Leveling From Hell

Arzael took a shallow breath, holding back the oppressive weight of the air pressing down throughout the Hall of Inquisition. His gaze was fixed straight ahead, and a low yet heavily charged voice escaped his lips: "If I am a demon… do you think you would still be standing here asking me that?"

The words fell heavy, piercing the silence, as if filling every corner of the room with a chilling, suffocating aura. Even the crystals in the walls, which lit up the chamber, seemed dim under the tension enveloping the Hall.

The dignitaries lowered their heads, some furrowing their brows, realizing that Arzael's response was more than mere defense, it was a warning.

From the seat of honor, the Class-S Hero, whose aura had previously glowed dark red, slowly raised his head. His eyes narrowed, piercing toward Arzael. His deep voice thundered through the quiet: "Those words… sound more like a threat than an answer."

The room fell silent once again. Everyone present felt the weight, not just from Arzael, but also from the top-tier hero sizing him up. The dark red Hero remained calm, yet the aura emanating from him made it clear to anyone that if he moved, Arzael's words could turn into something far more dangerous.

Meanwhile, the other Class-S Hero, who had previously registered as black in the system, remained silent. His stillness only added gravity to the atmosphere, as no one could predict his thoughts or the magnitude of his threat.

Arzael bowed his head slightly, restraining his emotions, yet his eyes still glowed a faint red. He knew that every word he spoke could shift the tide.

Then, he lifted his head again, staring coldly at the dark red Hero, his voice low, calm, yet lethal: "If I sound threatening… it means you're aware of something you shouldn't be able to control."

The words fell like knives, without exaggerated gestures. Everyone present felt their weight.

The dark red Hero frowned, his gaze sharpening, yet a thin, cold smile formed on his lips.

"Hmph… So that's how you position yourself. Clever… but don't think it makes you safe. Threat or answer, I can still gauge your intentions. You may know how to keep your distance and choose your words… but don't forget, the one standing before you isn't just any human. I can read patterns, assess risks… and if you falter between words and actions, it will be your end."

'Bullshit,'

Arzael remained calm, his eyes still faintly red, holding his breath briefly. The black Class-S Hero stayed silent, sitting upright and mysterious, intensifying the Hall's atmosphere, which now felt like a space between two poles, one clear threat, one absolute uncertainty.

The dignitaries held their breath, realizing this wasn't just an interrogation; it was a battle of words between two forces capable of destroying each other if one misstepped.

At that moment, a new voice sounded from behind Arzael.

"Enough."

Heavy footsteps echoed across the marble floor of the Hall of Inquisition. From the darkness at the side of the room, a tall man with spiky yellow hair appeared. His muscular frame, broad shoulders, and the aura he exuded made the air vibrate.

Several dignitaries whispered quietly upon seeing the arrival of Celeron, Class-S Hero, rank 13.

He strolled casually and stopped right beside Arzael, standing as a barrier between him and the dark red Hero. His thin smile was more mocking than friendly.

"Lucius… you're only rank 10, yet your words are already that arrogant? I've fought him, and I've made sure myself that he isn't a threat."

Celeron then turned slightly toward Arzael, whispering in a low tone,

"Don't worry, boy. I've got your back."

Lucius' gaze, the rank 10, immediately hardened. His voice was cold as he replied, "Oh? Rank 13 dares to raise his voice to a higher rank… especially in a mocking tone?"

The two stared at each other sharply, and instantly, the tension in the room rose, making the air feel heavier on everyone present.

The tension between Lucius and Celeron nearly snapped, until a deep yet calming voice cut through it.

"Uh… alright, alright… enough gentlemen," said a long-gray haired man, who had been overseeing the interrogation from the start. His voice wasn't loud, but it was enough to hold both Class-S Heroes in place.

He stepped forward, looking at both alternately, then exhaled. "You've forgotten where we are. This is the Hall of Inquisition, not an ego battle arena. Our purpose here is not to take each other down, but to ensure the right direction for… this participant."

One of the dignitaries from a nearby seat spoke up, sharp but wise. "Whether he's a threat or not, one thing is clear. This young man could become a great asset to the Association. Or… a disaster, if we misstep."

The gray-haired man nodded slightly. His eyes returned to Arzael, then the entire council. "Very well. Let us decide together. Those who agree that participant no. 439 should continue the hero academy exam, raise your hands. Remember well, he could be a threat… or a valuable asset to us."

Almost every hand went up. Some hesitated, but none opposed.

The gray-haired man slowly lowered his hand after seeing the majority in agreement. His voice rang firmly, breaking the silence.

"Very well. It's decided. participant no. 439 will continue the hero academy exam. However, before that… we must restrain you once more. If you intend evil, or attempt to sabotage… you will die."

