone in this dry creek bed, surrounded by goblins. I've lost count of how many I've killed. Maybe a hundred? Curse them all."
"I'm supposed to defeat them to pass the trial for Robert's Magic Academy. Just to earn the right to get accepted in a prestigious magic academy and to learn magic. But in my current state… it feels impossible."
"Gabby… your sacrifice led to nothing. Why am I even thinking about that weak fool who died because he couldn't keep up?"
Clara, bleeding from her head, drops to one knee. She uses her sword as a cane to stay upright. The night is dark, and the goblins keep coming, their numbers seemingly endless.
She screamed, "It's dark. Curse the impossible. I'll kill every last one of you."
Even though she's battered and barely standing, Clara rises again. She charges into the horde with reckless fury.
She thought to herself, "I can't think straight… I'm so tired…"
Clara's breath came in ragged gasps. Her arms felt like lead, her legs barely holding her up. But still, she swung her sword. One goblin fell, then another. Her blade was heavy, her vision blurred, but she didn't stop.
"Arrgghhh" she growled, staggering forward.
Another goblin lunged. She turned, barely fast enough, and slashed it across the chest. Blood sprayed, and the creature dropped. But before she could catch her breath—
Thwip!
An arrow sliced through the air and struck her shoulder. It wasn't deep, but the pain was sharp and sudden. Clara cried out, stumbling back. Her hand shot up, grabbed the arrow, and yanked it out with a grunt. Blood trickled down her arm.
"You… bastard…" she growled.
She snapped the arrow in half, tossed her sword aside for a moment, and grabbed a small knife from one of the goblins she killed. With all the strength she had left, she hurled it through the air.
The goblin who shot her barely had time to blink before the blade buried itself in its throat. It dropped without a sound.
Clara stood there, swaying, bloodied and exhausted. She picked her sword as she staggered.
Before she knew it, her legs gave out. Her knees hit the ground hard, sending a jolt of pain through her battered body. Her sword slipped from her fingers, clattering beside her in the dirt.
The world spun. Her vision blurred. The sounds of goblins snarling and screeching around her faded into a dull roar.
"No… not yet…" she whispered, her voice barely audible as she tried to push herself up again. Her arms trembled; her body screamed in pain—but something deep inside her stirred.l
Her hand reached out, fingers wrapping around the hilt of her fallen sword. The moment she touched it, flames erupted along the blade, roaring to life. The steel burned with a fiery glow, as if it had been waiting for this moment all along.
Clara stood. Slowly. Steadily. Her feet planted firmly into the ground; her body still broken—but her spirit was unshaken.
The goblins shrieked and charged, sensing her weakness. But they were too late.
"Arrrrggggghhhhh" she screamed.
A glowing fire made of pure mana began to swirl around Clara. It shimmered like red and gold. The flames didn't burn her. Instead, they moved with her breath, circling her body like a protective storm.
With a loud cry that echoed through the night, Clara raised her sword, its blade glowing with fire. She lifted it high above her head and swung it down with all her strength.
Just before the sword touched the ground, the earth cracked open. A massive wave of fire shot out from the blade in the shape of a cross, cutting through the darkness.
Every goblin in its path was destroyed. Their screams were lost in the roar of the flames.
The dry creek bed lit up as bright as morning.
And then—silence.
It was a life-or-death situation that awakened her dormant spell—driven by her determination.
The fire faded. The sword dimmed. Clara stood there for a moment, swaying… then collapsed to her knees. She fell to the ground, her body finally giving in. But on her face.
A smile.
For the first time in her life… she had used magic.
Even after everything Clara had done, some goblins were still alive. They saw her lying on the ground, weak and unmoving. With snarls and shrieks, they charged toward her.
But then—they stopped.
Mid-charge, the goblins froze. Their eyes widened in fear. And without warning, they turned and ran, disappearing into the shadows of the forest.
Clara, barely conscious, turned her head slightly. Behind her, she saw it—flames. A wildfire had started in the forest. She knew it wasn't her magic; the fire came from a different direction.
The flames were spreading quickly, creeping toward her.
In the distance, she heard goblins screaming—trapped in the blaze.
She coughed, her lungs burning. The smoke was thick, and it was hard to breathe. Her vision blurred. Her body wouldn't move.
Just before everything went dark, she saw something through the smoke—a horse. Tall, dark, and running toward her.
Then, she lost consciousness.