The Elven city was unlike anything Hyunwoo had ever seen. Towering trees woven into elegant architecture, glowing bridges made of pure mana, and songbirds that harmonized like a choir of angels. If heaven and Pinterest had a baby, this would be it.
But even as he was guided through the city by a squad of muscular elf guards, Hyunwoo couldn't shake the unease in his chest. The Elven princess—Lirae—walked gracefully in front of him, her expression unreadable. Hyunwoo's thoughts swirled in a storm of confusion.
"Is she going to murder me for looking down on her or something? Elven grudges are real, right?"
Then she turned, her gaze fixed firmly on him. "We elves never forget to repay goodwill," she said.
"Oh, thank goodness," Hyunwoo breathed. But inside, panic. She thinks I did it on purpose. She doesn't know it was just my dumb, chaotic luck.
She addressed her father, the Elven King, who watched the entire scene with a curious eye. "He saved me. He didn't kidnap me."
The king blinked. "Is that so?"
Lirae explained everything. Well, almost everything—she skipped the buffed goblins part. Probably for the best.
The Elven King chuckled heartily. "Perhaps humanity is not entirely trash."
Hyunwoo was released immediately. He blinked, stunned. Three seconds of freedom, and then the princess smirked.
"What luck you have."
He muttered under his breath, "You have no single idea…"
They offered him clean elven garments, woven from magic-threaded silk and enchanted linen. They fit him surprisingly well, revealing a toned physique that even Hyunwoo had never paid attention to before.
He stretched in front of a mirror and caught a glimpse of his reflection—clean, his hair slightly tousled but not unpleasantly so, wearing elegant, form-fitting clothes.
"Wait… huh?" He poked his abdomen. "Are those abs? I thought everyone had these."
He looked genuinely puzzled, turning slightly to examine himself from different angles. "Guess I've always been... weirdly healthy?"
Across the room, several elf maids turned crimson and quickly looked away. Even Lirae, usually the image of poise, blushed slightly.
Hyunwoo squinted. "Why is everyone looking at me like I just turned into a shiny dragon or something?"
Still wondering what the fuss was about, he followed the guards to the throne room. The king stood, arms wide. "Isn't that our hero!"
DING.
[Celestial Sword: Laughing.]
"Even though it was a complete accident, I'm still getting the title. Thanks, stupid sword," Hyunwoo muttered.
Just then, heavy footsteps echoed through the hall. A tall, broad-shouldered elf entered, his presence so imposing it bent the atmosphere. Long braided hair, armor etched with ancient glyphs, and the kind of face that screamed "I win fights and protein shakes fear me."
"Wow," Hyunwoo mumbled. "Imagine being unlucky enough to fight that guy."
The elf stopped before the throne. "Flairan, son of the Second Warden, greets the King."
Hyunwoo winced. "Second cringiest intro I've heard. Dragon guy still holds first place."
Flairan looked at Hyunwoo with daggers in his eyes. "I request a duel—with the human."
Of course.
Hyunwoo raised a hand timidly. "Why meeeee?"
"I cannot allow the Princess to marry a human."
"...Marry? Whoa, wait, when? How?!"
The King chuckled again. "Among us elves, we believe in destiny. The one who saves the princess is the one chosen by the World Tree."
Hyunwoo internally screamed. "Sure. And now I have to fight a mountain with pointy ears."
He tried reasoning. "Mister... Flairan, sir, let's not get stabby. We can talk this out over tea and elven cookies maybe?"
The King was beaming. "Even logical thinking. I like this one. But still, I want to see which of you triumphs. You have three days to prepare."
Later, in a quieter garden corner, Hyunwoo spoke to Lirae. She explained more of their customs. For generations, the son of the Second Warden was expected to save the princess and claim her hand. Flairan trained for this his whole life.
"But now you messed up that legacy," Lirae added with a soft smile.
"I didn't even do it on purpose!" Hyunwoo exclaimed. "I just tripped over fate and landed in your destiny."
Yet, part of him wondered—if he somehow made a good impression in the duel, if he showed something more than clumsiness and sarcasm… maybe the World Tree really would give him a shot. A purpose. A new chance.
He clenched his fists.
Three days. Three days to train, to focus, and maybe... to survive.
That evening, Hyunwoo was taken to a secluded grove within the city—an area known as the Whispering Glade, reserved only for training warriors. An elven trainer, old but sharp as obsidian, waited there.
"You're the human?" he asked, eyeing him.
"Guilty," Hyunwoo replied, raising a hand.
"You've got the body. We'll see about the skill."
So began Hyunwoo's crash course in Elven combat. Mornings with sword drills, afternoons dodging arrows, and evenings meditating under glowing trees. Despite tripping on his own foot several times and mistaking a training dummy for an actual elf once, he improved—slowly, painfully, hilariously.
The Celestial Sword helped too—when it wasn't insulting him.
[Celestial Sword: Your grip is weak. Like noodle.]
"Shut up, you glorified butter knife."
Day one was hell. He couldn't hold the sword right, misjudged his footing, and nearly knocked himself out trying to do a spin.
But he kept going.
Day two was... better. His swings grew more accurate, his stamina more stable, and he even managed to block an arrow once.
Day three, he felt something shift.
Not in his body—but in his mind. He wasn't just swinging a sword. He was learning, adapting, growing. He even caught the trainer nodding approvingly when he pulled off a difficult move.
"Maybe there's hope for you yet," the old elf muttered.
And for the first time in a long while, Hyunwoo allowed himself to believe it.
When he stood in front of the mirror again that night, he didn't see the unlucky guy who tripped over goblins and destiny.
He saw someone who was trying.
And maybe that was enough.
The duel loomed, just a sunrise away.
Hyunwoo looked at the Celestial Sword resting beside him.
"Let's not mess this up, butter knife."
[Celestial Sword: Let's not.]
And for once, it didn't insult him.
Tomorrow, he would face Flairan.
But tonight, he slept—not as a joke, not as an accident of fate, but as someone inching closer to a hero.