Chapter 1031: Elites of Tharion Citadel
"Headmaster, the Citadel Elites have gathered."
Thalen withdrew his gaze from the compound to look at the man standing at the entrance, watching him.
"Thank you, Treasure."
He faced the passive observer by the side.
"Master Ilitis, do you care to join us? Perhaps you could help us in some way as we discuss the way forward."
Ilitis was silent for almost a second, then he bowed and walked inside.
Thalen also followed.
Behind the balcony was an expansive hall that looked like a dining area for a large party, but most of the chairs were stacked against the walls of the building.
Glamorous and glittering chandeliers dropped down from the ceiling, hanging quite low, their light subtle but reflective and brightening the white theme of the entire enclosure.
A few people were scattered around—some stood alone while others stood with each other. As they saw Thalen enter, all of them slowly began to walk towards each other.
Within a minute, they were standing side by side in total silence, waiting for the Headmaster.
From the left side to the right side, there were a total of eleven of them.
Thalen was silent for a moment, then he turned to Ilitis.
"These are the twelve strongest drifters in the Tharion Citadel—of course minus me and Alystren, oh and yeah, one of them right now is not around."
Ilitis carefully looked at all of them from his left to his right. Then he calmly spoke.
"Of course, how would I not know?"
He began to list.
"The weakest among the twelve. Rex Brunhardt, the Streetfighter."
A guy with spiky red hair responded with a dark frown.
"I prefer to be called least strongest rather than weakest."
Ilitis continued anyway.
"Then the rank 11, if I may say, the Phantom Lady, Lira Senn."
The lady with jet-black hair frowned but said nothing.
"Rank 10, the Queen of Boom, Nova Vix."
A girl with bright blonde twin buns with sharp-cut bangs grinned pompously.
"Hmph."
Ilitis looked over to the next person, paused a little, then continued.
"I’m guessing this is where things get truly powerful."
He bowed his head slightly to a silver-haired man with calm, focused eyes and soft lashes.
"Rank 9, Sael of the White String. The Arrow Sage."
The young man barely bowed his head, a little surprised but his focus never wavering—if anything, he seemed burdened by them.
"Rank 8, Half-Cut. Your reputation precedes you."
The boy he was talking to had strange hair—half his side was black and the other half was white. He had sharp, cool cyan eyes and a third-degree burn mark over his left eye.
"Rank 7... lady Helena is not currently around, as you have mentioned."
He turned to the next person on the line and bowed lightly.
"Rank 6, The Blood Doll, Jynxa."
The lady with blue electric hair and extremely pale skin looked away and paid Ilitis no attention.
He naturally went on to the scarred-face man standing next to her.
"Rank 5, Zaire Vorn, the Marked Blade."
He had spiked blonde hair with streaks of deep black and faint violet—like the remnants of fire and shadow mingled. His violet-iris eyes glowed with a subtle yet dangerous hostility.
Ilitis turned to the next person.
"Rank 4, Ghost of the Grey Lantern. The fact that I do not even know your name goes to prove how evasive you are."
The young man he was referring to had a short stature, cold steel-gray irises with a piercing, calm look—the kind of stare that makes people freeze without being told.
Black marks ran from his forehead to his lower face.
A lightning-shaped scar beside his left eye—clearly surgical or intentional, as if something unnatural had happened to his vision.
He had thick, layered, dark hair framing his face like a hunter’s hood, lending him both mystery and menace.
He looked at Ilitis with a cold stare.
"The fact that you know that moniker is enough for me to be wary of you."
Ilitis chuckled lightly and looked at the short boy with reflective, hot pink glasses and fluffy blonde hair, unkempt like he’d woken up mid-explosion.
"Rank 3, one should definitely not be deceived by appearance. Zeek Zefroit. The Riot."
The boy was chewing gum and just continued chewing his gum.
The other two, standing after him, made Ilitis hesitate. He gently breathed to steady himself, then bowed deeply to the man standing next to Zeek Zefroit.
"The Silent One of Light. Zahir al-Noor. Clan heir of the Noor Clan. It is an honor to meet a clan from the Northern Continent."
Piercing emerald eyes stared down at Ilitis—they were almost haunting, the eyes of a man who had seen through a million lies and easily lived through a thousand assassinations.
His white hair was wrapped tightly in an ornate desert-style turban with a feather. Half of his face was hidden with a scarf, leaving only his eyes visible.
He gestured with his fingers, which were adorned with silver knuckle rings.
"Thank you."
Ilitis then moved on to the last person standing on the line.
Before he could start, however, the man shot out his hand forward, extending his palm.
"Stop!"
Ilitis hesitated.
"I know what you are gonna do. You are gonna bow to me and say..."
He perfectly imitated Ilitis’ calm voice.
"Rank 1, Trickster of the Red Threads, Gourdan."
He tilted his head a little, sounding with a defensive tone.
"But I will have you know. I am no trickster! People just misunderstand! They always do! And no one really believes me!"
Ilitis smiled subtly.
"Of course."
The young man scratched his wild, tousled blonde hair that obscured his eyes.
He was wearing robes with elaborate designs and sashes with two gourds hanging down the sashes.
He pointed to the gentleman in front of him.
"And you. A man that I have never seen before. You come here, know every single one of us, even the ones that shouldn’t be known. Only one name comes to mind."
There was silence in the air.
"Ilitis! Right?"
"What?!!"
All of them sounded almost simultaneously.
The third rank, Zeek Zefroit, brought down his glasses a little.
"Are you kidding me? The Ilitis?"
Ilitis bowed gently.
"It is my honor to meet the Elites of Tharion Citadel."