The book records that in the Divine Year 758, the dark dragon Ethan Drake invaded Dillock, and the Sword Saint Karen traveled from afar to provide support. After a fierce life-and-death battle, he beheaded the dragon with a single sword.

This legendary feat of dragon-slaying happened just over a hundred years ago. At that time, hundreds of thousands of people in Digger witnessed the scene—it could not possibly have been faked.

This is just one example; there are many similar accounts in the book. Reading them made Devon's blood boil with excitement, and he couldn't help but close the book with a long sigh.

Riding a thousand miles, slaying dragons and vanquishing demons—this is what a true man should do.

It wasn't until the stub of the candle on the candlestick was about to burn out and the flame began to dim that the youth finally, still unsatisfied, closed the book, blew out the candle, climbed onto the wooden bed, pulled the thin blanket over himself, and lay there quietly.

After lying for a while, the boy's hand habitually groped along the bed board. Soon, he pulled out a half-full coin pouch from the crack in the bed and began to carefully count the coins inside in the darkness.

‘One, two, three... ninety-seven.’

Ninety-seven silver coins!

This money was saved with great difficulty over the past few years, by eating the worst food and wearing the worst clothes.

Just three more, and it would be a gold coin. With the firewood in the yard, plus the head of that mountain monster, it should be enough to make up the sum.

He had inquired: the lord of Lumberton outside the small town, Baron Hamer, ran a warrior training camp. Regardless of status, as long as you paid one gold coin, you could enter and receive formal warrior training.

If you performed well and caught the baron's eye, you might be granted an elemental fire seed, learn elemental combat skills, and become a true warrior—then you could naturally become the baron's squire.

If a squire could establish merit, he could be knighted as a full knight and receive a fief. That was a fixed property, the material foundation for a warrior to climb to even greater heights.

A pauper could never become the epic hero described in the books, like the Sword Saint Karen, who was himself the ruler of a nation, freely commanding the resources of a vast country.

Devon's heart burned with passion. Clutching the coin pouch tightly, he dreamed of a wonderful future.

However, his troubles soon arrived. His body was so full of energy that it was almost frightening.

Even though it was already late at night and he had worked all day, his mind was still extremely clear.

A clear mind was a small matter; what embarrassed him more was that in recent years, as his body matured, a burning energy had appeared inside him at some unknown time.

This heat kept surging inside him, looking for an outlet.

Whenever this happened, he couldn't help but think of the women in town—and not their faces, but other feminine features.

This damned body, it was really killing him.

After tossing and turning in bed for a long time, the restless Devon cursed under his breath, got up, picked up his axe again, and returned to the yard to chop firewood by moonlight.

The firewood for the church was already prepared. Since he couldn't sleep, he might as well prepare the share needed by the mayor for next month as well.

‘Crack’ ‘crack’—the crisp sounds echoed in the yard as the youth vented his overflowing energy.

Chapter Two: The ‘Hell’ that Holds Demons

Vinton was a small town, less than three li in radius, with a population of just over a thousand. This was where Devon had lived for ten years.

The people here were simple and honest, and because it was close to the dangerous Dark Forest, there was a certain ruggedness mixed into that simplicity.

The next morning, the sun was shining brightly, and the small town, as usual, was enveloped in a peaceful atmosphere.

On the street in town, Devon was pulling a wooden cart, whistling as he slowly made his way toward the church in the center of town.

The cart was large, piled high with chopped firewood. On top of the pile was a cloth bundle, and Devon's ever-present axe was stuck in the cart frame.

The rough solid wood wheels left deep ruts in the mud as they rolled along. This load of firewood must have weighed at least a thousand kilograms, yet he pulled it with ease.

He was born with divine strength and was recognized as the strongest man in town.

Devon could feel that he was different from others. It wasn't so obvious when he was younger, but as he matured, this difference became more and more pronounced.

There were advantages and disadvantages. The most obvious disadvantage was that, in his eyes, there were no ugly women left in town.

Even Aunt Mary, the burly woman sitting at the street corner, he could somehow see a trace of feminine charm in her, which led to some unrealistic fantasies.

So, most of the time, Devon's rational mind despised his own body's sense of aesthetics.

The townsfolk greeted the youth warmly as they saw him on the street, and he responded to each with a smile.

He was quite well-liked in town.

“Hey, Devon, delivering firewood again?” A burly man by the roadside waved at him with a smile. The man was busy tuning a large bow made of dense ironwood, passed down through his family.

“Yeah, it's my livelihood.” Seeing that it was still early, Devon stopped the cart and chatted with him.

This middle-aged man was the best hunter in town, named Nolan. He had once killed a terrifying dark werewolf and was highly respected in the small town.