Not just a race

"What? Did he just say a race?"

"I think so."

Murmurs filled the room as some participants tried to wrap their heads around what they’d just heard.

A lean boy with spiky black hair and sharp blue eyes looked down at his legs, which were covered with a hard yet flexible black material—engineered specifically to enhance and protect them during sudden bursts of speed caused by his attribute.

A smirk formed on his face.

'This is it. My time has come.'

Meanwhile, another boy stared down at his large, protruding belly. “I’m cooked,” he muttered.

Art frowned beneath the black-silver mask. Those closest to him subtly shifted away, sensing the slight but menacing aura that radiated from him.

He hadn’t realized that his mana aura was slowly being affected by the mask. Others were very wary of him.

Their goal here was simple: perform well enough to get noticed and chosen by a good guild. This wasn’t a deathmatch, so the best course was to avoid serious threats—unless forced.