Adam now understood the importance of the Authenticator.
The manager continued explaining, his tone instructional but laced with authority.
"If the orb gives no color, it means the monster had no malice toward you, meaning you didn't kill it. But if it glows red, that signifies a tremendous amount of malice, the sign that a monster died by your hand."
Adam nodded slowly.
It was, indeed, a brilliant solution to the old verification problem.
A perfect system.
Adam couldn't help but wonder who created such a device.
The soft voice of the receptionist broke his thoughts.
"Sir, the device has registered all the granulites."
The manager gave a single approving nod.
"Good. Mr. Adam, place your hand on the orb to begin the verification."
Adam stepped forward. He reached out but paused.
The manager noticed instantly.
"Mr. Adam?" he asked, brow raised.
"Is there a problem?"
Adam looked down at his blood-soaked hand, then back at the older man, his expression unreadable.
Understanding dawned on the manager's face immediately.
"There's no issue, Mr. Adam," he said reassuringly.
"We can clean it afterward. You're free to go ahead."
Adam gave a faint nod, then pressed his right hand onto the orb.
A cool sensation met his palm, like touching smooth water under moonlight.
A faint thrinkle of essence, so subtle it barely stirred his meager reserves flowed from him into the device.
The orb pulsed once… twice…
And then it began to glow red.
The crowd exhaled collectively. The red glow confirmed it, he had slain the monsters himself.
The manager allowed a small smile.
No surprise there, he truly killed them all, elite units, no less. Sector 516 is about to…
But his thoughts cut off abruptly.
Because the red light was changing.
It deepened in hue, crimson darkening into maroon, maroon into blackened scarlet.
The gentle pulse of the orb turned violent, flickering like a beating heart as ripples of distorted energy bled into the air.
A confused murmur spread among the gathered martial artists.
"What's happening?" someone finally whispered.
Juli's foxlike eyes narrowed. Her instincts screamed that something was terribly wrong. She took a cautious step back, her tail twitching as her gaze locked on the orb.
And then —
The orb settled on black.
A deep, suffocating black, like obsidian soaked in shadow, swallowing every trace of light around it.
A chill swept through the hall.
It wasn't physical, it was spiritual, an instinctual dread that clawed at the souls of everyone present.
The air grew cold and heavy, and for a heartbeat, every martial artist in the room felt as if they were being stared at by something wicked and cruel.
The manager's knees buckled.
His eyes went wide, veins bulging at his temples as cold sweat drenched his brow.
The receptionist barely caught him before he fell, her own face pale as parchment.
"H-he's… h-he's…" the manager stammered, voice cracking like a broken record,
"He's a d-devil!"
The manager stood there, chest rising and falling sharply as he tried to regain control of his breathing.
It took a lot of effort to calm himself. His palms were slick with sweat, and he could still feel the tremor in his fingers.
All eyes in the hall were on him, every martial artist, even Adam, whose bloodstained hand still rested on the obsidian-glowing orb.
The weight of their collective stare pressed down on the manager like a physical force, demanding an explanation.
He coughed twice, straightened his uniform, and forced his tone into composure, though his voice wavered slightly at first.
"Ahem… my apologies for the… earlier display."
He cleared his throat again, the faintest tinge of embarrassment coloring his face.
After all, the way he'd panicked moments ago was far from befitting a mission hall manager.
Drawing a slow breath, he began,
"The authenticator works on the basis of malice. That is, if the monsters from which the granulites came bore malice toward the one who killed them, the orb glows red."
Everyone nodded slowly, following along.
The manager's tone dropped lower, becoming more cautious now.
"But, there is another color. One that almost never appears."
The entire hall seemed to hold its breath. They all knew immediately which color he was referring to, the black glow pulsing from the orb beneath Adam's palm.
"This color," the manager continued, eyes fixed on the device, "is said to appear only when the monster, a creature born of hate and anarchy, bears no malice at all toward their killer."
He paused, his next words coming out quieter, almost reluctant.
"Instead, the only thing they feel is fear."
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Every martial artist in the hall turned their gaze toward Adam, disbelief etched on their faces.
The air felt heavier somehow, the faint hum of the device the only sound that dared move.
Monsters feared no one.
Their nature consisted of instinct, rage, and hunger.
For elite-level creatures; even in death, to carry fear instead of malice… it was something none of them could comprehend.
What kind of man could make monsters feel fear?
Adam's expression didn't change. His expresion remained calm and unreadable.
But deep down, satisfaction welled in his chest like a slow-burning flame.
Luckily, my efforts weren't in vain.
The manager, sensing the growing unease, composed himself once more.
"Mr. Adam, you can remove your hand from the device now."
Adam nodded and lifted his palm. The moment his hand left the orb, the black light faded, returning the orb to its natural colorless state.
The chilling pressure in the hall vanished instantly, replaced by a collective exhale of relief from the onlookers.
The manager took another breath, then forced a strained smile.
"As your perfect run has now been verified, and in accordance with the Mission Hall's policy, Mr. Adam, your rewards for this mission will be seven times the normal rate."
A faint smile tugged at Adam's lips. He knew well why perfect runs were so coveted.
The reward multiplier wasn't just for show, it was a statement of prestige, reserved for those capable of impossible feats. Still, there were safeguards in place.
Only martial artists whose rank didn't surpass the rift they ran could claim a perfect run, and even then, only the first perfect run of that rift qualified.
It prevented martial artists from abusing the system.
But right now, none of that mattered to Adam. What mattered was that his effort, had finally paid off.
The manager adjusted his collar again, his tone shifting subtly, becoming more cautious and deferential.
"Mr. Adam, I apologize for the bothersome procedures, but we'll need to verify your rank now, as part of the final protocol."
He hesitated for a heartbeat, then added with a nervous chuckle,
"Ah… purely formal, of course."
****
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