"This batch... it's one of the best we've had in a long time," Patriarch Artorias muttered, his eyes sweeping over the slew of youths who had respawned back at the Graeogor family residence.
"Yes, father," a bald-headed man on his right nodded, his gaze drawn to two particular figures that stood out in the crowd.
"Level 12 and 10. Not bad, not bad at all," a middle-aged woman with silky black hair added. The disparity in power made it impossible for the youths to conceal their levels from the elders.
"Still, there are many who didn't make it out," another elder observed, noting the absence of a large portion of those who had entered the dungeon.
"Weak trash!" Artorias spat, his aura flaring as his eyes turned cold. "If they couldn't withstand such feeble beasts, then they are nothing but useless in the cause of humanity!"
The last of his words rang, echoing to all the elders, silencing them for a bit. Though his words sounded harsh, the truth behind them couldn't be denied.
