The past Ark, before even coming to Arcadia's capital, had difficulty surviving through life as a warrior. He was weak, inexperienced, and held no trump card.

Running away from home at the age of 8, he became even more aware of his lack of talent. His talented parents couldn't pass on their skills to him and hard work didn't cut it.

No magic, no spirit, abysmal magic power and physical strength. Worse still, Ark had continuesly ran into powerful threats and nearly lost his life countless times.

His survival involved miracle after miracle, thanks to which he had managed to grow quite a bit, but those experiences taught Ark to always stay on guard. Never let your guard down.

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Even these days as he grew tremendously and became confident in himself, bad luck followed him like a shadow. The encounter with Orcus is a prime example. And that wasn't even the worst encounter of them all.

But maybe he grew too lax.

He had forgotten. To always be ready.

Otherwise, this is what's bound to happen.

Ark was half-dead. His body pale like a corpse, tainted black with festering curses and gushing red with his blood. The scenery blurred and ringing sound tormented and disoriented him.

Surviving... might be too late.

(This shitty luck... I fucking hate it...)

He was caught off guard. Nothing could be done about it now. He hated the one who did this to the point of madness.

Still, one last act of heroism. He had to convince everyone he is the strongest even when about to die.

Ark mustered all his remaining strength to straighten his back and speak, then snapped his fingers.

Then came the familiar darkness.