After the introduction concluded, Alex and his comrades found themselves standing before a panel of imposing generals. Their gazes were stern, their auras heavy—as if they had walked straight out of a battlefield. The generals demanded answers, their voices echoing through the grand stone hall like judgment itself.
"How did you manage to defeat the abominations in downtown?" one of them asked coldly, his eyes narrowing. "You do realize... dozens of elite hunter corps lost their lives in that zone."
The question wasn't casual—it was a test. A probe. A challenge.
Alex, standing firm with his sword strapped across his back, exchanged a brief look with his comrades before stepping forward. With clarity and precision, they began to recount the harrowing events. Every roar, every spell, every drop of blood spilled—it was all laid bare before the high-ranking warriors who silently listened, arms crossed, eyes unblinking.
Once the briefing ended and the tension began to settle, Zeke took a single step forward. That step—though small—echoed like thunder.
His voice, steady yet respectful, broke the silence.
"Sir... I would like to submit a report," he began, his tone carrying the weight of something far more personal. "And I hope you'll consider it carefully."
His eyes darted from one general to another, scanning their unreadable expressions. The air shifted. An invisible pressure filled the room—dense, suffocating. It was as if the very walls were listening.
For a few long seconds, no one spoke. The silence screamed louder than any voice.
Then, before Zeke could continue, a voice—low and chilling—cut through the tension.
"And what exactly might that be?"
General Ezekiel Mayhem spoke with the grace of a shadow and the sharpness of a blade. His tone was slow, deliberate. As he raised a hand elegantly to the bridge of his nose, it felt like the room itself paused to watch.
Zeke swallowed hard, gathering his courage. His voice, though trembling at first, found its footing.
"Ahem." He cleared his throat and stepped deeper into the spotlight.
"It's about Alex, sir. I believe he was given an unfairly low-ranking badge. To be honest, I think there may have been a mistake during the final test."
His words dropped like stones into a still lake. The ripple was instant. The room once again fell into a dense silence—so thick it felt like walking through a fog of daggers.
The generals' gazes turned—piercing into Zeke first, then slowly sliding over to Alex.
Something unspoken hung in the air. Suspicion? Curiosity? Or was it simply doubt?
One of the generals leaned forward. His voice was cool, calculated.
"Boy... I don't believe any mistakes were made hiding in some shadowed corner," he said, his gaze sharp like the edge of a honed blade.
"According to your report, you said you were already fighting the abomination before Alex stepped in. Which only means one thing: the damage had already been dealt. Alex's contribution was a finishing blow. Supportive, yes—but far from decisive."
Another general beside him gave a slow nod of agreement, eyes closed as if lost in thought.
Then, from the far end of the table, General Julius Modrigon spoke. Unlike the others, his presence was colder, heavier—like frost on steel.
"You know, kid," he said, brushing his cloak aside as he leaned slightly forward, his eyes glinting like ice beneath moonlight,
"I admire your spirit—this world could use more souls who vouch for their comrades. But in Alex's case… kindness alone won't earn him a promotion."
He paused. Then his voice sharpened.
"A mere finishing blow doesn't change the tide of war. And if Alex wants to rise… he'll need to show us more than that."
The room went quiet again.
Alex said nothing, but his fists tightened by his side. His eyes—burning, yet calm—met the generals'. A fire was lit. A vow silently made.
But just when the room seemed locked in unshakable silence, Seraphina stepped forward, refusing to hold back any longer.
Her voice was calm, steady, but held a quiet fire beneath.
"I agree with Zeke," she said. "Alex fought beside us. We witnessed his skill firsthand when he faced the abomination. He didn't just finish the battle—he changed its course."
The moment her voice joined the proposal, the atmosphere thickened like a gathering storm. Though the conversation seemed measured and polite, beads of sweat slid down their temples. The air itself pressed against their chests—heavy, suffocating, charged with unseen power.
Despite their conviction… the generals remained unmoved.
Their eyes didn't blink. Their expressions didn't flicker.
They stood like mountains—unshaken, immovable, absolute.
Then, just as tension reached its boiling point, another voice broke through. Smooth. Cunning. Dangerous.
"Sirs," Noah said, his tone cool as ice and sharp as a blade, a sly grin playing at the corner of his lips, "may I propose a way to resolve this?"
The room froze.
All eyes turned toward him.
The pressure in the air twisted tighter—as if time itself held its breath.
Inside his mind, Noah grinned.
"Now's my chance… This is the perfect opportunity to teach that arrogant fool a lesson."
His eyes briefly locked with Alex's, and in that brief flash, something unspoken passed between them.
A challenge. A trap. A game.
With everyone watching, Noah took a dramatic pause—just long enough for his words to sink in deep.
"I propose we give Alex a chance to prove himself."
He let the silence stretch after his sentence, allowing the weight of his words to echo in the minds of every person present.
Alex's eyes narrowed. His jaw tightened.
"Tch… Noah. You sly bastard. You've got me cornered this time," he thought, a slight smirk tugging at his lips.
As if reading Alex's thoughts, Noah's next words confirmed his sinister intentions:
"Since his team believes he deserves a higher rank—and since there's no way he could defeat the abomination he supposedly handled alone—I suggest we let Alex fight a senior hunter. One whose strength equals the level of the creature he defeated."
He delivered it with innocent gestures, feigning sincerity. But everyone in the room could taste the manipulation behind his smile.
Then—
BANG!
A thunderous crash exploded through the hall as General Thorfinn Dortmon, the silent titan who hadn't spoken a single word since the meeting began, slammed his fist onto the table. The impact sent a wave of shock through the room, rattling chairs, and silencing every breath.
Gasps echoed. Heads turned.
"You devil…" General Thorfinn growled, his voice thick with fury, his glare locked on Noah like a predator sizing up prey.
But before the storm could escalate, General Julius calmly raised his hand, his fingers gesturing lightly—an unspoken command for silence.
"Enough," Julius said, exhaling deeply.
"While it's a reckless idea… it's also a sound one. After all, the choice remains in Alex's hands."
"Yeah, yeah… fair enough," General Ezekiel added, folding his arms as he leaned back. He fell silent, eyes gleaming with anticipation.
Then came the question that shattered the tension once and for all.
"Alex," General Julius said, staring directly at him, "what is your decision?"
His voice was composed—but beneath it was the clear expectation of surrender, of retreat. In his eyes, Alex had already admitted defeat.
But Alex didn't flinch. Didn't blink.
His voice, when it came, was cold—firm like tempered steel.
"I accept."
A hush swept through the room.
Inside his mind, Alex's resolve crystallized.
"This is my chance to grow. A real test. A real fight. Let's see just how far I've come."
And with that one word… the battle was set in motion.