"If the two of you want to keep arguing, you can do it outside the stadium."
The voice was not loud, yet it cut through the instructors' heated exchange with the chilling finality of a guillotine's blade. Sub-Dean Scarlet spoke indifferently, her neck not turning, her crimson gaze remaining locked on the holographic projection.
The effect was instantaneous. Both Instructor Pearson and Instructor Pedro, who had been puffing their chests out a moment ago, immediately deflated. They visibly shrank, their necks seeming to retract into their collars as they lowered their heads in fear.
They knew the truth that the recruits did not. Underneath that flawless, porcelain-like face was a demoness that craved the smell of blood.
She hadn't been named the 'Crimson Devil' for nothing. It was not a title given for her hair color, but a reputation forged from war, honed through countless slaughters on the front lines.
It was said that even the upper-echelon dimensional creatures, the intelligent and powerful lords of their kind, felt fear when they heard her name.
The rumors that swirled around her in the academy's highest circles were insane.
Some whispered that her Astra Soul was a parasitic entity that directly consumed the souls of her enemies to grow stronger, erasing them completely from the cycle of reincarnation.
Others claimed a more barbaric truth: that she drank the fresh blood and ate the raw flesh of powerful dimensional creatures to enhance her own strength.
No one knew if these rumors were true, of course. Those who had ever dared to go against her had never lived long enough to tell the tale.
Just as the oppressive silence threatened to suffocate the high table, a new voice, warm and gentle as a summer breeze, broke the tension.
"Little Red, don't be so mean to them."
By the Sub-Dean's side, an old man who had been sitting quietly chuckled. He was ancient, with a smoothly bald head that contrasted with a magnificent, flowing white beard that reached his chest. His face was a roadmap of wrinkles, yet his eyes were bright and clear, like a young man.
At the sound of his voice, the icy aura around Sub-Dean Scarlet softened, melting away like a glacier under the morning sun. She turned to him, the hard edge in her eyes replaced with a look of respectful exasperation. "They are arguing like children, Seventh Elder."
"Haha! And weren't you even worse than them when you were still an instructor?" The old man's long beard trembled as he laughed heartily.
The other instructors seated nearby immediately craned their necks, their ears perked. Any gossip involving the legendary past of the Crimson Devil was a priceless treasure, a story to be savored for years. This seemed particularly interesting.
Scarlet's perfect face flushed with a hint of indignant red. "Hmph! I won't talk to you anymore!" she said, turning away in a pout that was so out of character it was almost jarring.
The Seventh Elder paid her no mind, continuing his teasing with a fond smile. "Almost causing an all-out war between us and the other eight great academies over a single training resource. Even daring to fight the—"
"Grandpa Seventh!" Sub-Dean Scarlet interrupted, her voice sharp with a mix of warning and embarrassment as she reprimanded him like a granddaughter would her mischievous grandfather.
"Alright, alright! I won't say any more then," the old man chuckled, raising his hands in surrender. He skillfully changed the subject, his wise eyes turning back to the hologram. "This year's recruits are not too bad, not bad at all."
Scarlet harrumphed, crossing her arms. "They are a bit lacking compared to last year's batch."
"Oh?" The Seventh Elder's eyes lit up, a glint appearing within them. "Now I'm interested. How about we make a little bet, Little Red?"
Scarlet shot him a suspicious look. "Didn't you swear to the Dean that you've stopped gambling?"
The old man coughed, a touch of embarrassment on his wrinkled face. "Ahem. This is just a friendly wager between me and my favorite little girl. How can that be considered gambling? It's for entertainment." He leaned forward, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. "So? Do you dare to bet or not?"
The crimson-haired woman's pride was clearly provoked. She snorted, a flicker of her usual fire returning. "Why wouldn't I dare? What's the bet about?"
The old man placed his ornate cane on the table with one hand and raised the other. "A simple bet. I say that this year's highest score will surpass last year's highest score. You say it won't."
The Seventh Elder hadn't even fully finished his sentence when the Sub-Dean replied, her voice sharp and decisive. "Alright. I'll bet one Type III Relic Treasure that it won't."
The old man, who had been grinning smugly, was instantly caught off guard. His jaw dropped. He had expected her to accept, but not so quickly, and certainly not with such an insane wager. A Type III Relic Treasure!
The other instructors who had been eavesdropping felt their hearts stop. Relic Treasures were artifacts of unimaginable power, remnants from ancient, forgotten ruins found deep within dimensional zones.
Type I relics were already incredibly rare, containing mystical powers that could permanently increase one's strength or grant a unique ability. They could only be found in the most forbidden and dangerous ruins inside high-level dimensional zones.
Type II relic treasures were ten times more powerful and rarer, artifacts that could only be found in the deadliest of Tier 2 dimensional zones, places where even seasoned veterans tread with extreme caution.
But a Type III… a Type III relic treasure was the stuff of legends. They were rumored to only appear in the core of ancient ruins within Tier 3 dimensional zones, places so dangerous that not even a fighter who had reached the Astral Forge Realm would be guaranteed to survive, let alone retrieve a treasure. Such an item could change the fate of an entire clan, or even a small country.
And she had just wagered one on the performance of a batch of children.
The old man was stunned for a long moment, then his face split into a wide, ecstatic grin, his eyes shining with a manic light. This was it! This was the true thrill of gambling! You never knew when you were going to win, and you never knew when you were going to lose, but the sheer adrenaline of the risk was a joy in itself!
He was about to accept with a booming laugh when a tiny, hesitant voice spoke up from the side.
"C-can I also join the bet?"
It was Instructor Pearson. He had been so caught up in the high-stakes excitement that he had momentarily forgotten his place.
A single, chilling crimson gaze locked onto him.
Instructor Pearson's neck shrank so far into his chest that he looked like a tortoise retreating into its shell. He sat there, frozen, not daring to breathe.