Final Showdown

Down on the withering ship, a red-haired soldier observed the emergence of a true hero in the making. This wasn't just any hero; this was a World Bringer, the kind of extraordinary figure that arises once in a generation, if not once in a few centuries. Lorn, with his fiery determination, was undeniably a World Bringer.

In contrast, the heroes were individuals wielding immense power over specific abilities or elements. These were people who believed power to be the very essence of life, uninterested in political games but instead driven to continually enhance their strength.

They addressed the king directly, recognizing him as the sole authority above them. Their demands were straightforward—materials and funds to fuel their relentless pursuit of greater power.

These individuals operated as mercenaries, seeking resources to boost their strength, and in this hierarchy, those with the highest power levels were elevated to the coveted status of Hero.

However, standing above this hierarchy were the World Bringers—individuals deemed worthy of the title by the common people, their leadership elected rather than achieved through sheer might. It was a delicate balance between the pursuit of personal power and the recognition earned through service to the community.

Moments ago, Logan, the red-haired warrior, had resigned himself to the inevitable embrace of death. It seemed like there was no alternative, just a stark, unavoidable fate. Yet, in the blink of an eye, the man now standing atop an Eldritch monster infused him with a newfound courage, compelling him to grasp his sword once more.

To face death with honor, as he had sworn to do since he first held a weapon at the tender age of four.

Watching the young man on the monster, Logan couldn't fathom replicating the brave feat that had just unfolded. Despite appearing to be of the same age, the stranger was frail and scrawny, yet undeniably one of the most courageous individuals Logan had encountered in his lifetime.

'Father, just like you taught me, there are selfless people in this world, and I'm witnessing one now. A young lord, perhaps the very man you spoke of—a man worth following.'

Aware that this might be his final day on the beautiful planet, Logan had already given his all. Though his steps had faltered earlier, he now stood resolute, prepared for whatever fate awaited him. The outcome rested solely in the hands of that courageous individual he now looked up to.

Not only Logan, but every soul on the deck had hushed into a mysterious stillness. What was a chaotic frenzy just moments ago had transformed into an eerie quiet, as if the entire world was holding its breath.

In this moment, it wasn't just the lowborns who stood in awe; even the highborns were captivated, unable to tear their eyes away from this unfolding legend.

The tale of this singular man, his exploits, and the dance of his blade would resonate across time and worlds. His was the kind of song that would set ablaze the passions of future generations. The world was about to witness a symphony of heroics that would echo through the ages.

'If he survives—heck, if I survive, then...'

The wildly swaying Kraken struggled in vain to dislodge the man from its head, akin to a god from ancient mythologies gracefully dancing upon it.

In a breath-catching moment, the man skillfully brandished the spear in his hands, twirling it with an almost mesmerizing finesse. With a final triumphant yell, he thrust the spear downward, piercing through the Kraken's skull. The sea monster's convulsions echoed the drama of this high-stakes dance between man and beast.

The Kraken wailed like a sea banshee, flinging its colossal mouth open in a dramatic plea. Out gushed a sudden burst of dark blue liquid, a macabre display that caught the warriors off-guard.

The unsuspecting crew found themselves wearing the Kraken's essence as an impromptu tattoo, a vivid mark of the sea monster's final hurrah.

As the monstrous behemoth let out its last scream, it collapsed with a thunderous crash. The air vibrated, and the deck shook as if it had just survived its own nautical earthquake. Men hollered, women wailed, and a few ecstatic souls shed tears of joy.

The day of the impending dawn had been snatched from the jaws of calamity, and the crew found themselves awash in a cocktail of relief, terror, and triumphant chaos. The Kraken had met its match, and the sea would sing of this epic clash for ages to come.

A diminutive figure descended from the remains of the defeated Kraken, appearing frail and feeble against the vastness of the scene. Yet, as he plummeted towards the water, the warriors below erupted in cheers, treating him with the reverence reserved for a god among mortals.

"Someone save the hero!" The cry echoed across the deck as realization dawned that the man wasn't slowing down; he was hurtling towards the water below.

In a heartbeat, a streak of bravery darted from the deck like a cheetah pouncing on its prey. It was none other than Captain Orion, leaping into action with the agility of a seasoned warrior.

With arms outstretched, he caught the falling man, and in a scene reminiscent of tales of old, the hero descended into the strong and capable hands of Captain Orion, as if plucked from the very jaws of fate. 

Captain Orion touched down on the deck with the finesse of a swashbuckling acrobat, the wood beneath emitting a subtle creak in response.

A swarm of onlookers quickly closed in, their eyes wide with a mix of awe and relief. With a swift move, Captain Orion passed the once-falling hero like a championship trophy to his second-in-command.

It was a seamless handoff, as if they were exchanging pleasantries instead of saving someone midair. The crowd erupted into cheers, turning the deck into a spontaneous arena of triumphant celebration.

"Careful there, he's a hero. And he lost his consciousness."

"Is he okay?"

Lady Lumiere stepped forward, inspecting his pulses while cradled in the captain's deputy's arms. Her expression shifted, and she released a heavy sigh.

"Oh, he just passed out."

"Oh no, not him! He's way too young to be dead." Rony sprinted toward the fallen hero, his face a picture of despair. "Somebody save him! He's got way more on his to-do list than just kicking the bucket here." Rony, the witness to all the jaw-dropping Kraken drama, was practically having goosebumps from the spectacle.

He had been so psyched, thinking this guy was the one destined to rain on the Highclass parade, to stomp on the King, and maybe even throw a good-natured spit on that impeccably sculpted face. But now... now he's a goner.

Logan, utterly fed up with the sudden annoyance, couldn't resist the urge and instinctively smacked Rony on the head.

"He's passed OUT, not passed AWAY, you mulberry fool!"

"Ouch!" Rony held his head, and for a moment, Logan seemed to forget that he himself was an Iron Fury. "Is that so?"

"Yes," Logan replied, nodding his head as if he had just bestowed the wisdom of the ages upon a particularly clueless individual.

"But... what's the difference?" Rony innocently inquired, looking genuinely puzzled.

A chorus of laughter erupted among the survivors as Logan just facepalmed, realizing he might have overdone it. But, hey, a good laugh was exactly what they needed in this deathly atmosphere.

Little did they know, someone feigned unconsciousness but was failing miserably at hiding his laughter. Sucking in his cheeks and biting his lips, he desperately tried to stifle the mirth threatening to burst out. The seriousness of the situation was quickly unraveling into a comedy of errors, much to everyone's unexpected relief.

"Oh, look! He's waking up," Rony exclaimed.

'Motherfucker! Can't even let me act peacefully.'

With no other option, the lone hero dramatically opened his eyes, facing the cheering crowd with a feigned smile. The crowd erupted into cheers again, blissfully unaware of the internal monologue cursing the untimely interruption of a well-deserved nap.