Chapter 183: The Remaining Ten World-Class Hunters Convene
The private summit chamber embedded eight hundred meters within the granite core of Mount Titlis was built to survive the total collapse of the surface world.
Reinforced by six layers of dampening fields and spell-woven titanium plating, the circular hall had no windows looking out over the snow-capped Swiss peaks, only a high vaulted ceiling that emitted a steady, cool white illumination across a circular table forged from solid meteoritic iron.
For thirty years, this chamber had remained empty, reserved exclusively for moments when the absolute champions of human civilization were forced to gather under a single roof.
Ten chairs sat around the meteoritic table, and for the first time in modern history, every single seat was occupied.
These were not bureaucrats, politicians, or corporate directors who managed armies from padded leather chairs.
These were the ten remaining World-Class Hunters, the living human calamities who possessed enough individual destructive power to level a small nation within an afternoon.
At the eastern position sat Master Jin-Woo of the Eastern Blade Syndicate, his long black hair bound loosely behind his neck, his simple grey linen robes contrasting sharply with the dual ancient void-taichi blades resting across his knees.
Opposite him sat Arch-Mage Valeria, the head of the North American Continental Grid, her fingers flicking idly through a glowing blue lattice of quantum mana algorithms that hovered above her metallic gauntlets.
Around the rest of the table sat the remaining eight apex champions: the iron-skinned brawler of the Nordic Alliance, the illusionist of the Nile Basin, the gravity weaver of South America, and the five high-tier combat directors who commanded the remnants of the global guild system.
The atmosphere inside the chamber was heavy, silent, and choked with the stifling density of ten distinct aura signatures pressing against one another like tectonic plates.
There were no drinks on the iron table, no formal greetings exchanged between old rivals, only a thick, suffocating tension born from absolute, shared defeat.
Master Jin-Woo broke the silence first, his voice quiet, dry, and carrying the sharp, cutting resonance of an unsheathed blade.
“Sir Arthur Pendelton was executed on his own flagship,” Jin-Woo spoke, his dark eyes remaining fixed on the center of the table. “General Vance’s hydraulic colossus was broken in the Nero Trench and converted into shadow iron. Director Kazuma was extracted in Tokyo, and the Vatican’s entire inventory of divine relics was confiscated in Berth One three nights ago.”
Arch-Mage Valeria closed her hands, shattering the blue quantum lattice between her palms into a shower of harmless sparks.
“The financial blockade in Zurich failed,” Valeria added, her voice crisp, cold, and edged with razor-sharp frustration. “Our fiat currency reserves are worthless. Sector Zero controls seventy-eight percent of the refined mana cartridges circulating on the global black market, and every merchant fleet from Valparaiso to Marseilles is paying their sea tax to Renan’s quartermasters.”
The Nordic brawler, a giant of a man whose bare arms were covered in glowing Scandinavian runes, slammed his massive fist onto the meteoritic iron table, making the heavy structure ring like a brass bell.
“Then why are we sitting in a stone hole beneath a mountain like frightened mice?” the Nordic hunter growled, his runic tattoos flaring with furious crimson light. “We are the ten World-Class Hunters! We hold the highest combat ratings ever recorded by the International Guild Alliance! If the politicians in Geneva and the priests in Rome are too weak to fight, we combine our domains and march directly into District One!”
Master Jin-Woo raised his dark eyes, looking at the Nordic giant with cold, unblinking detachment.
“And when you step onto his dock, Thorvald,” Jin-Woo asked softly, “which one of his twenty-five thousand shadow soldiers will you kill first? The one wearing Sir Arthur’s claymore, or the one wearing Vance’s kinetic plating?”
Thorvald’s jaw clamped shut, his breath catching in his throat as a heavy, uncomfortable quiet settled over the room once again.
None of them could dispute the mathematical horror of the situation.
When a World-Class Hunter fell to a conventional enemy, their power was buried with them.
When a World-Class Hunter fell to Renan, their strength, their skill, and their very existence were annexed directly into his permanent shadow legion, expanding his core density while shrinking the total defensive pool of human civilization.
“Every confrontation we initiate feeds his army,” Valeria stated, her fingers tapping rhythmically against her gauntlets. “He does not suffer from operational fatigue, he does not pay salaries, and his supply lines are backed by the Abyssal Soul Forge. Fighting him in a conventional war of attrition is an exercise in absolute madness.”
High above the meteoritic table, hidden within the microscopic dust motes floating along the seam of a structural air vent, a tiny, invisible quantum eye deployed by Sylas recorded every word, every facial twitch, and every aura spike in real time.
