As the line progressed, David felt a mounting wave of anxiety tightening its grip on him. His palms grew sweaty, and his entire body seemed to shiver with a mix of fear and anticipation. The weight of the impending revelation bore down on him, making each step toward the power orb feel like a monumental task.

The knights, unaware of David's internal confusion, were focused on maintaining order in the line. Noticing a slight delay caused by David holding back, one of them offered a gentle nudge, a subtle encouragement to keep the line moving. David stumbled slightly, the unease in his eyes betraying the confusion within. The crowd watched with bated breath as David approached the power orb.

His heart raced, the rhythmic thumping echoing in his ears. The knight's encouraging gesture and the expectant gaze of the king amplified the gravity of the moment, setting the stage for an unforeseen twist in the unfolding tale. “I d-don’t have a letter” David whispered.

The king, catching wind of David's words, leaned closer with a furrowed brow. "Speak up, boy! I cannot hear you," the king insisted.

Gathering his nerves, David repeated, this time with a more audible tone, "I don't have the letter." The king's eyes widened in shock, a ripple of surprise coursing through the room. The unexpected revelation hung in the air, casting an uncertain shadow over David's fate.

The king's voice thundered, "What?! How did you even get here!?"

Whispers circulated among the crowd of strangers, their confusion evident. "Didn't he receive an invitation?" "What's he doing here then?"

"I knew this guy would cause trouble; he's holding up the line," declared the boastful woman. “Unfortunately, I can't demonstrate my skill just yet. Someone is holding up the line…"

David caught wind of her words and shifted his gaze toward her. Men surrounding her fueled her ego, "Move, you worm! Let our mistress go next," demanded one man. Another chimed in, "Sorry for the delay, mistress; this guy is wasting your precious time."

David's eyes darted around, seeking some kind of comfort. His thoughts turned to Sherry, but she was already taken away, out of sight. The knights closed in around David, grabbing his arms, but he resisted, attempting to push them away. In his struggle, he lost his balance, falling to the ground and colliding with the tripod carrying the Power Orb, causing it to roll away. Witnessing this, the onlookers yelled at David, their brows furrowed and teeth clenched in frustration.

In a fit of panic, David crawled after the orb, desperately attempting to fix the situation. However, the knights swiftly seized his arms again. One of the white-hooded men approached David, casting a spell that bound his arms and legs like an unbreakable rope.

The king, burning with anger and fists clenched, ordered the knights to take him to the dungeons. David struggled. Why wouldn’t he? He was never supposed to be here; he was supposed to work and never wanted to be anything other than a normal person. Yet these strangers and weirdos were taking him to a place where criminals meet and murderers rot. David was never great with strangers.

But before David was taken away, he noticed the boastful woman. Her hair, crimson red, flowed, and she wore an expensive uniform reminiscent of a high-schooler — a tailored blazer adorned with intricate golden embroidery, paired with a pleated skirt that accentuated her arrogant swagger. Her chest puffed with pride, and her face gleamed with confidence as she took her turn. Walking towards the stage with a confident stride, the men surrounding her cheered, boosting her ego. Upon reaching the power orb, now fixed, she turned around before showing her invitation letter. With a confident blow of a kiss to the men, they fainted in exaggerated happiness.

The woman proudly raised her invitation letter for all to see, displaying it to the entire room. She then presented it to the orb, eager to witness the projection of her skill and its power. A confident smile adorned her face as she anticipated the greatness she believed she possessed. Her ego wouldn't allow her to consider any other outcome. The white-robed man began reading the projection.

“Skill”' he announced. The woman smiled with a puffed chest. “Executioner—Power level, Grand Adept.” Hearing this, her eyes widened in surprise and disgust. Despite seeing herself as a beautiful and gorgeous lady, her skill fell far short of her own perception. She dropped to the floor, and both the white-robed man and the king gasped.

"Damn it!" she whispered in frustration. She gritted her teeth and clenched her fist. "That woman stole my skill," she seethed in her mind, thinking about Sherry.

David, witnessing a glimpse of the boatsful woman’s skill, is continued to be dragged by the knights until the doors closed behind them. In a desperate attempt to resist, he screamed and tried to free himself from the magical bindings as he was dragged away. However, his efforts were futile, and all he could manage was to let a tear escape from his eyes.

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David found himself in the dungeon—an eerie, dimly lit place where the only illumination came from flickering torches on the pillars supporting the cold, damp roof. Metal doors creaked as a cell swung open, and David was roughly thrown inside. His binds were removed, and he staggered to his feet, desperate to escape. With a swift motion, he tried to run toward the cell door, only to have it slam shut, his head colliding with the unforgiving surface and sending him sprawling.

