Royd swiped his winter jacket with his left wrist and pondered, "Isn't this that bitch country? Why do I have to be the one to do the saving?"
The adventurers and soldiers stared was in a awe-struck silence.
Baudin jaw dropped. "T-that... that slash went for miles... He's on another level entirely."
Rainier blinked, his right wrist glowing dark. "Top-21 Z-Rank... Yeah, we threw everything we had, and he ends it with one swing?"
Maugier ripped around excitedly. "Whoa! Did you see that? The whole world just like—split!"
Lucien quickly regained his composure, commenting, "I see why some people call Z-rankers monsters..."
Ivy rested on his shoulder crossing her arms acting nonchalant even though she probably just witnessed the most powerful blade slash she ever seen.
Gul managed a weary grin, pushing himself upright. "Reinforcements... better late than never. Thanks, Sergeant. You just saved our asses."
Royd ignored Gul's words, his expression has a mix of boredom and smug superiority.
"Save it, Frenchie. I didn't come here for pats on the back from some worn-out S Rankers. You lot were playing tag with an oversized tin can— I just cleaned up your mess before it got embarrassing."
Regis, a vein ticking in his forehead, but he held his composure. "Hey, we softened it up for you. Without our efforts—"
Royd snorted, adjusting his winter jacket again as if the conversation was already beneath him.
"Softened? If I waited any longer, Paris would've been a crater. Don't get your hopes up; I'm only here for vacation, and the council contacted me for assistance because that bitch Roxanne wasn't on this country apparently."
Baudin, still helding his greatsword, muttered something under his breath, "Arrogant bastard... but damn, he can even speak and understand French too."
He pondered, "Or maybe his just using language translator device?"
Lucien exchanged a glance with Ivy, who's wings flapping in amaze, even when her face is nonchalant.
The cleanup team had arrived;
Fleet of black unmarked choppers descended down few meters above from the ground, bearing the insignia of the French Adventurer Association's elite research arm: the "Carcass Control & Containment" (CCC)
A specialized scientific division tasked with cleaning anomalous threats.
A few hours passed...
— France, City of Bourges, Adventurer Association 2nd Headquarter —
Conference Room
The grand oak doors of the conference room swung shut with a resonant thud, sealing off the bustling halls outside.
Sunlight filtered through tall arched windows.
Seated around it were the highest positions of the French Adventurer Association Council—
At the head sat President Abelard Duval, a stern man in his late fifties with salt-and-pepper hair and a neatly trimmed beard.
His pointy finger tapped the table lightly as his eyes ran across the room.
To his right was Vice President Claire Moreau, a sharp-eyed and composed woman in her mid-twenties; she opened her phone.
Across from her, Secretary Head Marcel Lefevre adjusted his glasses while holding a gadget.
Treasurer Sophie Sartre fidgeted with a holographic projector, while Auditor General Henri Voss and Public Relations Director Lise Garnier rounded out the group, each has a serious expressions on their face.
President Abelard cleared his throat, breaking the silence.
"Everyone, thank you for convening on such short notice. Let's begin the meeting, Lefevre."
Secretary Lefevre nodded, scrolling through his iPad showing a data.
"The Triple - S Threat entity caused extraordinary damage. Casualties: 47 adventurers confirmed dead, 112 injured, including several S-Rankers in critical condition."
She added,
"Civilian losses in Dieppe and surrounding areas exceed 200, with infrastructure costs preliminarily estimated at 1.2 billion euros."
Treasurer Sartre activated the projector, displaying charts of rising graphs in stark red lines.
"Emergency response drained 15% of our quarterly reserves. But the broader issue is the sudden surge in monster activity."
"Reports show an 8.9% increase in appearances across France compared to last year—and that's just in the first two months."
"Dungeons are destabilizing faster, rogue beasts spilling into urban zones more frequently. If this continues, we'll exceed our annual projections by mid-year."
"We're talking about mandatory reallocations from training programs to frontline supplies, potentially cutting guild subsidies by 20%."
Auditor General Voss rubbed his chin, his deep voice demanding.
"An 8.9% spike in two months? That's not natural fluctuation. We've audited the data thrice—it's consistent across regions: Normandy up 12%, Paris environs at 9.5%, even quieter areas like Provence seeing unusual activity."
Public Relations Director Garnier interjected, her tone pragmatic.
"From a PR standpoint, we need to spin this carefully. The public is rattled—social media is flooded with panic about 'end times' and failing defenses."
Vice President Moreau leaned forward, her sharp eyes narrowing as she scanned the holographic projections flickering in the air.
"President Abel, if I may... Our current roster of adventurers is stretched thin. With the losses from the Triple-S Threat and this surge in monster spawns, we're on the brink of a crisis. We need fresh blood—talented recruits who can rise through the ranks quickly."
Duval nodded slowly, his steepled fingers pressing tighter together.
"You're right, I've delayed it long enough. We'll open the Adventurer Exams nationwide."
"Double the slots for this cycle—focus on scouting potential from rural areas and academies. Make sure PR frames it as an opportunity for heroes to emerge, not a desperate call to arms."
Garnier jotted notes furiously, a determined glint in her eye. "Understood. We'll launch a campaign: 'Answer the Call—Become France's Shield!' It could rally public support and boost morale."
Lefevre adjusted his glasses again, tapping his iPad with a sense of urgency.
"I'll coordinate with the guilds for proctors. But, sir, with the instability... what if the exams themselves become targets?"
Sartre's hologram shifted to a new chart, lines spiking like jagged lightning.
"Funding-wise, it's obtainable—if we cut non-essentials."
Voss rumbled in agreement, crossing his arms.
"This isn't just bad luck. The patterns... they're too coordinated. Like something's stirring the pot from the shadows."
Moreau's expression darkened, her voice dropping to a dramatic whisper. She glanced around the table, building the tension.
"Exactly, and I fear... the current rise of monsters spawning and dungeons—it may all be connected to one thing: the Demon Cult."
The words hung in the air, eyes widening around the table as the implications sank in.