The Wait.
Several hours passed, and both poor Old Man Jeff and Mark, who had been swallowed by the dense crowd for far too long, realized that the line ahead of them hadn't budged an inch.
Old Man Jeff was visibly distressed.
"This is disgusting. If we stay here under this scorching sun any longer, my life will end before this line does."
As for Mark, he stood in front of the old man, pressing a tissue firmly against his face to keep himself from gagging. The stench of sweat and the stifling proximity of the crowd were more than he could bear; for a germaphobe like him, this was a living nightmare. He wished he were anywhere else—anywhere away from this massive "bacterial colony."
However, the moment he glanced behind him, he immediately changed his mind. The sea of Awakeners stretching out behind them was far greater than the one in front, making him feel a sudden pang of pity for those at the very end of the line.
"This is the first time I've ever seen such a massive gathering of Players," Mark thought.
According to his predecessor's memories, he was just a newly awakened individual who had never experienced a kingdom-wide re-evaluation. In fact, these re-evaluations focused on one's current Rank, not their Class.
Previously, Mark's "Slime Warrior" class was unranked, but now it was SSS—representing the absolute pinnacle of his potential. His actual Rank, however, had been F-, the lowest possible grade, emblazoned in a dull, prominent gray on his Player ID card.
But when Mark pulled up his status window—the one he had opened after yesterday's chaos—he noticed a slight change:
{ Player Status }
Name: Mark Howe
Class: Slime Warrior (SSS) – Transformation Path
Total Power: F+
Exclusive Authority: Predation (Lv. 1) – Slime Mode (Lv. 1)
Skills: Basic Swordsmanship (Lv. 3)
Inventory: Multi-Purpose Spoon (Epic Item)
He had moved up a notch and was technically "stronger." It was strange; his predecessor hadn't even attempted to measure his strength or gain experience.
But to Mark, he was still a "cockroach" either way. What difference did it make? Going from F- to F+ wasn't exactly a groundbreaking evolution.
Surely, no one would be crazy enough to suspect him because of such a minor jump. After all, he wasn't there for a re-evaluation; he was there to quit.
At that moment, under the watchful eyes of the masses, loud shouting began to echo through the vicinity. It wasn't just noise; the combat auras of several Players began to flare and clash. Insults and accusations were being hurled back and forth without end.
"You bastards! I don't care who you are—if you don't stick to the line, get the hell out of here right now!"
A group of obscure Players stood defiantly against a young nobleman flanked by two Rank D Awakened guards. The guards released their oppressive auras, looming over the Rank F "scum" who had dared to revolt against the young lord trying to cut in line.
"Hey, hey, hey... keep your tongue behind your teeth, you peasant, and speak to the Young Master with respect!"
one guard barked.
"You're nothing but a bottom-feeder fish that has never seen the light of day," the other added mockingly. "You should bow when you speak."
The angry man's aura flared as a wave of indignation washed over him. He was there with members of his small, Rank F guild. They were five against two, but the Rank D status of the guards meant they possessed terrifying power compared to them; the gap in ranks was an insurmountable abyss.
"I won't allow this!" the man shouted, his voice trembling but firm.
"If you want to pass... you'll have to go over my dead body first. Do you hear me?"
The young lord's expression remained blank, as if he were looking at a mere fool. "Listen," he said coldly. "The time I've wasted here is incredibly expensive. Are you truly prepared to pay for it with your life?"
The man's features contorted. He felt the suffocating pressure but tried his best not to submit. He remembered the grueling hours he and his comrades had spent waiting, only for these tyrants to swoop in and steal their spot.
He felt his friends' hands on his shoulders for support, all while watching the young lord sip his cold drink with agonizing indifference.
"Men... take care of them."
With cold indifference, the two guards lunged forward like lightning, clashing with the other players under the watchful gaze of the crowd. No one dared intervene as they watched the violent struggle. In truth, it was a one-sided slaughter; two guards were dismantling five players with terrifying ease.
Mark and Old Man Jeff watched for a moment before Mark looked away.
Who gives a damn?
At that moment, all he could think about was how chaotic and broken this world was. He decided not to even watch, feeling only the absurdity of it all.
To him, the man was a fool—challenging authority with zero regard for his own life. Mark felt no pity. If someone wanted to die, let them. He just wanted to live the rest of his days in peace.
BOOM!
Suddenly, directly above Mark, the body of the young lord came flying through the air! The man from the small guild had managed to slip through and land a desperate, powerful blow, launching the arrogant noble backward.
Mark hadn't expected the human projectile to head his way. He tried to dodge, to scramble away with everything he had, but the crowd was too dense. Mark's face went pale.
CRASH!
In front of everyone, one man landed hard on another. The young lord, heaving with rage, tried to push himself up. He looked at his spilled drink, now completely empty, and roared, "Damn you! You're all going to die today!"
He was about to charge back into the fray when he felt a grip tighten on his hand.
He looked back to see Mark. Mark, whose suit was ruined. Mark, with cold soda dripping from his hair. In that moment, Mark's gaze went pitch black.
"You piece of trash, what do you want? You looking for trouble too?"
The young lord tried to yank his hand away, but he froze. He saw a look in Mark's eyes unlike any he had ever encountered—deep, abyssal eyes that felt as though a dominant, ancient light was carved into their depths, forcing him into total submission.
Even though he was terrified, trembling to his very core, it was as if all the accumulated anxiety of being caught, the threats looming in his mind, and the suffocating frustration of a life that refused to grant him peace—all of it finally reached a breaking point. Under the crushing weight of these pressures, his emotions exploded.
He no longer saw a young noble standing before him; he saw a singular, existential threat to the very life he was desperately trying to protect..
Mark's adrenaline and survival instincts were now peaking. He looked at his clothes, felt the ache in his back, and processed the sudden threat to his life.
Rule number one: The threat must be neutralized immediately. Anything that threatened his existence had to be erased.
With lightning speed, the young lord's throat was in Mark's grasp. Mark lifted him off the ground with terrifying strength, struggling with every fiber of his being to suppress the overwhelming aura leaking out of him.
"You... cough... let me go..." the noble wheezed.
Mark felt it—the [Predation] skill was clawing to get out, wanting to consume the man. A small part of his hand, unnoticed by the crowd, had already turned a translucent, celestial blue slime.
"Let the Young Master go!" the guards screamed, rushing toward him.
Without a word, Mark hurled the young lord directly at them like a sack of grain, sending him crashing into one of the guards. Simultaneously, Mark pivoted, his foot digging into the pavement. His follow-up punch was faster than the other guard's senses could track.
The guard was sent sprawling across the ground as the crowd scrambled back in terror. Mark's body and mind were fueled by raw fury; he was no longer thinking about being a "cockroach"—he was only focused on obliterating the threat..
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6,000 words published on the first day! I hope for your support through comments or reviews...