Trash Warrior Becomes War God

CHAPTER 2

Marco stared at the weathered board outside the Academy's profession hall, his heart racing. The classes were listed in elaborate script: Warrior, Knight, Mage, Archer, Healer, Rogue. Exactly like Sky Game. Not similar—identical.

"This can't be coincidence," he muttered.

"What are you mumbling about?" Sofia appeared at his elbow, a basket of supplies in her arms. "Have you decided which profession to choose?"

Marco turned to her, his eyes blazing with certainty. "Warrior. I'm becoming a warrior."

The basket hit the ground. Apples rolled across the cobblestones.

"No." Sofia's voice was flat, absolute. "Absolutely not. Tell me you're joking, Derek."

"I've never been more serious."

"Warriors are trash!" Sofia grabbed his arm, her fingers digging in. "They're cannon fodder! Everyone knows that! The war ten years ago proved it—thousands of warriors died while knights and mages claimed victory. They're weak, obsolete, worthless!"

"They're not—"

"Listen to me!" Her eyes were desperate now. "I've seen the statistics. Warriors have the highest death rate of any profession. They can't compete with knights in direct combat, can't match mages in destructive power, can't even scout as effectively as rogues. They're literally good for nothing except dying first in battle!"

Marco pulled his arm free. "Then I'll prove everyone wrong."

"You stubborn, idiotic—" Sofia's face flushed red. "I didn't help nurse you back to health just to watch you throw your life away! You're coming with me to the Knight's Temple. Now."

"Sofia—"

"NOW!" She grabbed his wrist and yanked him forward with surprising strength. Marco stumbled after her, shocked by her intensity.

They hurried through the Academy grounds, Sofia's grip never loosening. Students stopped to stare at the spectacle—a human girl dragging a half-orc boy toward the Temple district like a mother hauling a misbehaving child.

"You will become a knight," Sofia hissed. "Knights are respected. Knights have honor. Knights don't die like dogs in ditches!"

"Let go—"

"Father Dominic!" Sofia's voice rang out as they reached the temple district's entrance. An elderly priest in white robes turned, his weathered face creasing with concern.

"Sofia, my child, what troubles you?"

"Tell him!" Sofia thrust Marco forward. "Tell him that choosing warrior is suicide! Tell him he's being a fool!"

Father Dominic's gaze shifted to Marco, and something flickered in his eyes—recognition, perhaps, or understanding. "The boy wishes to walk the warrior's path?"

"Yes, and I won't let him!"

"Sofia," the priest said gently, "every soul must choose their own destiny. We cannot—"

"His destiny is to survive!" Tears glistened in Sofia's eyes. "Father, please. You know what happened to him. You know what this world does to people like him. If he becomes a warrior, he'll have nothing—no respect, no protection, no future!"

Father Dominic placed a weathered hand on her shoulder. "And if he becomes something his heart rejects, what future will he have then? A gilded cage is still a cage, child."

"I don't care about cages! I care about him living!"

Marco's throat tightened. In all of Derek's memories, no one had fought for him like this. No one had cared whether he lived or died. But Sofia...

"Come," Father Dominic said quietly. "The Knight's Temple will at least hear his petition. Perhaps the Heavenly God will guide him."

Sofia wiped her eyes and grabbed Marco's wrist again, gentler this time. "You'll see. Once you receive the knight's blessing, you'll understand why this is the right choice."

The Knight's Temple towered above them, all white marble and golden spires. Inside, knights in gleaming armor practiced combat forms while priests blessed their weapons. The air hummed with divine power.

A tall knight with a scarred jaw approached, his armor bearing the insignia of rank. "State your business."

"This boy seeks the Heavenly God's blessing," Father Dominic said.

The knight's eyes raked over Marco, his lip curling. "A half-blood? In the Knight's Temple? Who let this filth inside?"

"He has every right—" Sofia began.

"He has the right to scrub our floors, maybe." The knight spat at Marco's feet. "But we don't grant divine blessings to mongrels."

Heat flared in Marco's chest. "I don't want your blessing anyway. Warriors are the strongest profession."

Silence crashed through the temple.

Then laughter. Cruel, mocking laughter that echoed off the sacred walls.

"Did... did this thing just say warriors are strongest?" The scarred knight doubled over. "Oh gods, I haven't heard a joke that good in years!"

"Warriors!" Another knight joined in. "The profession that's good for literally nothing but dying! The class that couldn't survive a week in basic training!"

