Kyle stood a few steps away from the frozen assassin, gazing at him with a quiet calm that somehow weighed heavier than anger or ridicule.
With an almost casual tone, Kyle asked.
"Can you move anymore? Or is this the end for you?"
The assassin gritted his teeth. He wanted to move—desperately. He commanded his arms, his legs, even a twitch of a finger.
But nothing obeyed.
His pride screamed at him to fight back, but his body remained stubbornly frozen in place, pinned by the crushing pressure Kyle had casually unleashed.
For the first time in a long while, he understood something he had never truly felt before—fear.
Kyle let out a soft sigh, as if disappointed. Without giving the assassin another glance, he turned his back and started walking down the line of other mercenaries, his focus already shifting to the next candidate.
That small gesture, that utter disregard, felt like a slap to the assassin's pride.
'I am an A-class assassin...!'
The thought burned in his mind.
