Gabriel sighed dramatically. “You have no idea. These people are so cold. It’s embarrassing trying to ask for a teammate when everyone acts like a damn robot.”

  Axel smirked. “And you think I’m the kind of guy to carry you?”

  He wasn’t being humble—compared to the monsters in this room, he was far from a ‘big fish’.

  But Gabriel simply waved him off. “Nah, nah, it’s not like that. I just figure if two small fish stick together, we make a slightly bigger fish, right? Maybe a big-shot will take pity on us.”

  Axel blinked. This guy is shameless.

  He gave Gabriel an unimpressed look. “Not interested. I don’t plan on teaming up just yet.”

  Gabriel pouted. “Damn, another one bites the dust. Did I say something wrong?”

  Axel shook his head and walked off. This guy… how the hell did someone like him get into the Whisper Syndicate selection?

  Gabriel, unfazed, was already scanning the room again. “Gotta find a strong teammate fast. They say this trial is seriously brutal…”

  As more and more people trickled into the venue, the sky outside darkened. The hum of conversation filled the air, but suddenly, a loud, commanding voice cut through the noise, ringing in everyone’s ears.

  "Candidates, the designated time has arrived. Anyone who has not yet checked in is now considered withdrawn and will no longer be eligible to participate in the selection." A towering, muscular man stepped onto the high platform at the front of the square.

  As soon as his words fell, the surrounding lights flickered on all at once, bathing the area in harsh, artificial brightness. At the same time, the gate leading into the square slammed shut with an ominous finality.

  A few stragglers who had been strolling toward the entrance suddenly panicked. Their expressions twisted in desperation as they broke into a run.

  "Wait! We’re here!" one of them shouted. "Just a few more steps—let us through!"

  The staff at the gate remained impassive, their faces blank, their stance unyielding. "You’re late," one of them stated flatly. "The rules were announced. You heard them."

  A young woman among the latecomers frowned. "Come on," she argued. "We’re right here. What difference does a few seconds make? It’s not like we’re holding up the event—"

  She was still mid-sentence when the bald man on the platform turned his gaze toward her.

  The pressure in the air shifted. A crushing force descended, like an unseen weight pressing down on her shoulders. Her breath caught in her throat.

  "You’re here for the Whisper Syndicate’s selection, yet you still don’t understand the meaning of discipline?" the man’s voice thundered, laced with something heavy, powerful. "You think this is a fucking game? Do you expect the enemy to wait for you on the battlefield before they gun down your teammates?"

  Stolen novel; please report.

  The sheer force sent a shiver through the crowd. The latecomer’s face drained of color, her bravado evaporating in an instant. A suffocating silence followed.

  The man exhaled sharply, then straightened. "Let me introduce myself." His voice was no longer a roar, but it still carried authority. "Wesley. Gray Wolf Squad, Whisper Syndicate."

  He no longer acknowledged the commotion at the gate, turning instead to the gathered candidates. "You were all informed of this beforehand, but let me make it absolutely clear. This mission comes with a high mortality rate. From this moment on, this selection process is classified. No one leaves."

  "If anyone wants out—this is your last fucking chance." His sharp gaze swept across the crowd, and Axel, standing among the candidates, took the opportunity to observe those around him.

  Most people were locked in place, rigid, focused entirely on Wesley’s next words. But Gabriel near the back fidgeted awkwardly, shifting uncomfortably as if debating whether to raise his hand. His face flushed with hesitation, fingers twitching slightly.

  Axel almost laughed. Is this guy for real? If he was trying to play weak and lure people into underestimating him, he was starting way too early.

  Wesley didn’t waste time. "The mission is simple: you’ll be sent to the City of Sin. Your objective? Survive for twenty days."

  The moment he finished speaking, a ripple of sharp inhales echoed across the venue.

  Axel frowned. The City of Sin? He had never heard of such a place. It wasn’t anywhere in Krythos—so where the hell was it?

  Before he could dwell on it, Wesley raised a hand, and with a flick of his wrist, the massive screen behind him flashed to life. A chilling image appeared—an enormous city buried in snow, its towering buildings shrouded in an eerie, white mist.

  "Quiet," Wesley snapped. The murmurs died instantly.

  His sharp eyes swept over the room. "Judging by those reactions, a lot of you have heard of this place." He gestured toward the frozen city on the screen. "You’re right—it’s not in Krythos. It lies far beyond the northern plains. A city built by exiled criminals from all over the world after Awakening Day."

  Axel listened carefully, his instincts telling him there was more to this than what was being said.

  "Krythos tolerates its existence for… certain reasons." Wesley continued. "Over time, it became a hub for black market trade and one of the most important supply points for wilderness hunters."

  Axel narrowed his eyes.The Krythos military had an overseas investigation unit dedicated to tracking the movements of mutant beasts, gathering intel, and preventing large-scale attacks before they could devastate civilian populations.

  Having an outpost beyond the city walls made strategic sense. But why leave it in the hands of criminals instead of seizing control themselves?

  “In Sin City, the percentage of Awakened individuals is even higher than in Rutherford—the most prosperous city in Krythos. So, while all of you may be Awakened, and most of you are at least Level 2, if you go in there thinking you’re hot shit, you’re going to get yourselves killed.”

  Wesley’s voice was calm but carried the weight of absolute certainty.

  “Sin City has its own laws. You can kill someone, but you have to challenge them first. Only if they accept can you fight them in the streets. If you attack without warning—” he paused, eyes narrowing, “—you won’t escape the Eyes of the Law.”

  A few people in the crowd chuckled at the idea of law in a place like Sin City, but Wesley’s expression didn’t so much as flicker. Without another word, he tapped the screen behind him, and a new video began to play.

  Axel, who had been listening calmly up until now, suddenly felt his spine stiffen.

  The footage showed a massive, floating eyeball—a grayish-white monstrosity looming over the dark cityscape, its surface clouded and veined like old marble. It hovered in the storm-filled sky, slowly shifting from side to side, as if it was... watching.

  Even through the screen, Axel felt an inexplicable sense of dread, like the weight of an unseen force pressing down on him.

  “This,” Wesley said, “is Cursed Eye, the Awakening ability of Morris, the ruler of Sin City. It appears over the city at random intervals. If you break his rules, you don’t get arrested. You don’t get a trial. You just get cursed to death.”