"Follow me."

Without paying any mind to the stares around him, Eman silently followed the girl who had motioned for him to come along.

Her pace was steady and confident. The faint click of her boots echoing against the stone paths.

But before they could go far, a sharp voice cut through the air.

"Stop right there!"

Eman instinctively turned his head toward the source. A young man was striding towards him.

His features registered in Eman's vision. About the same age as him, with striking red hair, brown eyes, and sharp, hawk-like brows. His hand was resting on the hilt of a sword at his waist. The blade's edge glinting faintly under the sunlight.

A murmur rippled through the crowd.

"Here goes Randolph," someone whispered.

The atmosphere immediately grew heavier, as if everyone was expecting something to happen.

Eman's steps slowed, then came to a halt.

The red-haired man— Randolph, as the others called him, stopped a few paces in front of Eman.

His expression carried both confidence and hostility.

Eman stood his ground, calm and composed, waiting for the boy to speak.

"Are you a member of that trash group?" Randolph asked coldly. His tone dripped with contempt, and his words drew a few sneers from those nearby.

The insult was clear, but Eman's expression didn't waver.

"Sorry," he said evenly, "I think you've got the wrong person."

His calm voice held not a hint of nervousness. If anything, it sounded faintly amused. This idiot just wasted a few seconds of his life. If he only knew he just going to ask unnecesarry question, he wouldn't have stopped.

Randolph raised an eyebrow, studying him with a piercing gaze that lingered like a challenge but Eman already lost interest to talk with him.

He was about to proceed when Randolph opened his mouth once again.

"Then who are you?" He demanded, his tone edging toward a threat.

Eman tilted his head slightly, a faint smile playing on his lips.

In his mind, he also wondered who this Randolph was, and what his position within the clan might be. Judging from the reactions of the people around them, Randolph didn't seem to be the clan leader, but he was likely someone with influence or status among their ranks.

"Just a passerby," Eman replied coolly. He didn't want to waste time there, so he quickly added, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to meet your leader."

He turned to leave, but before he could take a single step, a firm hand clamped down on his shoulder.

"Wait," Randolph said, his tone dropping into a low growl. "I don't like the way you answered."

That was fine by him. He didn't like the way this guy was questioning him, either.

Eman only wanted to speak with their leader. He had no time to waste with anyone else. However, it didn't seem like this Randolph had any intention of letting him go so easily.

He understood now that what happened outside had been a test. An attempt to gauge his strength. But inside this place, the situation was completely different. Everyone around him radiated power. Each one looked like an experienced fighter, armed with expensive weapons and confidence that came from real battle experience.

He couldn't simply use concentrated killing intent like he did with the guards earlier to make them faint instantly. That would only cause unnecessary chaos here. Besides, that wasn't his goal.

He wasn't here to start a fight. He was here to settle the accusations against his clan peacefully, if possible.

"I don't intend to anger anyone or hurt anyone," Eman said calmly. "I am here to have a proper conversation with your leader, and that's what matters most to me. So please, release my shoulder. I need to continue forward."

His composed response did nothing to ease the anger boiling inside Randolph. It even fueled the fire, especially when they heard him say about hurting anyone around him.

As if someone like him had the strength to hurt them. They couldn't help but feel this guy was crazy. Spouting nonsense. Truly nonsense.

But before Randolph could act on it, he caught sight of the girl who had guided Eman earlier.

Eman still felt Randolph's tight grip on his shoulder, but when Randolph saw the girl nod slightly, he hesitated, then slowly released his hold.

However, before he could fully withdraw his hand, someone from the surrounding crowd suddenly shouted, completely changing the mood.

"So it's true—you're the leader of that trash clan!?"

Eman turned his head toward the speaker. Though he disliked the man's tone, he responded calmly.

"You could say you're half right and half wrong," he said. "You're right that I am the leader of the clan, but wrong to call it a trash clan."

"Bastard! Who are you trying to fool? That symbol on your left shoulder is proof enough!"

All eyes shifted on the insignia stitched on the left side of Eman's uniform, the emblem of Merciless Clan.

Whispers filled the air. It was clear all these people were looking down on his clan. He didn't like the way they spoke but he kept his composure. But if battle was inevitable, there was nothing he could do about it.

Randolph's grip tightened once again, crushing down on Eman's shoulder as though he intended to break his bone. Yet, Eman didn't even flinch. Not a trace of pain crossed his face.

"Y-You—!"Randolph stammered, his voice trembling with fury. His eyes glowed faintly red, as if possessed by rage or dark energy.

The air around them grew heavier, oppressive. Every gaze turned to Eman, ready to pounce at any moment.

"I'm warning you," Eman said in a low, steady voice. "Let go of my shoulder—or something bad will happen."

His tone carried a quiet menace. He was ready for a fight now. He had expected it might come to this.

"This arrogant fool dares to act tough?!" One of the people around spat, his voice seething with hatred. "Because of you and your pathetic group, my treasured item was damaged! Do you really think your lives are enough to pay for your incompetence?!"

His shout echoed across the spacious yard like thunder.

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