Who Says I’m Not a Legitimate Adventurer?

That smell was a mixture of rusty blood and putrid sour decay—far more pungent than moldy cheese.

Although the people around covered their noses and even leaned their heads out of the carriage to breathe fresh air, no one dared to voice a single complaint.

After all, anyone who could slaughter monsters to such an extent naturally commanded a degree of awe. No one wanted to invite trouble at a time like this.

Lance, however, didn’t care in the slightest. Taking advantage of the break, he quietly observed the situation of the convoy.

The number of wounded retreating this time was somewhat beyond expectations.

This single convoy alone carried more than a dozen injured.

Fortunately, with guild physicians accompanying them for emergency treatment, most had only suffered external injuries to their limbs and were not in life-threatening condition.

“Why are there so many injured being sent back directly?”

Lance turned his head and asked a young Adventurer beside him whose arm was wrapped in thick bandages.

The man, surprised to be addressed, hurriedly explained:“I heard it was the guild leader’s order.”

“As long as someone suffers visible external injuries in battle and their combat capability drops by more than thirty percent, they must be forcibly sent back to Graystone Town with the transport convoy for treatment.”

At this point, a hint of emotion appeared on the young man’s face.

“And this time, all treatment costs are fully covered by the guild.”

Hearing this, Lance raised an eyebrow.

In his impression, that guild leader was the type who would rather split a single copper coin in half before spending it.

Such large-scale public-funded treatment was practically unheard of.

But upon further thought, Lance quickly understood the reasoning.

Rather than letting injured Adventurers stubbornly hold on in the forest only to end up as names on the compensation list, it was better to spend some money to heal them and send them back to the battlefield to generate value.

The logic of a capitalist ledger.

However, for Lance, this was excellent news.

Since the guild was pursuing cost-effectiveness, then among the large procurement list for wound medicine, his improved version of Hemostatic Ointment—with effects comparable to “troll’s blood,” yet extremely low cost and more affordable pricing—would definitely become the top choice.

At roughly fifty percent of the price, it could achieve the same bleeding-stopping effect as high-end potions.

As long as that shrewd old man hadn’t lost his mind, he would know what to choose.

This deal was as good as secured.

Thinking of this, Lance’s mood improved greatly—even the stench on his body seemed less unbearable.

After confirming that the convoy had entered a relatively safe plain, Lance refocused his consciousness into the system and opened the class information that had flashed by earlier.

【Class: Pale Sentinel (Legacy)】

【Race Restriction: Human】

【Prerequisites for Advancement:】

【1. Base Attributes: Constitution 12, Spirit 10, Perception 10】

【2. Skill Requirements: Three weapon combat skills at LV5 (Expert), any one unarmed combat skill at LV5, any one Breathing Technique at LV5】

【3. Trial Requirement: On a full moon night, engage in high-intensity combat alone against monsters for over one hour. The number of monsters must exceed 50, and you must remain in a “Guarding” state until dawn or until the objective is successfully protected】

【4. Legacy Requirement: Achieve the Legacy “I Successfully Resisted Death” (Completed)】

Looking at the dense wall of text, Lance couldn’t help but inhale sharply.

These conditions were absurdly harsh.

By comparison, the 【Swordsman】 class that Damian dreamed of had a threshold so low it felt like charity.

Just from the attribute template alone, one could tell this class was a well-rounded combatant—capable of both offense and defense, with exceptional survivability and sharp instincts for danger.

Not to mention the requirement to train five different combat skills all to Expert level.

Even just one swordsmanship skill—despite Lance training like someone with cheats enabled—had only barely reached the threshold of proficiency.

“No wonder it’s called a Legacy Class…”

Lance clicked his tongue inwardly.

For an ordinary person, merely meeting these prerequisites would itself be a feat worthy of being called a Legacy.

Yet Lance was not discouraged. Instead, he began calculating the feasibility in his mind.

The skills were manageable.

His current focus, Castro Swordsmanship and Levin Archery, already counted as two weapon skills.

He only needed to find an opportunity to learn a polearm or heavy weapon, plus an unarmed combat skill and a Breathing Technique.

With his “infinite stamina” advantage, grinding them all to Expert level (LV5) was merely a matter of time.

The real headache was the trial.

Solo. Full moon night. One hour. Over fifty monsters.

Such an intense battle—an ordinary person would be exhausted to death just from stamina depletion.

Not to mention the requirement to “Guard.”

Those two words were the most troublesome restriction.

It meant he couldn’t kite or maneuver—he had to remain like a nail hammered into place, protecting a target from being killed.

This forced a direct confrontation.

“Still… it might not be completely impossible.”

Lance stroked his chin.

If he had Hvergelmir’s Surge providing endless endurance, then this kind of prolonged battle would actually favor him.

As long as he could avoid being instantly killed, he could keep fighting indefinitely.

“Can anyone really complete this class advancement?”

Lance couldn’t help but wonder.

He truly didn’t know who in this world could accomplish such a feat before even taking a class.

“But… since this class exists, it means someone must have succeeded in history.”

Looking at the Legacy entry 【I Successfully Resisted Death】, a certain ancient legend surfaced in Lance’s mind.

It was the story of the second Hero—Alvis.

He had no powerful physique, nor an indestructible blade.

He was merely a frail ordinary man, yet relied on unparalleled wisdom to navigate between savage monsters and arrogant Gods.

However, mortal wisdom could not escape the harvest of fate.

On the day his lifespan came to an end, the shadow of death arrived as scheduled, bringing him to the banks of the gray river that separated life and death.

The ferryman extended a withered hand, demanding the fare to cross: all of his memories from life.

The aged Alvis looked at the black boat that led to eternal silence and said:

“Great ferryman, I am willing to offer my soul—but before that, I wish to make a wager with you.”

“I wager that there exists a road in this world that has no end.”

“If I can prove its existence, and as long as I continue walking upon that road, you may not take me. But if I stop or reach its end, my soul shall be yours.”

The ferryman, bored beyond measure in endless eternity, agreed to this seemingly foolish wager.

Thus, Alvis bent down and used his finger to draw an imperfect circle in the black sand.

He stepped onto it—and began to walk.

One step, two steps, continuing along the circular path.

When he completed one full loop and returned to the starting point, the ferryman raised his scythe and let out a mocking laugh.