"Hey, half-blood!" A third knight called out. "You know what we call warriors? Meat shields! Because that's all they're worth—bodies to throw between us and actual danger!"

Sofia's face went white. "Derek, take it back. Take it back right now."

But Marco stepped forward, his voice ringing clear. "Warriors are the strongest. In every real battle, when everything else fails, warriors are the ones who stand and fight. You can mock us all you want, but history proves—"

"History proves warriors are garbage!" The scarred knight—his nameplate read Vincent—strode forward until he was inches from Marco's face. "You want to talk about history, half-breed? Ten thousand warriors died in the Northern Campaign. Know how many knights fell? Three hundred. Because warriors are weak, stupid, and expendable."

"Vincent, please—" Father Dominic tried to intervene.

"No." Vincent's eyes glittered with malice. "This mongrel dared to insult the knight profession in our own temple. That demands satisfaction." He turned to Sofia. "You brought this trash here. You defend him. So you'll face the consequences."

Sofia's hand moved to her sword hilt. "What are you suggesting?"

"A duel. You versus me. When I crush you, this half-orc filth will learn his place—crawling in the dirt where he belongs."

"I accept," Sofia said immediately.

"No!" Marco grabbed her arm. "Don't—"

"Three days from now," Vincent continued, his smile cruel. "Give you time to pray and make peace with whatever gods accept trash into their arms. I'm an eighth-level knight, girl. You're what, fifth level? You're going to bleed."

Father Dominic's voice was sharp. "Vincent, she's barely—"

"She accepted. The duel stands." Vincent turned back to Marco. "And you, half-blood. Since you're so confident about warriors being strongest, why don't you pray to the Heavenly God? Let's see if divine power agrees with your delusions."

Every eye in the temple fixed on Marco. Sofia's grip on his wrist tightened. "Derek, you don't have to—"

"Do it," Vincent sneered. "Kneel and beg. Maybe the gods will pity you."

Marco's jaw clenched. This was wrong—all of it. Praying to a god he didn't believe in, in a world that wasn't his, for a blessing he didn't want. But Sofia had risked everything for him. The least he could do was try.

He dropped to his knees before the altar.

The temple fell silent. Marco closed his eyes and forced the words out. "Heavenly God, I... I ask for your blessing. Grant me the power to—"

Light exploded across the altar. Blinding, divine light that poured down like liquid gold. Marco felt it wash over him, through him, searching for something. His heart hammered. Was it working? Was he actually—

The light flickered.

Dimmed.

Died.

No mark appeared on his skin. No surge of divine power filled his body. Nothing.

The silence was deafening.

Then Vincent's laughter shattered it. "Even the gods reject you! Oh, this is perfect! This is—"

"The half-breed got nothing!" another knight hooted. "Not even a spark!"

"What did you expect? Divine power doesn't flow into mongrel blood!"

"He's literally too worthless for heaven itself!"

Sofia's face crumpled. "Derek..."

Marco stood, his legs shaking. The humiliation burned, but beneath it, something else stirred. Relief. The knight's path had rejected him. Now no one could force him down a road he didn't choose.

"Satisfied?" he asked Vincent quietly.

"Oh, I will be. In three days, when I break your little defender into pieces." Vincent's smile was vicious. "Get out of my temple, half-blood. You pollute sacred ground."

Father Dominic stepped forward, his voice gentle but firm. "Come, son. If warriors are truly your calling, then we should not delay further."

Sofia wiped her eyes. "Fine. Fine! If you want to throw your life away so badly, go ahead!" But her voice cracked. "Just... just don't die, Derek. Please don't die."

She turned and ran, disappearing into the temple's training grounds.

Marco watched her go, something twisting in his chest. Then he followed Father Dominic out into the sunlight.

"The Warrior Temple is this way," the priest said, gesturing down a narrow street. "Few travel that path anymore. But perhaps... perhaps that's exactly why you should."

Marco nodded, his resolve hardening with each step. The knights had mocked him. The gods had rejected him. The world called warriors worthless.

Good.

Let them underestimate him. Let them think him weak. He'd proven impossible odds wrong before.

He'd do it again.

The Warrior Temple loomed ahead, smaller than the Knight's Temple, weathered and worn. But as Marco approached its doors, he felt something settle in his chest.

This was right.

This was his path.

And he'd walk it alone if he had to.