After Ethan stepped out of the pod, the casual atmosphere disappeared.
Holt backed away from Ethan after suddenly closing the distance between them to test Ethan’s physical abilities.
’There’s no way to fake reflexes, unless he is much faster than I am, which is practically impossible. I can count the number of people faster than on one hand, and they are all S Ranks.’
Which ant, according to his earlier hypothesis, that Ethan already knew the result he would receive. One could estimate their rank just from how powerful their ability seed, so it wasn’t too out of the ordinary.
But that just brought up more questions for Holt as he turned around to face Ethan.
His movents weren’t sharp or aggressive; they carried the quiet certainty of a man who already had his prey cornered.
"So," he began mildly, amber eyes never leaving Ethan. "What exactly is your ability?"
It was a question, but Ethan felt like he had no choice but to answer.
Despite that, he exhaled through his nose and smiled.
’Out of the two skills I currently have, I only need to show him one. And out of the two, there’s one that is clearly less valuable and shocking, at least currently.’
"I’ll just show you," Ethan said, rolling his shoulders.
He focused and activated Beast Assimilation.
Warmth blood from his chest, spreading through his limbs. His posture hunched just a little, spine curving as his muscles tightened and his senses sharpened.
"Basically," he said casually, "I can mimic so of a wolf’s physical traits slightly."
Holt watched him with predatory focus.
"So," Holt said slowly, "similar to my own."
That explained it.
The scent Holt had noticed earlier - the faint but unmistakable trace of a beast.
A wolf in sheep’s clothing, just like he was.
But Holt’s instincts scread that this wasn’t the full picture.
"I guess so," Ethan replied with a small smile.
’I’ve given him enough, and E Ranks can’t do much anyway.’
Holt, anwhile, was already several steps ahead.
The display didn’t reassure him; it added another piece to the pattern forming in his mind. Another coincidence. Another thread tugging toward the sa answer.
Then Holt asked the real question.
"What is your title?"
The words were calm, but the pressure was not.
Sothing monstrous surged out from Holt, invisible yet overwhelming. His shadow twisted unnaturally against the wall, stretching, warping - forming the vague silhouette of a colossal creature behind him.
Ethan’s knees buckled.
His breath hitched, and for a split second, he thought he might actually fall.
"I–I don’t have to reveal that," Ethan forced out, teeth clenched, "if I don’t want to."
The pressure vanished instantly.
Silence followed, then monts later, Holt laughed.
It wasn’t mocking or cruel; the man just seed genuinely amused.
’He’s quite ntally strong,’ Holt thought. ’But that’s to be expected...’
Seven years in Blackgate Penitentiary - the country’s most infamous prison for non-Titled monsters, a place that housed the worst humanity had to offer. Most n ca out broken, and so didn’t co out at all.
Holt then said lightly, "That’s very true."
Just like that, the forming monster disappeared.
He leaned back, casual again, as if he hadn’t nearly crushed Ethan to the floor monts earlier with his aura alone. His amber eyes, however, never stopped studying him.
Continuing conversationally, he asked, "Does Seigneur des Betes ring a bell? Maybe Povelitel Zverey... or Senor de las Bestias?"
Ethan shook his head quickly. "I’m not great with languages."
Holt smiled faintly.
"Then how about... Lord of Beasts?"
Ethan tried not to react, but he failed miserably.
As much as he kept a straight face, nothing got past Holt.
He slled the fear, heard the subtle hitch in Ethan’s breathing, and noticed the cold sweat tracing down his spine.
That was all the confirmation he needed.
"Well," Holt said pleasantly, tipping his hat, "it was nice eting you, Mr Crowe. I’m sure we’ll et again soon enough."
And just like that, he was done.
Holt handed him off to another Association employee to finish the formalities before Ethan could ask any questions.
She was a friendly woman, still visibly shaken from being in Holt’s presence, and treated Ethan with surprising kindness.
Most people were like that after encountering the Bloodhound.
The only ones who weren’t star-struck were powerful Titled - those who saw Holt not as a legend, but as a peer.
Ethan received his card.
Na: Ethan Crowe
Titled Rank: E
Then they issued him a standard Association phone - location tracking enabled, gate assignnts included, with the option to register for paid gate clearances.
He gratefully accepted it, and anything was better than the shitty, cracked phone he currently had and barely used.
"And how do I get paid?" Ethan asked, while scratching his head. "If I don’t have a bank account."
The woman blinked. "That’s... unusual. But you can receive cash from any of our city branches."
"Cash is king," Ethan said simply, pocketing the phone.
The whole process had been quick, but throughout it all, he couldn’t help but replay his encounter with Holt over and over again.
’How did he know my Title? And what is he planning?’
It was unnerving, to say the least, that he had drawn the attention of such a powerful man, especially when Ethan had no idea what he was thinking.
But as Holt had said, he was sure they would et again...
-
After completing the registration process, Ethan was escorted back down to the ground floor.
As soon as he erged from the elevator, reporters and talent scouts sward him; after all, he had drawn the attention of a renowned A Rank Titled.
The Bloodhound didn’t make public appearances and answered only to the head of the Association. Though his true Title was unknown, his abilities were rumoured to even be on par with so S Ranks, and he didn’t just stop to assess nobodies.
Naturally, interest spiked, but it died just as quickly when Ethan flashed his Titled ID.
Seeing the E Rank and his D Rank potential, it was hard not to feel disappointed. The assessnts were 99% accurate, and almost no one ever surpassed their recorded potential.
So, just as quickly as it had ford, the crowd dispersed, leaving Ethan standing there.
’They’ll all be interested in after I clear every floor of that fucking tower and have a bunch of S Rank beasts.’
He laughed quietly, pulled his hood up, and walked away.
This was perfect.
No one knew what he was capable of: that he could summon beasts, that he could grow stronger while he slept, that he was still miles away from his full potential.
Well, maybe one man did, but he could worry about Holt once he got stronger.
’It’s only a matter of ti,’ Ethan thought as he headed ho.
-
anwhile, as Ethan rode a taxi back toward Mark’s bar, questions and plans colliding in his mind, the man who had marked him stood before soone far more dangerous.
General Harold Whitaker sat behind his desk on the top floor of Association Headquarters. He was a tall man with cold green eyes, and despite his steel-grey hair and aged face, his body was very well built.
His office overlooked the entire city, and the interface on his desk mapped every active gate, every registered Titled, and every international communication line.
One of the most powerful n on the planet.
"So, Lukas," Whitaker said without turning. "What have you got for ?"
A man stepped out of the shadows behind him.
"Not much," Holt replied calmly. "I’m working on a few ongoing cases."
He listed them thodically: the rogue Titled network in this city’s underworld, infighting within the Golden Lion Guild, rumours of a hidden S Rank in Russia.
Whitaker listened intently but was confused.
"Is that all?" he asked. "Knowing you, the only reason you’re in this building is because you’re following a trail."
No one could read Holt like this old man, and with a gesture, Whitaker pulled up today’s registrations.
There was no one above C Rank and nothing that caught his eye, except one na...
"Crowe," Whitaker said. "Does he connect to your underworld investigation?"
Holt smiled faintly.
"There are no coincidences in this world."
And with that, he vanished, leaving the general staring at Ethan Crowe’s profile just a mont longer before returning to his work.
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