One Step Immortal

Favored by the Goddess of Luck

Jones walked down the street toward the trading house.

“I’ve got the mithril, but I still need Titan cores and Ice Crystal Marrow,” he murmured to himself.

Titan cores came from monsters. You had to fight for your life, and even then, there was only about a ten percent chance of harvesting one from a corpse. Each core cost one hundred thousand.

One hundred cores—that was ten million.

And if he wanted to perform the ritual and form a contract with the Infernal Flame Demon, he would also need Ice Crystal Marrow, which would cost another ten million or so.

He didn’t have enough money.

That was why Jones hadn’t repaid the five million he owed Norman Academy on the spot. Now that he had made up his mind, he was ready to go all in—no matter the cost—until he could truly control the Infernal Flame Demon.

Before he realized it, he had arrived at the entrance of the trading house.

Under the night sky, a gilded sign gleamed above the door, bearing four bold characters:

Blackwater Trading House.

The largest chain trading house in the world—serving heroes exclusively.

The moment Jones stepped inside, a uniformed saleswoman approached him. She showed no trace of disdain for his plain clothing. Instead, she spoke with polite professionalism.

“Sir, how may I assist you?”

“I need Ice Crystal Marrow. And one hundred Titan cores.”

As he spoke, Jones handed over his black-gold card.

The woman’s gaze froze on the card. A flicker of shock crossed her eyes, and her already striking figure seemed even more alluring under the fitted uniform.

She recognized it immediately.

A black-gold card from Chase Bank—custom-issued to the elite. Only the most powerful and influential individuals possessed one.

“Sir, please follow me to the VIP lounge. We’ll have your materials delivered as quickly as possible.”

Led by the attendant, Jones stepped into an opulent VIP room. But before he could even steady himself, someone slammed into him.

“Watch where you’re going, idiot!”

The man in a white evening suit snapped angrily, placing all the blame on Jones. He glanced at his now-empty champagne glass, then at the stain on his suit, and finally at Jones’s ordinary clothes.

“Has Blackwater fallen this far? Letting just anyone into the VIP lounge? Trash like you lowers the standard of this place.”

He pointed directly at Jones.

“Now get on your knees. Lick my shoes clean, then crawl out. Do that, and I might forgive you. Otherwise, the entire Dupont family will make sure you regret it.”

His tone was arrogant, dripping with threat.

Jones was about to respond when a familiar voice echoed in his mind once more.

“Chosen One, you stand at a fork in the river of time. Make your choice.”

Option 1: Kneel, apologize, and crawl out of the VIP lounge.
Reward: 500,000.

…

Option 2: Confront the man head-on and provoke him into rage.
Reward: 10,000,000 (credited directly to your black-gold card),
Ability – Blessing of the Goddess of Luck.

…

Provoke a wealthy heir? A top family heir, no less?

Jones raised an eyebrow.

At first glance, the situation didn’t seem significant enough to alter his fate. But the reward for Option 2—ten million and the Goddess of Luck’s blessing—was exactly what he needed.

He was short ten million.

If he wanted to survive—if he wanted to truly control the SS-class Titan, the Infernal Flame Demon, and rise as a legendary hero—then Option 2 wasn’t just tempting.

It was necessary.

As for the Dupont family? Yes, they ranked third in Dusk City.

But Jones was a man with less than three months to live, standing on the edge of a cliff. What did he have left to fear?

More importantly—

This choice suited him perfectly.

Power, status, noble bloodlines… none of it would chain him down. None of it would make him take a single step back.

The saleswoman beside him started to explain, but Jones raised a hand to stop her.

Then he smiled—sharp, defiant.

“The Dupont family? And they produce someone like you? Not only are you ugly, your taste in clothes is even worse.”

The insult landed like a spark in dry tinder.

The man’s fury ignited instantly.

He moved to call his bodyguards—then remembered where he was. This was Blackwater’s VIP lounge. Guards weren’t allowed inside.

Enraged, he reached for his waist, about to draw his gun—

But Jones spoke again, his voice light, almost casual.

“This is Blackwater Trading House. Are you sure you want to pull a gun here?”

The man froze.

Anger remained on his face—but now, there was fear too.

The last person who caused trouble here had belonged to Dusk City’s second-ranked family.

Or rather… the former second-ranked family.

Because now?

They were nothing but history.

The man hesitated, caught between rage and fear, trying to regain control.

But Jones didn’t give him the chance.

“What, scared already? So the Dupont heir is just a coward?”

“You—!” The man’s face twisted with fury.

That insult cut deep—especially for someone in his position.

In this post-cataclysm world, heirs of great families could be greedy, arrogant, even incompetent—

But they could never be weak.

Because one step back meant a hundred more. And in a world where resources were scarce and enemies circled like wolves, weakness meant extinction.

Jones wasn’t just insulting him.

He was saying: You’re not worthy of inheriting the Dupont name.

At that moment, another well-dressed man in the lounge raised an eyebrow and sneered.

“Karl, if even a slum rat can walk all over you, maybe the Dupont family really is declining. Honestly, you should just go home.”

“Julian…” Karl took a deep breath, forcing his anger down. The man speaking was the heir of Dusk City’s second-ranked family—someone he couldn’t afford to offend.

Then Karl looked around.

Only then did he realize—

Everyone was watching.

Smirking. Amused.

Enjoying the show.

His fists clenched.

Everyone in this VIP room was part of Dusk City’s elite. If he didn’t crush Jones here and now—if he didn’t humiliate him completely—this would become a citywide joke.

He had no way out.

For heirs like him, status wasn’t just privilege.

It was a burden.

A responsibility.

Karl took a deep breath, then pointed at Jones.

“Fine. Let’s gamble. One round. Ten million.”

His smile turned vicious.

“And the loser strips naked… and crawls out of Blackwater.”

In Karl’s mind, the outcome was already decided.

There was no way this poor brat could produce ten million.

And when he couldn’t pay?

Karl would make him suffer—make him wish he were dead.

Lose?

The thought never even crossed his mind.

He was a regular at the tables, far more skilled than some street rat.

And more importantly—

He had his own tricks to guarantee victory.

He could already picture it—Jones on his knees, begging for mercy.

But the next second—

Jones casually took out his black-gold card.

“…Fuck.”

Karl stared at it, his eyes widening.

A genuine Chase black-gold card.

Only the elite had those.

This guy… actually had ten million?

No—

Impossible.

It had to be fake.

He must have forged it somehow, tricked his way into the VIP lounge.

Karl convinced himself of that instantly.

But he didn’t expose it.

Instead, he sneered inwardly.

Good. Let him play.

When the boy lost, Karl would make him pay with his life—right there in front of everyone.

Under the attendant’s guidance, a roulette wheel was brought in.

The game began.

At the same moment, the familiar voice echoed once more in Jones’s mind.

“Chosen One, you have selected Option 2. Distributing reward.”

“You have obtained the special ability—Blessing of the Goddess of Luck.”
“Once activated, your luck will increase dramatically, allowing the impossible to become possible.”
“Limit: once per day.”

Jones raised an eyebrow slightly.

The Goddess of Luck’s blessing…

With this ability—

Maybe he could raise the stakes even higher.

Across from him, Karl suddenly felt a chill run down his spine.