The ten soldiers stood.
A single line.
But—
their faces were not alike…
Only one thing unified them.
Anger.
A dark… heavy… silent anger.
The kind of anger that does not scream…
but decides.
The kind that makes a man ready…
to descend into hell… just to reach his goal.
In the sky—
a Third-Rank Master stood.
High… steady… like an unmistakable omen of danger.
His snow-white hair drifted with the wind…
his eyes fixed on them with clear interest.
Then—
he smiled.
A cold smile.
And said, almost amused:
"Those are beautiful looks… the ones on your faces."
He paused.
Then added, with genuine admiration:
"If I had a way to make you my subordinates… I wouldn't hesitate."
His smile widened.
"You… are a remarkable squad."
It was praise.
Praise from a Third-Rank Master…
to a group of lesser fighters.
But—
it had no effect.
Quite the opposite.
Their eyes burned brighter.
Their anger deepened.
As if his words were fuel.
"Do you belittle us, you bastard?!"
