SYSTEM NOTIFICATION — SIDE MISSION
TITLE: Hostile Clearance (Black Ledger)
OBJECTIVE: Eliminate Soldiers ×11 (Hostile Targets — C.O.S.M.O.S. Rank)
LOCATION: C.O.S.M.O.S. Perimeter / Training Grounds
REWARDS: Black Essence Units — 118,000
BONUS: Increased notoriety / unique intel drops (chance)
RISK: Extreme — high-tier opponents; lethal force expected; mission flagged as criminal by local authorities.
ACCEPT / DECLINE
The prompt hangs in Michael's vision like a blade—clean, indifferent, waiting for him to pick it up. Eleven soldiers. 118,000 BEU. His chest tightens by the thrill and curiousity and also the present it would give him.
A question snaps through his head like a thrown rock: "You dumb enough to actually do this? Get your shit together and get out of the chamber."
Practicality speaks like a sane man. Survival speaks like a coward.
Excitement slides up in his spine. Call it greed. Call it necessity. Call it whatever you want. For him, it's the only language that matters: power = answers = blood paid back in kind.
A knock—one, sharp, like a fist on a metal drum—cuts the thought off mid-breath. Just by the knock everyone can understand the weight of somthing that's going on already.
Ajay's eyes sharpen. He hates interruptions the way saints hate sin; his jaw tightens like he's trying to chew the moment into order. "Hold," he snaps. "Do not move."
And the soldiers who are inside already opened the door, and
A soldier bolts to the door, breath loud in his throat. He throws it open and stumbles in, chest heaving like he sprinted through a storm. Sweat streaks his face. He looks like someone who just read bad news and swallowed it.
"What is it?" Ajay asks, voice hard—too calm for the kind of panic in the man's lungs.
Even though that soldier panting heavily he straightens up, hands trembling but he salutes his commander "Commander— High-priority—Arjun Vellory arrived here." He spits the name like it's a brand.
Everyone in the chamber freezes—shock, whispers, disbelief—like the floor just cracked under them. But Michael he didn't even blink. His head's already working, slicing this mess into angles that he can use as wish.
That's the kind of person. He is insane person who loves to be in an position that's triggers his adrenaline and at the same time he loves to exploit his adrenaline rush.
The system prompt floats in his vision: Eliminate Soldiers ×11. Rewards: 118,000 BEU.
Tempting for sure. But he didn't choose it now. So he pressed Decline and let the room thrum.
Ajay Meer's face hardens. He doesn't shout—he doesn't need to. His eyes say he knows exactly why that Arjun Vellory here. "You don't realize what kind of mess you're in," he mutters, and signals the soldiers to move me.
And Michael with handcuff intact along with the commander Ajay Meer and his soldiers accompaning him and Michael walk for a long time until the roar of a crowd drowns the echo of their boots. The gates part and Michael step into the training grounds.
Hundreds of candidates fill the arena—nobles, commoners, kids with too much hope and not enough sense. Flags hang heavy above: Vellory. Aarin. Senapati. Khuraar. Rathore. The five stronghold of Indravana.
Each of their strongholds flags carries an symbol,
Vellory stronghold's flag bears two mythical spear covering an hammer.
Aarin stronghold's flag bears with an book of old age and behind it, it has an hammer.
Senapthi Stronghold's flag bears an hand holding an hammer.
Khuraar stronghold's flag bears pen and hammer and then,
Rathore stronghold's flag bears hammer and the anvil,
Yeah all the flag represents one thing whatever they do or represent but all of them do their roles to uphold the hammer.
Names snap into focus.
Vikram Vellory — the golden son, primed for throne talk.
Varsha Aarin — quiet, elegant, devastating the room with one look.
Nagul Senapati — loud, arrogant, always backed by muscle.
Ranveer Rathore — sharp tongue, quicker to start trouble.
Neha Khuraar — cold, calculating, letting others burn until only she's left standing.
This isn't just a trial. Whoever wins gets sway over C.O.S.M.O.S.—the one independent force that can tip a throne. Control them and you flip the whole damn map.
The stage flickers. Glitch appears—too clean, too perfect to be fully human. The trial AI smirks in holographic form, voice all sarcasm.
"Welcome, little wannabes," Glitch trills.
"Everyone little cuckoos gathered here to show your worth and makes the world remember you ,right?"
Every candidates there become enthusiastic as they feels Glitch's word so refreshing for them, but
"But don't ever think that way, I can sense a lot of waste load from you people" as soon as they heard everyone feels so low
And he continued " but don't worry I have an way to brush off the waste load apart from the rest"
"Round one: group battle. Five per team. Hunt the interstellar habitat. Specifically—D-rank Ironbacks."
