Voren's gaze narrowed into pinpricks, an intense anger surging through him. He hated this human.
Yohan, the Nullite paragon who had attended the Nexus banquet and had met Atticus personally, had spoken numerous times about the human's threat level to their race. The Nullite goal was the purging of filth that was mana, which involved eradicating those who used it.
They were considered one of the most dangerous races because of their nullification abilities. However, they had just discovered that a human child had the best counter for it.
Currently, the hatred for Atticus was shared among the entire Nullite race.
Aside from this, there was nothing more infuriating than seeing someone many times younger than you addressing you with such nonchalance.
He had been in the military before the child had even been born!
Voren's voice, when it came, was cold.
"I am Staff Sergeant Voren. I am in charge of—"
"Drill Sergeant Viktor Halden," Atticus cut off Voren, calling out.
Viktor's entire figure jolted as though an electric current had surged through him.
Atticus had simply called his name, yet there was something about it—something that made him feel as though a battle-hardened general had just spoken.
Instinct took over. His back straightened, his body turned stiff, and before he even realized it, he had saluted.
"Yes!"
Atticus's placid gaze bore into him.
"Who am I?"
Viktor paused. His mind spun, trying to process the question. Even Voren and the other drill sergeants looked confused.
Then, it clicked.
Atticus had addressed him by his full title. He had spoken with authority.
Viktor's jaw tightened, and he responded immediately.
"General Atticus Ravenstein."
Atticus's piercing gaze shifted, locking onto Voren.
"Do I have to teach you etiquette?" Atticus demanded.
Voren's fists clenched. A vein twitched in his temple as he struggled to contain his anger. Atticus was trying to use his title as a general.
"This is not the order of things in the military training camp!" he snapped. "We follow a strict hierarchy. The one in position holds the power, and I am in charge of recruits. You—" he gestured at Atticus with a sneer, "—are just a recruit!"
Atticus barely blinked.
"You talk too much for a Nullite." Atticus tilted his head slightly.
"I fear for our recruits. Are they truly getting the training they need? Or just listening to endless speeches?"
The silence in the room became suffocating. He spoke as though admonishing an inferior.
"It's even worse when you can't even respect the chain of command," Atticus added, his tone dropping.
Voren's nostrils flared. "It is YOU who isn't respecting me!"
"You're incompetent."
Voren froze.
Atticus took a step forward.
"As a general, I can't accept that." His voice remained calm, speaking as though stating a fact. Final.
"You'll be demoted to Drill Sergeant. Sergeant Viktor Halden will take your place."
Voren's eyes widened in rage.
"You don't have the authority!" he bellowed—
BOOM.
An overwhelming aura slammed onto him.
Voren's knees buckled instantly, crashing onto the ground.
Gasps rippled through the room as Atticus strode forward.
Voren, his vision spinning, lifted his gaze, filled with hatred. But just as his lips parted to protest—
SMACK.
A cataclysmic slap impacted his face, sending shockwaves through the hall.
The entire room fell into stunned silence.
The drill sergeants stared, wide-eyed, unable to process what had just happened. Even Viktor looked as though he had just witnessed the impossible.
Voren, still on his knees, blinked rapidly, struggling to comprehend the situation.
"Y-You—"
SMACK.
Another thunderous slap landed, sending his head snapping to the side.
In the next instant, a black aura erupted violently from Voren's body, his rage boiling over.
But before it could expand—
A dense, purple energy converged around him, snuffing out his aura like a candle in a storm.
Voren's eyes widened in shock. "What—?!"
SMACK. SMACK. SMACK.
More slaps landed in quick succession, each one cataclysmic, yet somehow, Voren didn't move from his position.
An unseen weight held him in place.
The force rocked his mind, shattered his pride, and stripped him of any composure he had.
Atticus delivered a few more slaps, his expression unchanging, before finally speaking.
"I am a general." His voice was low, calm. "I am the authority."
He turned his gaze.
"Sergeant Viktor Halden."
Viktor's entire body stiffened. "Yes!" he responded immediately.
Atticus's eyes locked onto his.
"Do you accept?"
Viktor froze.
In that moment, he somehow understood—Atticus wouldn't hesitate to give him a few slaps to reset his mind if he refused.
Quickly, he nodded.
"I accept!"
Atticus's gaze swept across the room.
"Does anyone else have anything to say?"
The weight in the room intensified, pressing down on everyone.
A palpable silence followed. No one spoke.
Atticus nodded.
"Y-You can't—" Voren choked out, but before he could finish—
SMACK.
A final slap sent him collapsing to the ground.
Then, with a slight thought, the badge on Voren's right shoulder detached itself, floating through the air before landing in Atticus's hand.
Without sparing Voren another glance, Atticus turned and handed it to Viktor.
Viktor shakily accepted it, still processing what had just happened.
Atticus then turned on his heel, walking out of the hall with Viktor following closely behind, still startled.
As they left, only the sound of gritted teeth echoed as Voren tried to regain his composure.
The humiliation. He was a Staff Sergeant, a figure of authority, especially in the training camp. How would he ever raise his head again?
…
As the duo stepped outside the building, Atticus suddenly turned, stopping Viktor in his tracks.
"What—?"
Before the latter could react, a purple glow engulfed him, and he found himself standing in the middle of Atticus's island.
His gaze darted around before landing on Atticus, who stood a few meters in front of him, his mismatched eyes fixed on him.
"I brought you here because I want to spar with you. Attack me with everything you have."
Viktor stared at Atticus as though he had just heard the most absurd thing in his entire life.
Atticus had just overwhelmed a Grandmaster+ in front of him seconds ago, slapping the living daylights out of Voren—a superior race Grandmaster.
And now, he was asking him, someone who was weaker, to spar?
Silence. A loud one descended on the area.