Clink—
Knock, knock.
I opened the wooden door and stepped into a fairly spacious enclosed room, resembling a library hall.
Not only were there numerous bookshelves, but the furnishings were also exceedingly expensive and luxurious.
Elegant paintings were arranged with refined taste—graceful, delicate, and unmistakably modern.
However, it was suffocating.
No exaggeration—there were no windows. The walls were thick and heavily soundproofed, as if meant to prevent anyone from intruding.
This was a large chamber that blocked all mana, a place that could be described as completely isolated.
'Mana-blocking? Anti-eavesdropping?'
Perhaps the only thing that made the place feel slightly more comfortable was the dressing mirror neatly placed right by the entrance.
"Oh? A young man like you, already working in a place like this?"
An elderly man in a suit spoke. He was tall and broad, sitting on a sofa with a book in hand.
"Oh dear, Ron, you seem to be the last one to arrive. And it's been quite a while since I last saw you."
Another old man with a kindly appearance approached, placing a teacup onto an already crowded table.
"Come over. It should be starting soon."
"…Thank you, sir."
I walked toward the table, shaking hands with everyone one by one—like an employee greeting powerful executives. Some smiled, some laughed, some were asleep.
…
"I look forward to your guidance in the future. Hahaha."
"Oh, come on. We'll be colleagues sooner or later anyway—just help each other out."
"…"
"Oh my, Ron, why are you drinking so little? This is top-grade wine. It was sent by today's host."
"My apologies, sir. I'm not interested in alcohol—you know that."
"Gahaha, you've really become quiet since that incident, haven't you?"
The people around the table quickly became intoxicated, their faces flushed red from the wine—yet their eyes were never drunk.
Knock—
A sound echoed, and immediately after, a figure appeared within the mirror.
(Congratulations. You are the outstanding candidates we have selected for this new position.)
"Oh, finally."
"Been waiting for this, haven't we?"
"Hah."
Those seated at the banquet table showed clear excitement, like children waiting for their parents to arrive.
However—
(Ah, um… I, the person in charge of your recruitment, apologize for the delay in announcing this, but…)
(It seems there was an issue on the notification side, and the information you received regarding the job appears to have been slightly incorrect.)
At those words, the atmosphere at the table began to change.
Eyes sharpened, waiting for what would come next.
(We apologize, but we will only be selecting one person.)
"…"
Chaos… always begins with silence.
"King of Chennio, eliminated."
"So soon, someone's already failed the interview."
Clack.
A man drew a line across the chalkboard containing roughly fifteen names, striking out the one representing the King of Chennio. Meanwhile, two young women sat before a mirror, speaking casually.
"King of Oxxo, eliminated."
"Oh dear, he looks pitiful."
Clack.
"King of Terooe, eliminated."
"Tsk, he sure was handsome."
Clack.
"…You don't need to comment every time I speak, Ica."
"Let me be."
"Sigh… King of Racoly, eliminated."
"That was fast. From fifteen kings across the entire empire, only two remain."
"Hm?"
"And hey, isn't that one really young? He looks even younger than me… the King of Jinglus? And that old man—King of Hlcocon?"
…
The once dignified room had been utterly destroyed. Corpses lay scattered everywhere, blood splattered across the walls, the floor, even the expensive furnishings.
"So… just the two of us left, huh?"
The old man stood up, holding a shattered wine glass soaked in blood.
Taking a stance, he stepped back once, then burst forward at me.
I twisted my body, grabbed a sofa cushion, and swung it hard into the broken glass. The glass pierced into the cushion and was thrown aside with it.
Disarmed, the old man grabbed a book and began striking me relentlessly.
However, he was missing one thing.
Martial arts do not work like this.
I pivoted and delivered a low kick to his leg. His aged limb immediately cried out in pain.
A straight punch to the liver followed by a knee strike was enough to bring him crashing to the ground.
Bang!
A downward kick smashed into his head, blood spraying everywhere.
Trembling, he clutched tightly onto my pants, refusing to let go. Suddenly, I felt my entire body being lifted.
Clutching his head as he stood, the old man grabbed a broken wooden picture frame and used it like a knife, stabbing repeatedly into my abdomen.
Blood flowed—but that idiot failed to consider that it splattered into his own eyes as well.
Seizing the moment, I rushed forward with a spinning kick, smashing into his neck.
Crack—
Teeth, skull, neck, eyes—everything was destroyed in an instant.
I stood up and turned away, considering the battle concluded.
I, Ron Irus, passed the interview.