Groans ripple through the crowd.
Glitch rolls his digital eyes. "What's with the whining? Can't handle Ironbacks? How do you expect to earn the title hero then?"
Vikram tightens his jaw. "I'll succeed. I'll prove myself worthy of the hammer saint's throne."
"Watch your back until then," Ranveer sneers.
"Don't dream of stealing the Saint's bloodline," Nagul spits, and their lackeys erupt into noise.
Neha watches, unimpressed. Her followers murmur, "Milady, this throne belongs to you." She only smiles, faint and dangerous. "Let them fight. Less competition for me," she thinks—practical, patient.
Varsha Aarin stays silent, unbothered. Her presence is a weapon—no one needs words when everyone's staring.
Then Michael walks in, flanked by soldiers. Every head snaps toward him. Like with the face reaction who the hell that guy to be with so many soldiers around him.
And the rumors kicked off spontaneously among them.
"Is it true? Heir to the hammer saint?"
"Bullshit. Publicity stunt."
"He's finished if he's lying."
"Or worse—if he's telling the truth."
Michael heard them completely. But he didn't care about them. It's not new to him. For him it's another day but the mess he is in, that was not new to him.
The temperature drops.
White-robed guards cut through the crowd, flanking a man in his late thirties. He moves like authority made of bone and iron.
Arjun Vellory. The brother of Hammer-saint, Rajendra Vellory and also the second in command after the Hammer saint in the Indravana dominion.
The arena tightens.
One of Vikram's lackeys leans in, whispering, "Young master— that's your uncle."
Vikram startles, having missed the commotion while scheming for the throne. He whispers back, "Definitely he's not here for me."
From the stands, Vikram blurts, "Uncle? Why are you here?"
Arjun's gaze snaps to him like a blade. His voice is low, heavy, final. "That young man," he says, pointing straight at Michael, "claims to be your elder brother—Adithya Vellory."
The arena erupted.
Ranveer laughed loud enough to cut through the noise. "Then you're not in the race, Vikram! Guess the throne skips you!" His lackeys pile on.
Vikram's face flushes. His fists clench.
Arjun moved.
A slab of chakra slams the arena—tidal, invisible. The air crushes. Ranveer folds to the floor, gagging. Varsha, Nagul, Neha—everyone dips to their knees. Candidates stagger. Even the so-called elites buckle under the pressure.
Neha grits her teeth. "What the hell is that power? He's not even trying, yet he overpowers us all" and she added,"I won't back down that easily", she thought, and the thought is a promise.
Arjun retracted the pressure as if it were nothing. "Behave yourself," he said, cold as winter.
Silence hits harder than the blast did.
Michael stood in that silence, breathing the same air as them, feeling the game shift under his boots. The whole crowd thought they've seen the worst of him. They've only seen the opening move.
He haul himself upright from the aftershock of his power and thought to himself,"If Arjun's brother can shove the air around like that, imagine what the hammer saint can do—doesn't matter. I don't come for gods. I come for the bastard who made my mother's life a trash fire".
Arjun Vellory steped up close, crowd choking around him—Vellory, Aarin, Rathore, Khuraar, Senapati—every entitled face thought they're watching a funeral. He looked at me like he's reading a verdict. "You claim to be Adithya Vellory, right? Then showcase your power. Prove the Vellory blood runs through you."
Right then a system window pops in his vision.
MAIN MISSION:Trial of Blood
Hunt all the Ironbacks
Rewards: 1,500 BEU each
Bonus: Entry to Vellory household
Accept / Decline
Arjun roared the rules: fight all the Ironbacks solo—no team members. Pick any weapon from the arsenal. Win.
Vikram Vellory screamed, "What, uncle? Are you—" and then he shuts up because Arjun's eye did the silencing.
Neha Khuraar laughed to her heart's content. Nagul Senapati giggled.
Varsha gave nothing—no emotion, just a look. Ranveer laughed like it's all a joke.
"Seriously?you thought you would compete with us? Nah na !na !na!. you better wish for a peaceful life next time," Ranveer sneered.
Peaceful life? Please. Who wants peace when ruining others pays better?
With no second thoughts.he hit Accept.
They all expected him down on his knees. They expected the show. Shocked them instead he walked to the arsenal.
They laughed when he picked the twin daggers. Disbelief like it's a sound. Glitch the AI sneered in my ears, one-word verdict: "Bold." Then it clicked into carnival mode: "What are you waiting for? Let's start the event. Let's see what kind of one-side massacre this will be."
And Michael with egoistic,
"Good. Let them laugh. Let them watch. This isn't theatre. This is the first cut."