Arthur folded his arms loosely. So where would I fall?
His mana, his channels.
They were strange.
Yet he already fought better than most of these people.
Because his strength did not originate from mana.
It originated from intent.
Would the machine even read that?
Arthur's lips twitched faintly.
If it spits out trash, fine.
If it spits out gold, fine.
I'll climb either way.
A whisper came from beside him.
"What do you think you'll get?"
Arthur glanced sideways at the messy-haired man from earlier.
Arthur shrugged. "Something."
The man forced a laugh.
"Yeah. Hopefully not 'go back to slums' something."
Arthur met his eyes.
"You survived a mutated dungeon. You're already past that."
The man stared at him, then nodded slowly.
"Right…"
Another name was called. Another result. Another quiet sorting.
And the line kept shrinking.
Arthur watched each person carefully, not to judge and not to compare, but to understand.
The system, and the structure.