The room tensed again. All eyes turned toward Arzael.

He lifted his head slightly, faint red eyes glowing from beneath his black hood. His voice was low, yet clear.

"I agree."

The pink-haired girl who had performed the Binding Heart stepped forward. With one smooth gesture, the pink runic light that had previously encircled Arzael's chest shimmered… then cracked, shattered, and vanished into specks of light.

She didn't pause long. Both her hands danced through the air again, forming a new rune pattern, far more intricate. The light descended, circling precisely around Arzael's heart. This time, the aura felt piercing, not just binding words, but penetrating deep into the intentions of his heart.

"The second Binding Heart… is bound," she stated flatly. "If you harbor intentions to destroy the Association, or disrupt the balance of this world… your heart will cease to beat."

The room fell silent again. Even the dignitaries in the upper seats held their breath as the crystals on the walls trembled, signaling the activation of the ancient contract.

Arzael remained upright, unyielding. In his heart, only one sentence echoed 'Link by link… nothing will stop me. As long as I'm in that academy… Aelric, you will not escape me.'

After several minutes, the great doors of the Hall of Inquisition creaked open, clearing a path for Arzael. The dignitaries merely stared silently as his footsteps echoed out of the room.

The night air greeted him. From the inner courtyard of Hero Haven, the Citadel of Light, the main tower of the Hero Association, rose majestically into the sky. The golden light emanating from its pinnacle cut through the darkness, falling on Arzael's face hidden beneath his black hood.

"So it's already night…" he murmured softly.

Yet his thoughts were far louder than his lips. 'I'm curious… what am I, really? In my status, there's no explanation about my race… just a question mark.'

Arzael clenched his fists. Moments later, his gaze shifted to another part of the citadel complex, a domed building adorned with faintly glowing runes.

The Hall of Records.

A place where all records of heroes, races, and worldly creatures were tightly stored.

Without hesitation, he leaped, his body merging into the shadows building by building. His black cloak concealed him, making him like a midnight wind undetected by the Hero Haven guards.

He moved swiftly and silently, each step bringing him closer to the window entrance of the Hall of Records.

'Perhaps here I will find the answers.'

Arzael stopped directly under the shadow of the mithril-framed window. With a light movement, he jumped up, landing silently on the ledge. His hands pushed against the rune-inscribed glass; strangely, no active seals were present, as if the place was no longer guarded at night.

As he stepped inside, his gaze was immediately swallowed by the grandeur of the Hall of Records.

The chamber was a massive dome, its ceiling as tall as a cathedral tower, adorned with mosaics of light slowly rotating like stars in the night sky. Pillars rose from the glossy black floor, each carved with the emblems of legendary Heroes who had passed. Pale blue light from magical crystals floated in the air, moving slowly like fireflies, illuminating massive circular shelves that reached to the ceiling.

Tens of thousands of scrolls, thick dragon-leather-bound books, and ancient stone tablets were neatly stored, as if the history of the world itself was imprisoned in this room. The marble floor reflected Arzael's shadow as he walked slowly. Silence. No sound except his own footsteps and the soft hum of the runes sustaining the structure.

There was no one inside.

No guards.

Only an ocean of records, waiting to be opened.

Arzael looked toward the center of the room, where a black obelisk rose, its surface covered in ancient letters that constantly shifted shapes. A powerful aura radiated from it, as if it were the center of this entire archive.

'…Here. If there are answers about who or what I am… they must be stored here.'

He took a deep breath, then began walking toward the obelisk, his shadow stretching between the silent shelves of knowledge.

His cold fingers touched the obelisk's surface, but his steps halted when a thick, dusty book seemed to call to him from a nearby shelf. Its cover was jet black with faded gold engravings, and a symbol resembling burning wings marked its cover.

Arzael approached, carefully taking the book. As soon as he opened it, the fragile pages trembled as if breathing, and a faint light glowed from each letter.

Ancient writings filled his vision. He read…

"In the earliest times, before the sky and earth were separated, a great war occurred between the angels and the creatures of the Underworld.

Their fiery wings split the darkness, their swords of light annihilated thousands of demons.

Yet among the angels, there was one name that shook the entire world, Seraphim, the White Guardian, whose blood mingled with a black curse.

That battle marked the beginning of an eternal curse even the gods could not erase…"

Arzael froze. The words seemed to vibrate in his mind. Seraphim, the same name as…

"Impossible…" he murmured quietly, his voice almost breaking. His eyes widened, a faint shadow of a girl with long white hair appearing in his mind.

"...Seraphina."

His chest thumped violently. The name was so similar, too close to be a coincidence. It was as if ancient history and his fate were beginning to intertwine.