99
"Whoa."
"Awesome!"
"Crazy... 99 points."
The trainees let out gasps of astonishment. They'd figured Max would score high given his raw power, but seeing the actual number—99—drew shocked exclamations from everyone.
"Impressive," even Instructor Binzar, who was watching, applauded.
"Whoa."
An amazed sound escaped my lips too. But the reason for my surprise was different from everyone else's.
Ronmudi... so he's that guy's descendant?
Memories from the past flooded my mind. A massive figure charging across the battlefield with one enormous spear on his back and two smaller ones strapped beside it.
Ronmudi was someone I'd met right after reaching the Ultimate Body stage. He was an opponent with exceptional combat instincts and overwhelming prowess that had put me in a real bind. We'd fought for three straight days and nights, ending in a draw. Later, I'd even reviewed that battle countless times, using it as a stepping stone to push myself further.
In the end, he ended up on my side, I suppose. Or more accurately, we shared a common enemy.
He'd discovered the ugly secrets the Hercules clan had been hiding and turned against them, standing firm with his own convictions. He was one of the few who left a lasting impression on me...
And that fist technique he just used—the form is unmistakably his.
After fighting for three days and nights, and reviewing it endlessly, the techniques he wielded were still vivid in my memory. That's why I recognized it immediately.
Did that guy have a descendant?
After breaking away from the Hercules clan, we'd crossed paths again briefly. At that time, he'd been branded a traitor by his clan and was locked in endless battles against their assassin squads. It was also around when he'd lost most of his loyal subordinates.
Want me to help?
...No need. Just keep the thought.
By then, I'd already surpassed him by leaps and bounds. If I'd wanted, I could've wiped out the pursuers in an instant. But he refused the offer.
Why? Pride? Even if you won't accept, you should at least save your men.
...I'm no ingrate. How could I borrow the hand of all people—you? Besides, vengeance for one's child must be taken by one's own hand to mean anything.
He'd been tricked by the Hercules clan into making a grave mistake against me. That was the root of our initial clash. I could understand that much... but the talk of a child's vengeance? I had no idea what he meant. Did he even have a child?
I'd seen the deep sorrow in his eyes back then and hadn't pressed the issue.
Maybe this Max guy is his son.
I eyed Max with a strange look. Just then, he turned and our gazes met.
"Hmph."
He wasn't free of the Hercules clan's typical arrogance and haughtiness, but his eyes seemed surprisingly clear. Staring at him, I could almost see Ronmudi's face overlapping.
I'll have to casually ask him about his connection to Ronmudi later.
...If the chance ever comes.
Anyway, Max must've thought I was impressed by him, because he flashed a smug grin, lifted his chin high, and strode past. It could be seen as confident or just cocky and showy.
"Hm."
I let out a soft hum as I watched him go. Ronmudi had been solemn and weighty... I couldn't quite picture this guy as his son.
"Whoaaa! Another 90!"
I snapped out of my thoughts at the cheers from up front.
For now, what mattered to me wasn't Ronmudi and Max's relationship—it was winning the bet right in front of me.
"Group 2's last, Polt!"
Group 2 had finished their assessments, and now it was the group leader Polt's turn.
Polt, of the Cocasus Longhorn Beetle clan. They were one of the strongest clans, rivaling even the Hercules in divine might. On an individual level, they didn't fall short at all.
Yet they never made it into the Four Great Tribes because the Hercules swallowed them up.
If the Cocasus Longhorn Beetles had united properly, that fourth spot might've gone to them instead of the Amar King Centipedes.
As it stood, they'd been absorbed and fused into the Hercules domain, living mixed among them.
"Huuuuh."
Polt threw his shoulders back and took his stance. His arm muscles seemed to bulge taut, almost bursting.
Kwaaaaang—!
The measuring device let out a massive impact as his score lit up above.
—98.
"Whoa, 98."
"Crazy, those Longhorn Beetles..."
"Man, what insane strength."
Everyone gasped in shock. So far, only Max had broken 95, and now Polt had too—with a whopping 98.
"Hmmm."
But Polt stared at the device with a hint of regret before turning away. If he'd hit the red mark a bit more precisely, he might've tied Max at 99. That disappointment was clear on his face.
"Next, Group 3!"
The assessments continued.
Current individual leader: Max with 99.
Group 1's average: 87.
Group 2's average: 84—a three-point gap.
Unless someone topped those, both individual and group prizes would go to Group 1.
"Jirunet 80, Hobi 71..."
Group 3's scores weren't great compared to the first two. Not surprising—they had fewer top-tier clans visible.
"Last for Group 3, leader Bartea."
