In the broad expanse of the train compartment, there were nine figures, positioned in battle stances, looking at them...
"Nine, nine persons?! The worst-case scenario!"
Son of Sadomasochism's scalp tightened and tingled, his pupils shrank to pinholes as he realized he was facing the most daunting challenge of legend.
A squad formed by nine D Level Personnel, even if placed in the first compartment, was enough to decimate them.
Not to mention, this was actually happening in the fifth compartment...
Thus far, no E level promotion team had ever won in such circumstances, to the extent that the replica's people commonly referred to it as "minor loss of control," treating it as a bug that couldn't be passed.
This number was beyond what delaying tactics could manage.
And at Son of Sadomasochism's side, the others were equally stunned, at a loss for how to act, as if the air itself had solidified...