Three thousand miles away, inside the master observation gallery of Sector Zero, Renan sat in his high-backed leather chair, his dark woolen coat open at his throat, watching the ten World-Class Hunters squabble across the holographic display screen.
Beside him, Sylas adjusted his tactical gauntlet, his optical visor flashing with green confirmation readouts as the bio-metric data of the ten apex champions was uploaded into Sector Zero’s target database.
“Their tactical profiles are fully mapped, Sovereign,” Sylas reported softly. “Jin-Woo’s void-blade frequency, Valeria’s quantum casting algorithms, and Thorvald’s kinetic threshold have all been cataloged. If they decide to mobilize, Arthur and Thorne can intercept their vanguard before they reach the eastern strait.”
Renan did not look away from the holographic screen.
His twin-chambered core beat in a slow, deliberate rhythm, vibrating at twenty-four thousand eight hundred units of core density, his pale fingers resting casually over the leather armrests.
“They are not going to mobilize, Sylas,” Renan spoke softly, his voice level and entirely devoid of amusement. “Men who have spent thirty years standing at the peak of the world do not risk their lives when they realize that the mountain beneath them is hollow.”
Back in the subterranean chamber of Mount Titlis, the South American gravity weaver leaned forward over the iron table, his voice low and tight with anxiety.
“If we do not attack him, and we cannot embargo his ports, what options remain?” the gravity weaver asked. “The Geneva Council is demanding that we sign a joint containment order. They want us to establish a permanent blockade around the peninsula.”
“Geneva is dead,” Valeria spat, her eyes flashing with contempt. “Van Houten is hiding in a cellar in Zurich, and the World Council has lost its authority over the regional guilds. If we throw our lives away to protect their administrative buildings, we are fools.”
Master Jin-Woo slowly stood up from his chair, placing his hands flat upon the meteoritic iron surface as he looked around at the remaining nine champions.
“We have only one logical choice,” Jin-Woo declared, his voice cutting through the hall like a winter wind. “We fall back to our respective continental zones. We lock down our internal borders, we secure our domestic mana vaults, and we establish a non-aggression pact with Sector Zero.”
“A non-aggression pact?” Thorvald scoffed, though his voice lacked its previous fire. “You want us to bow to a sovereign who executed Arthur?”
“I want us to survive,” Jin-Woo retorted sharply, his dark pupils narrowing. “Renan has made his terms abundantly clear. He does not seek the total annihilation of human cities unless those cities send warships across his fifty-nautical-mile line. He has built a fortress, he has secured his black market, and he has established his own currency. If we leave his water alone, he leaves our land alone.”
Before Thorvald could voice another objection, the entire granite foundation of Mount Titlis shuddered violently.
It was not a localized mountain slide or a minor geothermal shift.
The vibration was so deep, so immense, and so laden with raw, chaotic mana pressure that the six layers of spell-woven titanium plating lining the vault groaned under the sudden gravimetric strain.
The ten World-Class Hunters leaped to their feet simultaneously, their hands instinctively reaching for their weapons as their aura signatures flared in wild, defensive panic.
Arch-Mage Valeria’s gauntlets instantly projected a global seismic telemetry map into the air above the meteoritic table.
The map did not show the Swiss Alps or the European continent.
It lit up in blinding, violent crimson across the entire Pacific Ocean, centered directly upon the collapsed trench lines of the Mariana Basin.
“What is that?” Thorvald demanded, staring at the cascading red warning markers covering the screen.
“The Pacific floor has just split wide open,” Valeria whispered, her face draining of every drop of color as she read the incoming energy outputs. “A Tier-SS mass rift is expanding across three thousand miles of sub-oceanic crust. The mana density rising from the trench is exceeding forty thousand units!”
Master Jin-Woo looked at the screaming telemetry map, then raised his head to stare at the silent ceiling of the vault.
The political rivalries, the economic embargoes, and the territorial disputes that had occupied their minds for months vanished in an instant, rendered completely trivial by the sudden, terrifying arrival of a planetary calamity.
“The war between men is over,” Jin-Woo murmured, his voice trembling for the first time as he drew his ancient void-taichi blade half an inch from its scabbard. “The abyss has finally opened its mouth.”
Back in Sector Zero, Renan stood up from his leather chair, his dark woolen coat sweeping behind his boots as he looked away from the Swiss summit screen and stepped toward the primary command bridge.
“The ten hunters have made their decision, Sylas,” Renan commanded, his violet eyes glowing with cold, unyielding light as the distant ocean roar echoed through the steel walls of District One. “Now let us see if their containment pact can hold back the tide.”