This guy was the standout. Tarantula clan. King Baboon.
Among Tarantulas, the large King Baboon type boasted monstrous strength that barely trailed the top two Longhorn Beetle clans.
Kwaaaaang!
—96.
A solid 96 points.
The trainees marveled, reminded once again why top clans outclassed the rest.
But even with Bartea's strong showing, Group 3's average was only 78.
"It's fine. We'll get 'em next time."
Bartea didn't seem too bothered. He even comforted his disappointed teammates, coming off as surprisingly caring for his size.
Doesn't match his bulk—got a sensitive side.
I noted Bartea's actions and watched the next round.
Group 4 followed, led by a Giraptop Stag Beetle. Average: 81. Better than Group 3, but still short of 1 or 2.
The Giraptop leader hit exactly 95.
Top clans consistently cleared 95, like an invisible line separating them from the lowers.
Group 5's Amar King Centipede leader flexed with 97.
Montiol, whose wrist I'd snapped, proved his power wasn't weak with a 95.
"How'd that guy lose his wrist to the Group 10 leader?"
"Must've stupidly let his fingers get crushed first."
"Kek, with that brain of his, totally possible."
Despite his strength, Montiol got mocked by other top clans for losing to me. His face flushed, but a glance my way shut him up. One twist, and his spirit was broken.
Anyway.
The tests went on. Group 7's leader, Hover of the Hornet clan, used his virulent trait.
Kwaang!
—91.
The only top clan below 95, but still over 90.
"Whoa, over 90."
"As expected."
Everyone was impressed. Hornets weren't brute-force types—their physicality leaned on speed, powerful jaws, venom, and tough exoskeletons. They struck fatally with mobility, not raw crushing power. Even innate powerhouses followed that style.
Few expected even 90 from them, let alone 95.
But he cleared 90.
I nodded inwardly. Knowing how tough and formidable Hornets were, I figured he'd hit it.
Group 7 did well overall, but still lagged behind Group 1.
Groups 8 and 9 were similar.
But Group 9's leader, Muruan of the Manticora Tiger Beetle clan—also called Emperor Forerunner—stood out personally.
"9, 98 points."
"Tied with Polt."
"No wonder they're unbeatable in the Foil region."
Everyone expressed awe at Muruan.
"Tch."
But he seemed unsatisfied, glaring at the device before clicking his tongue and walking off. He'd aimed higher than 99, probably.
With a running start, he might've hit it.
Leveraging their speed for acceleration could've pushed past 99, though at the cost of precision.
He's got the most ether of anyone here.
That high score came from ether amplification. Ether turns the impossible possible. A bit better control, and 99+ was feasible.
"Next, Group 10."
Our turn at last.
Some looked bored, others dismissive, a few curious. As a dispatched group, we lacked the weight of others. Plus, I—a lowly Praying Mantis—was leader over nine higher-ranked captains.
"Hanks."
Our first: Hanks. He rolled his shoulders, loosened up, then smashed the device with all his might.
Kuoooong—!
A heavy thud echoed.
—96.
A stunning 96.
"What?"
"No way?"
"That guy's 96?"
"No different from top clans!"
"Emperor Scorpions are top-tier."
"Then why isn't he leader?"
Poor expectations for our dispatched Group 10—me as leader, Montiol psych-out—flipped in one swing.
"Higher than Montiol?"
Montiol's 95. He'd watched smugly until Hanks' score dropped, face twisting in fury.
No way someone beat him!
"You lost to him?"
"Shut up!"
Montiol glared at Hanks, who smirked back on eye contact.
"Grr!"
Montiol seethed with humiliated rage.
"Next, Rozin."
Camel Spider clan. Another physical powerhouse.
Group 10 buzzed with anticipation.
Kwang—!
—88.
Not quite 90, but impressive.
"Wooo!"
Our group's morale soared. At this rate, everyone would exceed their norms. Momentum is key in any fight.
Riding the wave, Witch Spider Gosling went third: 86.
Now, eyes on Group 10 shifted.
"What are they?"
"Group 10... kinda strong?"
Dania, Hems, Dirt, and others held strong too. Salt Bug Bendy and Poison Moth Leria lagged at 70s—unavoidable, as they weren't physical types.
The surprise:
"Next, Comji."
"Eek! I-it's my turnnn..."
Grima clan Comji, trembling without confidence. Slim limbs, small build—everyone figured under 70.
"Where's he backing up to?"
"Scared of the machine? Haha."
He retreated far, drawing laughs. But then—
Tak, tatatatatat!
Lightning speed dash, followed by a somersault kick that stunned everyone.
Kwang—!
And his score was...