The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting long shadows that danced across the cobblestone streets. A middle-aged man, with his sharp features illuminated by the fading light, watched intently as Luke and Leila disappeared from view. His heart raced, a mixture of admiration and calculation swirling within him.
"Impressive! Such talent!" he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, yet it carried the weight of a thousand unspoken thoughts. Each movement of Luke's was scrutinized, dissected like a master jeweler examining a flawless gem. The boy's potential shimmered brightly, a beacon in the encroaching darkness.
As the duo vanished from sight, the elderly driver, a man of few words, broke the silence that enveloped the car.
"Sir… why did you act in that boy's favor?" His voice was cautious, as if afraid to disturb the delicate balance of the moment.
The man in the passenger seat, clad in a tailored black suit adorned with intricate gold embroidery, paused.
His presence was commanding, an unyielding force that demanded respect. When he finally spoke, his voice resonated like the tolling of a distant bell, echoing with authority.
"To help the weak is our duty… Not to mention that each youngster is the hope and future of our country. If we don't help, then who will?"
"…"
The driver nodded since he obviously understood the man's mindset, so he didn't question further. He simply shifted the gear and continued driving in silence.
The world outside fading into a blur. The middle-aged man's gaze remained fixed on the spot where Luke had stood, a sense of resolve blossoming within him.
That boy…
He had been the one to toss the technique crystal to Luke, helping the youth grasp the 'Iron Crushing Fist technique' directly at the Entry Level.
Technique crystals were rather difficult to produce since they needed special materials to create them.
To this day, only low-level techniques could be created, as for higher ones, they are impossible to create or even allow someone to directly comprehend a technique at the Entry Level.
Unlike fragile manuals, technique crystals can preserve a technique for a longer time, maybe eternally, though high-tier arts were impossible to create.
Yet, what truly astonished the man was Luke's rapid mastery of the technique. To the casual eye, mere seconds had passed, but in that fleeting moment, time had stretched, allowing Luke to refine his skills for three long hours.
But even with this man's strength, he didn't sense anything, so he thought Luke had a high comprehension ability that allowed him to grasp the technique so quickly.
The middle-aged man's lips curled into a faint smile, a mixture of pride and disbelief.
A heaven-defying talent, indeed. The world was teetering on the brink of chaos, with beasts lurking in the shadows, ready to strike. Each year, warriors fell like leaves in autumn, their numbers dwindling as hope faded.
The world was crying out for prodigies—individuals who could shift the tides of fate.
'But'
"Talent without direction is like a ship without a sail—adrift and vulnerable to the storms of life."
The man's fingers tightened. He must not be wasted.
"Compile a file on the boy. Background, affiliations. I want everything on him now."
The middle-aged man said, his voice edged with the sharpness of a whetstone. With his statues, it wasn't hard for him to get what he wanted.
The old driver's knuckles whitened on the steering wheel.
"Understood, sir." His aged eyes flickered to the rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of his master's excited profile.
His master had always taken a keen interest in those with latent potential, especially individuals who could become invaluable assets in the relentless struggle against the beasts.
The car—glided through the neon-lit streets, its plates devoid of insignia, yet the aura of authority it exuded parted traffic like a blade.
Soon, the imposing facade of the Extreme Martial Dojo loomed ahead.
Stepping out, the man's suit remained crisp and unwrinkled despite the long drive, his shoes striking the pavement with purpose. To the casual observer, the dojo appeared a respectable institution. To him, it was a flickering candle next to a roaring bonfire.
He strode confidently toward the entrance, the faint scent of incense mingling with the sharp tang of sweat and metal.
"Welcome back, Dean!"
The receptionist—a sharp-eyed woman who had processed Luke's application mere hours prior—bowed deeply, her voice trembling not from fear but from reverence.
Marcus acknowledged her with a fractional nod, his gaze already piercing through the corridor's vaulted archways.
To many, he was merely a man in his prime, his suit unremarkable save for the eight silver stars embroidered at his collar. Yet those stars pulsed faintly, each a testament to battles fought, where weak warriors died.
He was none other than Marcus Steel, the Dean of the Extreme Martial Dojo, and also an 8-Star Warrior.
Marcus walked towards the elevator, his presence commanding respect from all those who crossed his path. When Marcus entered his office.
He ordered someone to bring him the information for this year's new recruiting exam.
Before long, Luke's information was sent by the old driver.
Luke's details were easily accessible: his family history and the notice of his application to the Extreme Martial Dojo.
Marcus stood tall and imposing, a figure of power and respect, as he began to read through the files.
Luke Dawnbringer, only 18 years old this year, possessed the strength of an Early 1-Star Stage Warrior. 'Interesting…' Marcus mused, sensing great potential in the young man, eager to witness his performance in the recruitment exam.
'Perhaps this kid can even be recruited to that place!'
His eyes sparkled with anticipation, but he reminded himself not to let excitement cloud his judgment. "No such places can only allow the best of the best; for this kid to have a chance…"
Marcus paused, taking a deep breath to compose himself. Luke showed promise, but it was merely that—promise. He could not be compared to a true genius.
His fingers traced the edge of Luke's file, the glow of holographic data casting shadows across his stern features. Eighteen years old. Early 1-Star Warrior. His lips tightened. In the grand calculus of talent, such metrics were mundane. But potential… potential was a flicker even the darkest night could not smother.
Leaning back, the leather of his office chair sighed under his weight. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows of his spire-like office, the city sprawled beneath him—a labyrinth of steel and neon, its edges clawed by the encroaching wilds.
[Knock][Knock]
Moments later, a man entered the room, handing Marcus a thick folder filled with details for the upcoming exam and participants.
"Sir, those are the records you requested on this year's top examinees."
A hologram flared to life above his desk, names scrolling in azure light:
Kael Vortimer, 18. Late 2-Star Warrior.
Liena Moonshadow, 17. Peak 2-Star Warrior.
Ryuji Kurogane, 19. Early 2-Star Warrior.
Marcus's gaze lingered on Liena's profile. A Peak 2-Star at 18, rumor claimed she had single-handedly annihilated a pack of wolves comparable to 2-Star Warriors at 15. But Luke…
He tapped Luke's photo, zooming in on the youth's unremarkable file. No powerful bloodline. No awakened ability. A background as plain as rice paper—raised by his widowed mother in the Lower Section. And yet…
Marcus's mind replayed the moment when Luke had grasped the technique crystal, the Iron Crushing Fist's instantly going to the Basic Level.
Not even Liena had achieved entry-level mastery that fast.
'Forget it, I will just keep my eye on that kid for now,' Marcus thought to himself.
'There must be something special about him, something hidden beneath that ordinary facade.' With a determined look in his eye, Marcus closed Luke's file and made a mental note to monitor his progress closely in the upcoming exam.