"Monstrous Beasts are a valid concern, but... have I seen Droons? In Camps, perhaps not, I suppose. They are surveillance, callers, and supporting hunters for groups. Hellgars are likely dogs for powerful Darks, but even those have their hierarchy and problems. Incursions sent them in like a test. Rifts do it, too, but it depends on the class of the Rift. They have numbers like everything, with strengths and weaknesses like any other."

  "Right... weaknesses!? Who am I kidding? Humans have a weakness. Those monsters have none if they just come at us with a hundred times more bodies. Their skin is also tough, reinforced by thick fur, spikes, scales, and Arcana, among other features. Hellgars are like dogs compared to the rest. Weakest, yet still strong. Wild. They could kill Walker if they are unprepared... I've seen it." William spoke to himself, frowning and trying to work it out.

  The thing he knew. Hellgar was like cannon fodder, and humans were like that very often, too, but not to him. For him... There was no escape. Regular people might be like rocks; that was just a fucked up thing to think, let alone say out loud. It was not a game about numbers. Darks didn't have that concept in the slightest.

  Only humans had, which led to suffering when the Dawn happened, and those freaks of nature wrecked this world for many decades until.... well, they kind of had enough since the most tasty, precious, and great resources dwindled.

  "What about conventional weaponry? Darks have weaknesses in elemental forms, and even guns or swords could kill them, and that's fair. Things like old-school missiles and high-caliber bullets are next. They could be compared to rough Skill of Rank 4 or practical Arcalysts. That doesn't push Walkers away. In contrast, it pushes them even further because conventional weapons require resources, time, investment, and workforce. Walkers can just wave their hands and pull a trigger called their Emblem. That's cool, I guess. I don't hate my gun and don't plan to change it."

  William continued reading and writing, and before he knew it, an hour passed. All of a sudden, the self-closing door jolted open, revealing a group of black-clothed men who walked inside. They were all tough-looking, and when they all came forth, a youth arrived behind them, sizing them and the room.

  William glanced at them momentarily and knew he had never seen them before. There were piles of documents on his single table, and there was plenty of room for other people, so, as usual, he returned to his own business without interruptions.

  Six tall and wide men still arrived, and those didn't come to learn. They created a corridor for that youth to walk through. He wore quite luxurious clothes compared to William, who got new sets from Mi-Yung, but she knew better than to splurge on him aimlessly because of his sick Emblem with the mark of Annihilation.

  Even through those clothes, one would still see that this youth was too young for them. It was a type of uniform with great style, featuring a golden accent and numerous details that became noticeable up close. He shouldn't be more than fifteen or sixteen years old.

  "What do we have here? I thought we would be alone," the youth said, glancing at William and pointing to one man on his right. "We have reservations, no?"

  "Young master Stark, I have not made the full reservation because there are usually not a lot of Walkers arou..."

  Before finishing his sentence, Stark came closer and adjusted the man's already perfect tie. "What did you say? No reservation? Can I remind you what is in my pocket and what you do?"

  "I..." Before speaking, Stark tapped his cheeks, slapping him a little.

  "I don't like mistakes, sir Connolly. My father doesn't like them even more." Stark said, talking to this man who was at least four times his age, or as if he had eaten his breakfast. It wasn't contempt; it was just a tough reminder, which looked odd when Connolly was taller than Stark and much stronger.

  Scoffing at him and without seeing answers, Stark walked onward, arriving at William's table. Looking at William's focused gaze, the documents, and various ideas, he pressed his palms against them and leaned forward, right in front of William, who ignored the people and kept reading. It was a clever opinion, even when occasional visitors came over. It was common not to bother people.

  But what was about these reservations? Were these rooms supposed to be private? William had common library knowledge and wasn't sure about it, but he had heard Ellie mention it before. Rules were more straightforward on the lower floors. Don't bother people; remain calm and silent, and treat the books as if they were gold.

  Heidi and Kaufman cared about it equally. On the upper floors, things changed a bit. There were numerous supporting endeavors, with groups of people and small seminars taking place in most rooms, even those with smaller capacities. It was usually up to the reservations and business of Walkers, who supported this entire place and, in effect, allowed its very existence.

  "I said," Stark said, tapping his palms on the table, "who do we have here? Did you not listen, or are you deaf?" He repeated himself, forcing his hands on a paper with a set of laughable scribbles. Seeing them for himself provided nothing but more scoffs and laughs, though the writing was better than his own.

  "Ah, a newbie... I see. You don't know what this place is like at all, or you lack manners. Research is done with adequate teachers, so what's the fucking point of these scribbles? How pointless. The right personnel go further, and clueless brats can't get far," he said proudly, slamming the table with that piece of paper and almost ripping it apart.

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  William perked up at last, shifting his gaze from the documents that he was reading. Leaning back on his chair, he noticed the obvious threat of this dickhead, and sized him up and down.

  And William said nothing, which further angered Stark, who clearly had problems with it, him, or being regarded as air.

  "I don't like being ignored."

  "I don't know you... young sir, so mind your own business," William said, almost chuckling to himself, and leaned even further on his chair to see what sort of asshole was before him. He had experience with these sorts of people, but this was the Federation, and this person must have serious backing if he had six bodyguards with him.