“What the hell? Why am I here? What are you going to do to me?” David's voice echoed through the dungeon, his sweat dripping down. But his screams fell on deaf ears, heard only by the other prisoners confined in the oppressive darkness.

Meanwhile, the boastful woman, still on the ground and consumed by fury, rose to her feet and approached the men who had supported her. As she neared them, the men nervously offered words of consolation. "It's okay, mistress," one said. "That's right, mistress, you can still be beautiful and—"

"Shut up," the woman snapped, cutting off the men attempting to console her.

Before David's arrival in this strange place, those who had arrived earlier were already briefed on the nature of skills and the various power levels. "Power levels" served as ranks to indicate a person's strength, while "skills" referred to their profession or job.

There are eight Power Levels.

0. Supreme Sovereign

1. Mystic Sovereign

2. Grand Master

3. Master

4. Grand Adept

5 .Adept

6. Luminary

7. Initiate

There are also a variety of skills. The most common ones include mages, archers, swordsmen, and shielders. Additionally, there are unique skills such as saints and executioners.

Although unique skills are powerful, they come with specific requirements. Take the executioner, for example. Despite being unique and potent, it is not strong alone. A contract must be established with another person, designating that person as the executioner's judge. Without this connection, they can't unleash their full potential and are reduced to being just individuals with giant battle axes.

Armed with this knowledge, the boastful woman clenches her skirt. She refuses to rely on others, recognizing that entering into a contract with those men who support her would essentially make her a slave. This realization fills her with disdain. She doesn’t want to be tied down.

In the oppressive confines of the underground dungeon, the reverberating bangs against the iron door echoed David's desperation. “Please! I didn't do anything!” he pleaded as he continues to hit the door. The clamor irritated the neighboring prisoners, their voices rising in protest. “Shut up! I'm trying to rest here!” one man snapped. “Stop shouting!” another demanded. “If you don't stop with that banging noise, someone's getting their ass banged in here.”

Realizing the futility of his actions, David slumped to the cold ground, his breaths heavy with exhaustion. He reached into his suit, retrieving a cherished image of his parents. The source of his strength and will. After a moment of reflection, he returned the image to its place, standing up and patting himself clean of the dungeon's dust.

“What am I supposed to do now?” David whispered to himself, the weight of uncertainty pressing down on him.

As hours passed, David lay on the unforgiving floor, staring at the featureless concrete ceiling. The concept of time blurred, and even the arrival of food failed to rouse his appetite. Muffled sounds of celebration, distant explosions sounding like fireworks, and cheers reached his ears, a stark contrast to the bleakness of his confinement. The summoned heroes reveled in their accolades outside, clad in regal attire, and with weapons that vary from person to person.

Nightfall on the kingdom of Eldoria, the streets now serene after the vibrant parade. The knights patrolled the silent pathways, and only a few adults ventured out on their errands. Summoned heroes retired to their chambers, readying themselves for the impending journey to vanquish evil.

In the grand chamber of the king, fashioned from marble, the ruler stood by the window, bathed in the soft glow of moonlight. A gentle robe adorned him as he observed the city he governed. A discreet knock interrupted his contemplation. “Come in,” the king beckoned. The door creaked open, revealing a knight in iron armor.

“I apologize for the sudden intrusion, my lord.” The knight knelt before the king, his gaze fixed on the ground. The king turned to face him. “Stand, warrior. What news do you bring?” His voice carried a calm yet authoritative tone.

The knight rose and met the king's gaze. “My Lord, regarding the individual recently brought to the dungeon, what are your orders? His annoying shouts disturb not only the guards but also the fellow prisoners.”

The king walked purposefully toward a table situated near his bed. On the table rested a solitary glass and an untouched bottle of wine. “Yeah, I know,” he replied as he poured a measured amount into the glass. He took a sip, his gaze fixed on the knight. “You aren't the first knight to come here with the same issue.”

The king, lost in thought, poured another glass of wine “Tell ‘that’ man to take the prisoner”.

The knight, grappling with doubt, questioned, “But, my Lord, 'that' man? Are you sure?”

“Did I stutter, knight?” the king retorted, his tone unwavering. As he poured himself another glass, he continued, “We cannot take him back to his home yet. This...” The king paused, his eyes focused on the wall. “This was not supposed to happen. Those without the invitation lack permission to leave. The letter serves as both an entrance and an exit. Without it, they’re bound.” The king's eyes lingered on the window.

The knight bowed. “I will do as you wish, My Lord Cedric.” The door closed behind him, leaving the king alone once more, his gaze fixed on the city beyond, his mind seemingly occupied. “what have you brought us dear goddess?”

End of chapter