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Aside from basic identity details, the form was filled with optional sections: category, type, abilities, and the strength of the Quantum Force of one's Tamed Alienor. It was common knowledge among the Doom-Breaker hopefuls that revealing too much was a risk—an invitation for others to undermine them. Thus, it came as no surprise that the alliance didn't mandate those sections be completed.
Adam finished scribbling down his answers, the pen in his hand feeling like a dagger as it etched out a potential future. He walked through the marbled hall, the cold glow of neon lights casting sharp shadows as he approached Assessment Area B, a space designed for rookies by the Alliance Association.
The room itself was stark, sterile; bright white walls reflected the fluorescent lights, making the space feel like a scene from a futuristic opera. Adam's eyes roamed the space, counting four steel doors, each manned by waiting examinees and guarded by stoic, imposing figures.
As Adam neared the queue for Gate No. 3, two towering guards barred his path. The staff member, dressed in a crisp blue uniform and seated behind a polished desk, glanced up from the monitor and stretched out a hand. "ID card and application form, please."
Adam produced the documents from his pocket, the laminated ID catching the bright light as he handed it over. The man scanned it, and a soft beep followed as Adam's personal data illuminated the screen.
"Adam... from the slums?" The words came out with a hint of disbelief, enough to stir a murmur through the room. Heads turned, eyes narrowing as whispers filled the silence.
"From the slums? What's he even doing here?"
"Is this a joke? He's going to take the Doom-Breaker test?"
A girl with pin-straight hair snickered. "Every year, dreamers come out of the gutters thinking they're someone special."
"Bet he doesn't even have a Tamed Alienor worth mentioning."
The low hum of voices seeped through Adam's skin, but he kept his gaze steady. He'd heard it all before—the doubt, the mockery. They didn't understand; they couldn't.
The staff member sighed, leaning back with a wary look. "You're sure about this?" He gestured to the ominous doors. "Each one leads to a separate exam room, housing a live monster. You have to kill it to pass. This isn't a game."
Adam's lips curled in the faintest hint of a smile. "I'm sure."
The man's eyes lingered on him for another moment before he nodded and punched Adam's details into the system. "Gate No. 3. Proceed to line up. Good luck—you'll need it."
With a signal to the guards, Adam stepped through as they stood aside. As he walked, the stares felt like tiny daggers on his back, but he ignored them, taking his place in the queue. Ahead of him, candidates cast smug glances over their shoulders, their eyes brimming with amusement and pity.
Adam clenched his jaw. Let them watch.
Time crawled by. Each time a candidate emerged, it was usually in defeat—clothes torn, faces pale, trailing the remnants of failure. The occasional victor sparked a hushed buzz among the onlookers. Adam's eyes drifted to Gate No. 2 when an exclamation of awe rippled through the crowd.
A young woman with a high ponytail, her bearing regal and confident, stepped out holding a bloodied monster's claw. She was statuesque, poised like a queen surveying her subjects.
"Miss Stella, daughter of the Cromwell family!" someone whispered, voice tinged with awe.
"She only took a minute and thirty-two seconds," another added.
Adam's eyes met Stella's as she scanned the room, her gaze pausing briefly on him. A flicker of disdain crossed her face. Adam's return stare was cold, dismissive. He had no time for the privileged games of Crypta's elite.
"Stella, you did amazing!" A young man in a tailored suit approached her, beaming. "I'll have my assistant handle the paperwork. Come, let's celebrate—"
"Hold on," she said, cutting him off, her eyes still fixed on Adam. Who does he think he is, looking at me like that?
Unfazed by the silent challenge, Adam turned back to the examiner as he reached the door.
The examiner took his ID and offered a final warning, voice low and serious. "Ten minutes to kill the target. If you don't, it's a failure. Bring back part of the creature as proof. If you need to abandon the test, do so immediately."
Adam nodded, the weight of the moment sinking in. "Understood."
A button press switched the light above the door from green to a harsh, pulsing red. With a push, Adam stepped into the dim room.
The air was stale, thick with the metallic scent of rust and sweat. A low, guttural growl echoed, and a monstrous creature emerged from the shadows. Its eyes glowed, feral and full of hunger, as its hunched form revealed rows of sharp, yellowed teeth.
Corpse Eater, the system chimed in his mind, bringing up details:
[Alienor name: Corpse Eater]
[Affiliation: Wild Alienor]
[Level: 1]
[Class: Ghost, Strengthening System]
[Abilities: Superhuman strength, immense bite force.]
[Weakness: Overconfidence]
[Combat Analysis: Letting it live would be the greatest insult. Eliminate it.]
A dark laugh bubbled in Adam's chest. "Rose, time to dance."
In an instant, a figure materialized—a girl, ethereal, wielding a scythe nearly her size. Her eyes gleamed with a mix of innocence and lethal intent.
The beast lunged first, a roar tearing through the air. Adam didn't flinch.
"Now!" he commanded.
Rose darted forward, the blade singing as it sliced through the space between them. The monster's charge halted with a sickening clang, and it crumpled, lifeless, to the ground. The echoes of battle faded into silence.
[Host has slain a Level 1 Corpse Eater. Experience points gained: +10 for Alienor, Rose.]