  Or they might be his caretakers, helpers, and teachers, so this brat must be mental or handicapped in a way— a poor guy, truly.

  It was a youth around his age, wearing luxurious clothes for at least hundreds of credits. A leather vest over his uniform had great stitching, accents, and layers. A delicate, soft material below it complemented an elegant shirt, similar to the trousers below. He had no accessories. Though he looked good, he didn't act like that.

  As his voice and tone suggested, he was a hooligan. Spiked blond hair leaned behind his scalp, creating a wave-like pattern. Perhaps that was intentional, or maybe it was an art form performed by great hairdressers. William had seen them in the streets or shops, but never got an itch to change his pace, let alone his hair.

  As for this guy, it might be because his hair was always like that, which was... maybe even stranger.

  There was also something else about him that was impossible not to notice—his brows, as well as his face. William could not figure them out straight away. Then, he realized it. Wasn't this person somewhat familiar? He bumped into him weeks ago on the cultural floor, and for some reason, he recalled it right away.

  Back then, William could tell that this guy was arrogant to the brim, so he fled the scene, and today, this guy didn't even recognize him. It must be the clothes; William changed quite a lot over the past few weeks, and nobody really knew him. He judged that his face remained the same if he had to say it himself.

  It was enough for Stark not to recognize him at all. With his ragged clothes and shitty shoes, William looked laughable. Now, William was viewed as an expected guy even in Stark's eyes, though it didn't stop him from looking for other kinds of problems.

  Sizing him, William couldn't tell if Stark looked more arrogant than he sounded. His eyes were sharp, complementing his curved eyebrows, which almost reached his ears. It made him look rather intense, if that was even reasonable to say and imagine.

  Speechless, he stared as he leaned on his chair without answering any of the continuous ramblings from this arrogant kid. Just why were those brows like that? Why were they funny yet cool at the same time?

  "Are you fucking listening?" Stark slammed the table once more, and by now, one of the men behind him walked forward, coming behind William, gripping his shoulder, and establishing dominance over him.

  Forcing him up, William dabbed to his patience and sized those grown-ass bastards next.

  "Young master made a question. No matter what, it is good to answer them, boy."

  "Excuse me... but I've never met a noisy asshole like that before, so I must apologize for slacking a bit." William shook his head helplessly, scratching his hair and coming back down to take care of his stuff.

  "Y-you what?" Stark asked, unsure if what he heard was right.

  "What are you here for?" William also took out a question, ignoring the angry man beside him, who looked a little furious. "I am on my last hour of research, so do what you want here. It shouldn't bother anyone since there is plenty of space for twenty people. Maybe for your head, too, perhaps? Well, scratch that." William argued, glanced at Stark, and barely read the atmosphere or weight of his words.

  Stark's face changed, and veins popped on his forehead, and with great force, he calmed down and found the situation hilarious. He didn't want to do something he would regret, and there were manners for elites like him to handle and abide by.

  The troubles of causing problems in this place were heavy, even if his father were one of the greatest Walkers alive! He had told him many times not to make trouble for very specific people, especially the Kaufmans, but his men were fine causing trouble if there was enough validation.

  "Leave. The young master is asking you to leave! Do it for your own sake," the man named Connolly said, coming forward and expressing the main issue.

  "Is this your library?" William asked a great question without any concerns. He had never met such people who would make trouble over nothing. Also, they had no manners and even reason to do that. They were most likely faking being so tough anyway, and this place was no place for arguments. That was at least William's assumption, which came from his experience, while his Outside side did it even better.

  "Who do you think you are, brat?" Stark asked, smiling in agitation, and more veins appeared on his forehead. Someone got pretty damn angry, and for what?

  Over fucking room, words, and books. Or pride? He didn't even look like he would read a book, but again, William saw what he got from the cultural floor.

  "B-brat?" William hummed, trying to take his papers, but one of the men stopped him, and Stark slammed the table.

  "Listen here, you little shitty brat. My father is the Prime Hunter and High Pillar of the Assembly, so you better bulge your eyes on what I am about to show you!" Stark proudly swung his hands, tilting his head up, and declared his superior position that wasn't even his own.

  William's face was cold and disinterested. Though he heard about Prime Hunter from Mi-Yung and how families had their worries and places in this land, it did not change his opinion about anything. Until now, that is. It seemed he met a pretty tactful asshole today. Privileged, carried, and terrific, yet it was nothing compared to the Outside.

  That was his guess. Williams might be wrong, but he doubted that today like never before. There was no worth in arrogance or being a total asshole if there wasn't a reason for it because, hell, William was fine being an asshole as well, but only if it made sense.

  Listening to this annoyance was getting tiresome, and William didn't care about it at all. This clown's words were even less meaningful than his papers or his drawings.

  Stark didn't finish what he started. His arm came to his pocket whilst his head remained up. He swung his palm forward, revealing a yellow card that he put to William's face. It resembled a card William had heard came from a sport called soccer, but no, that wasn't it. This was a clear token similar to the one he had in his pocket.

  Showing it off was laughable, so William chuckled, got to his ass, and felt this asshole never met consequences of his own action. But again, he often did the same thing, but he tended to learn from pretty much anything.