The helicopter’s rotors slowed as it descended onto a massive steel platform, one of the Shinryukai family’s forward bases on Thanaros Isle.

  The moment the skids touched down, a voice like a cannon blast ripped through the air.

  “ALRIGHT, MAGGOTS! MOVE IT! LINE UP!”

  Ash stepped out into the heavy, humid air, following the others—a ragged group of fighters, criminals, and monsters in human skin. The base was surrounded by black metal walls topped with barbed wire, and on every walkway above, uniformed officers stood with rifles at the ready.

  (So this is Thanaros, huh?) Ash thought. (Old man Owen wasn’t kidding… the air here is nothing like the underground arenas. Feels heavier… wilder… dangerous.)

  Then it hit him.

  An overwhelming, crushing presence washed over the group like a tidal wave. It wasn’t just power—it was dominance, the kind that made every instinct scream predator.

  (What the hell… this pressure—?!) Ash’s mind flashed to one name: Shun Dazai, Warlord of the East.

  Every officer on the walls snapped to attention, saluting sharply.

  “At ease, soldiers.”

  The voice was deep, rumbling like an earthquake through the base.

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  A giant of a man strode into view. Well over two meters tall, broad as a fortress gate, with scars like claw marks running down his forearms. A cigar burned lazily between his teeth, the smoke curling around his face.

  “So… this is the new batch of grass we’ve got this season,” he said, exhaling smoke in a long stream. His tone carried neither excitement nor disappointment—just the casual indifference of someone who had seen it all.

  His eyes scanned the line until they locked on Ash.

  “Who among you is Ash Valestorm? Step forward.”

  Ash moved to the front, stopping at the far end of the row.

  The man closed the distance with a predator’s stride. The closer he got, the more Ash could feel it—raw, unrestrained killing intent radiating off him like heat from a furnace.

  He circled Ash slowly, looking him over from head to toe.

  “You’re thin, boy… but your body’s been honed perfectly. A damn fine canvas, I’d say.”

  Gasps rippled through the officers. Judging by their faces, seeing this man smile—let alone compliment someone—was rarer than rain in a desert.

  “As much as I’d like to paint on that canvas myself, that’s not my place,” he said, stepping back. “Get in line, maggot.”

  Ash obeyed, rejoining the seven others.

  “Tell me, you lowlifes…” His voice dropped into a dangerous growl. “Do you know what you are?”

  No one spoke. No one dared.

  He sighed through his nose, as if disappointed. “You there.”

  He pointed at a man with a mohawk, his skin mottled with patches of hardened rock and covered in crude tattoos.

  “Step forward.”

  The man obeyed, smirking slightly. “I’m a—”

  BOOM!

  The sound was deafening. The mohawked man’s body was launched clean through the reinforced wall, leaving only his lower half behind on the platform. The upper half was gone.

  “Wrong,” the giant roared. His aura erupted, a physical force that shook the base’s steel frame and made the air vibrate. “You’re worse than scum. You’re not human on this island. You haven’t earned the right. You’re lower than the maggots under the dirt. You’re D-1—nothing!”

  ?

  [Name]: Ragnar Edward.

  [Rank]: Chief of Staff, Thanaros Post

  [Title]: War-God

  [Homo]: Balloter

  [Ability]: Titan’s Grasp — Can instantly manipulate his muscle density and kinetic force output, allowing him to generate shockwave-level strikes with his bare hands. A single grip can crush steel, and a single punch can launch a man like a cannon shell.

  ?

  Ragnar’s grin was wide, teeth bared like a wolf about to bite.

  “Don’t fret, worms. You’ll get your chance to crawl up the ladder—if you survive long enough. But hear this…” He took a long drag from his cigar before tossing it to the ground. “As long as I draw breath… no one leaves this island alive.”

  He spread his arms as if presenting a grand stage.

  “Welcome to Thanaros—the Isle of the Black Sovereign!”

  His roar shook the air, and for a brief moment, even the fog over the jungle seemed to tremble.