Axton stood calmly, his sharp eyes scanning the new group of soldiers that had assembled before him.

Something about their expressions caught his attention almost immediately. Their glares carried more than simple curiosity or suspicion.

Their eyes were full of disdain, hostility, and perhaps, even fear.

They weren't happy to see him.

Whether it was because of his very presence or because he now bore the title of Atlas' second commander,.

Axton wasn't certain.

All he knew was that the atmosphere was heavy with unspoken resentment.

He rubbed his chin slightly, deep in thought. 'Is it just because of my position? Or do they think I don't deserve to stand where I stand?'

Regardless, one thing was clear.

He wasn't going to allow Gerolt, or anyone else, to trample over his authority.

Reputation was everything.

He had fought hard to reach this point.

Allowing someone like Gerolt to insult him in front of others would undo everything in mere seconds.

A cowardly commander? A pushover? Never.

He hadn't been one in the newbie village, and he didn't plan on starting now in Atlas.

Gerolt sneered, his tone thick with mockery. "You dare to claim that you're the second commander?"

Axton summoned the insignia into his hand to show Gerolt, before raising it high for all to see..

"Claim?" Axton repeated coldly. "I can't claim to be what I already am. So, if you'll excuse me…"

He returned the insignia back into place, his expression calm but sharp.

The crowd murmured.

Some soldiers exchanged uncertain glances, but Gerolt wasn't convinced.

"That's a fake!" he snapped, his voice rising in fury. "I'm sure of it!"

Axton scoffed, shaking his head. "I don't need to prove myself to you, Gerolt. You're not worth the effort."

His tone hardened as he turned away slightly. "If you have doubts, bring your superiors to me. Until then, find another place to throw your tantrums."

The soldiers seemed to have gasped simultaneously.

No one had ever spoken to Gerolt like that before.

Gerolt's veins bulged across his forehead as his face reddened like a tomato.

Rage twisted his features into something almost grotesque.

"You…!" his voice cracked with fury. "You dare—! You're nothing compared to me! Do you think killing a few beasts outside the gates makes you worthy of standing at my level? Do you think it gives you the right to strut around with arrogance?"

Axton remained silent, his calmness a direct contrast to Gerolt's explosive anger.

His silence wasn't submission.

It was dismissal.

He could see straight through Gerolt.

The man's words were hollow, a thin mask to cover the truth.

This wasn't about loyalty to Commander Bismarck or concerns for Atlas' order.

It was envy. Pure, bitter envy.

Axton glanced at the rest of the squad. Many of them wore similar expressions, though they lacked the courage to act out as Gerolt had.

Their jealousy was clearly to Axton beyond the expressions he was seeing on their faces.

It made sense to him now.

Until now, there had only been one commander in Atlas. Then Axton appeared, almost out of nowhere, and suddenly his title was recognized across the city.

To them, he was an outsider who had stolen prestige that should have been theirs.

Axton exhaled slowly, a flicker of annoyance in his gaze. 'I only wanted a position that would make things easier for me… but this? This is turning into something far more troublesome.'

*Shing*

The sound of a blade being unsheathed snapped through the air like a whip.

Axton's eyes shifted instantly to Gerolt.

The man had drawn his sword.

His grip was tight, his stance aggressive.

The crowd stirred, shocked by his audacity.

Axton's expression darkened, his features hardening like stone.

Gerolt's recklessness reminded him of someone from the newbie village — Silva.

Brash, brainless, and irritating.

The type of man who acted before thinking, always convinced that raw strength could solve every problem.

Such people got on his nerves.

He had no patience for fools.

Gerolt swung his blade down from horseback, expecting Axton to flinch or retreat.

Instead, Axton calmly equipped his shock plate.

*Clank*

The sword struck the armor with full force, sparks scattering on impact but the blade didn't even leave a scratch.

Axton's eyes narrowed as he stared at Gerolt, his glare as cold as ice

The soldier's showoff of dominance and courage failed.

He swallowed hard, his confidence draining as quickly as his facial colour.

Before he could retreat, Axton moved.

With one hand, he seized Gerolt's wrist and the hilt of the sword, yanking him down from his horse in one smooth motion.

The soldier crashed to the ground with a heavy thud, dazed.

Without hesitation, Axton's fists rained down in a flurry of brutal strikes.

Each blow was precise, efficient, and devastating.

Gerolt's health bar plummeted rapidly, his body convulsing under the force as foam came out from his mouth.

By the time Axton stopped, Gerolt's HP had been crushed to a mere fraction, only one-fourth remaining.

Axton had done it intentionally.

Killing him outright might create problems that he didn't need right now.

Leaving him alive but broken sent a clearer message.

He rose to his feet, his hand clenched into a fist, and turned to face the rest of Gerolt's squad.

His voice rang out like thunder.

"Anybody else," he demanded, his tone sharp and cutting, "...have something they want to get off their chest?"

The soldiers instinctively recoiled. Several stepped back, others shook their heads violently, their faces pale with fear.

They had thought Gerolt's words carried weight.

They had believed maybe Axton was a fraud… a pretender.

Now, watching Gerolt sprawled helplessly on the ground, beaten to within an inch of his life in mere seconds, they knew the truth.

Axton was the real deal!

Amidst the crowd, no one looked more shaken than Rarat.

He stared wide-eyed at the scene, his heart pounding.

A chill swept through his body as the realization hit him.

'That… could have… been me.'

If he hadn't bent the knee earlier…

If he had continued to resist…

…He would be lying there now, bloodied, humiliated and broken.

Axton's cold gaze swept over the soldiers again.

He gave a faint, mocking smirk. "That's what I thought."

Gerolt groaned on the ground.

His face was nothing to write home about, bruised and swollen.

His eyes glazed with disbelief.

He couldn't understand how he had lost so quickly, how his strength and pride had crumbled in seconds.

Every step Axton took forward sent fear through the squad.

The men instinctively parted, stepping back or to the sides, creating a clear path for him to pass through.

And as he walked, they lowered their heads.

Some even bowed, unwilling to meet his gaze.

It wasn't just respect. It was submission.

The city of Atlas had gained its second commander.

And everyone here now understood exactly what that meant.

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