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... dramatic?

Damien exhaled softly, amused.

He thumbed a reply—slow, deliberate.

| Damien [14:07]

| Is that your way of asking for my score, Langley?

| Or are you just anxious I'll outperform the notes you gave me?

From the front row, she sat with textbook posture—back straight, packet open in front of her—but she hadn't turned a single page since sitting down. Her fingers didn't twitch, her eyes didn't flinch.

But Damien could see it.

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[Once you left the mountains, you were at Eighth Grade, received recognition from a noble clan, were taught profound martial arts, but due to slow progress, were marginalized, and after a dozen years, you finally broke through to the seventh grade, but then encountered powerful foes on a mission and were killed.]

After countless rounds of simulations: [You encounter people, but none are a match for you. You realize that you have become invincible.]

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With cracked skins, it sprouts new flesh.

In the gray mists, shirek cries come from the flesh wall that consumes thousands of corpses…

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