Chapter 43: The D-Rank Anomaly

The students who had been ready to laugh, the clan retainers already preparing their mocking remarks, and even the teachers watching with bated breath—all of them fell silent.

For a moment, nobody seemed to know how to react.

A few students even stood there with their mouths hanging open.

1,150 kilograms!

For an awakened student, breaking the 1,000-kilogram mark was a clear indication that they had stepped into the Martial Warrior realm.

And this wasn’t some barely acceptable result of 500 or 600 kilograms like Eric’s.

This was 1,150 kilograms.

That placed Lucian firmly at the peak of Stage 1, already within striking distance of Stage 2.

"One... one thousand one hundred and fifty?!" a student finally blurted out.

His voice trembled with disbelief.

"From a D-Rank Martial Soul?!"

"How is that even possible?! Even B-Rank talents who broke through early only managed around six hundred!"

"Did the machine malfunction?! How can a D-Rank Shadow Warrior have this kind of physical strength?!"

Disbelief and confusion spread through the stands.

The entire arena seemed to buzz with questions.

At the front of the formation, Eric Vance looked as though he had just been struck by lightning.

His eyes widened, the veins around his temples standing out as his hands trembled inside his pockets.

A D-Rank.

A slum orphan he had always considered nothing more than a stepping stone had just scored nearly twice his own result.

If that number remained uncontested, Eric wouldn’t just lose face.

He would become the laughingstock of Silverwood’s entire aristocratic circle.

"He cheated!"

Eric suddenly shouted, his voice cracking with desperate fury as he stepped out of formation and pointed an accusing finger at Lucian.

The crowd’s attention immediately shifted toward him.

Eric’s chest rose and fell rapidly as he turned toward the surrounding students, his face twisted with anger and disbelief.

"Don’t let this garbage fool you! A D-Rank Martial Soul can’t possibly refine the body to this level in just three days. The natural talent gap makes it impossible!"

He pointed toward Lucian.

"Look at him! He’s been hiding inside the Sterling Grand Courtyard like some pampered pet!"

Eric’s voice grew louder, almost desperate.

"The Sterling Family has an endless supply of Tier-2 and Tier-3 medicinal pills! They fed him Earth Stone Spirit Milk! They stuffed him with high-grade Otherworldly Beast meat day and night!"

"He didn’t reach this level through talent. They simply used expensive resources to force his body upward!"

"He’s nothing but a hollow balloon filled with medicine!"

Eric’s expression twisted with contempt.

"Once we enter the wild, none of that will matter. Real combat requires technique, soul adaptability, and the instincts to kill. A bloated D-Rank like him won’t last ten minutes against a real beast!"

The noisy bleachers fell quiet for a moment as the students and clan scouts processed Eric’s furious accusation.

Slowly, a few people began nodding.

"Right... that actually makes sense."

"The Sterling Family is insanely wealthy. If they really wanted to support him, they could easily use expensive marrow-cleansing tonics to push his physical strength that high."

"A foundation built entirely on pills? That won’t last. The medicinal residue will only hold him back later."

"Hah! So he really is just living off a woman’s wealth!"

The mocking whispers soon returned, now mixed with jealousy and relief.

It was easier to believe a comfortable lie than accept an uncomfortable truth.

They simply couldn’t accept that a slum orphan might naturally be stronger than them.

Eric’s explanation gave them exactly what they wanted—a reason to dismiss Lucian’s result without questioning their own assumptions.

Lucian remained beside the black-iron pillar, casually slipping his hands back into his pockets.

He looked at Eric, who was still breathing heavily, a smug and malicious smile spreading across his face.

Lucian couldn’t help but smile faintly.

Inflated with medicine? A hollow balloon?

Lucian chuckled to himself.

There was no point wasting his breath trying to explain.

Let them believe it.

In fact, Eric’s loud accusation had given him exactly what he needed. It provided a believable, if somewhat ridiculous, explanation for his abnormal strength without attracting the attention of federal researchers.

These people thought they had already figured him out.

They had no idea that the 1,150 kilograms on the display was nothing more than a tiny three-percent drop taken from an ocean of nearly forty-six tons.

"Silence!"

The chief examiner’s thunderous voice cut through the remaining chatter.

His gaze settled on Lucian and lingered for a moment.

He noticed the relaxed posture.

The steady breathing.

The complete lack of strain.

Unlike the students in the stands, the veteran Martial General had felt the impact firsthand. There had been no instability from excessive medicine. No chaotic energy leakage.

Just pure, controlled physical force. A frighteningly precise strike.

But the examiner said nothing.

He simply lowered his eyes to the data slate and recorded the result.

"Candidate Lucian. Final score: 1,150 kilograms. Valid."

Lucian gave a slight, respectful nod.

Then he turned and walked back toward the formation with the same calm, unhurried steps as before. As Lucian stepped back beside Evelyn, she leaned slightly toward him, her shoulder brushing against his.

"One thousand one hundred and fifty?" she whispered, a teasing note in her melodious voice. "You’re getting pretty good at acting, aren’t you, my little D-Rank newbie?"

"Keeping a low profile means living longer, wifey," Lucian murmured, barely moving his lips. "Besides, why would I steal your spotlight? You looked pretty majestic up there."

A faint blush spread across Evelyn’s pale cheeks.

She rolled her eyes and turned her attention back toward the main platform, but the small smile tugging at the corners of her lips refused to disappear.

WUUUUU

A sharp, double-tone siren rang out, signaling the end of the first phase. The military technicians immediately got to work.

With practiced efficiency, they moved the black-iron pillars into underground storage bays as a new set of equipment rose from the western side of the arena. Rows of silver-alloy pillars emerged from beneath the tarmac, each one embedded with thousands of tiny laser emitters.

Together, they formed a complex, maze-like corridor stretching sixty meters across the field. Around its perimeter, high-speed pneumatic cannons began to hum.

Their barrels slowly lit up with the dull blue glow of low-power kinetic dampeners.

The chief examiner stepped to the edge of the stage, his voice cutting through the rising wind.

"First assessment concluded. All candidates will proceed immediately to the Western Track for the second assessment : the Agility Matrix."

His cold, calculating gaze swept across the students.

"Strength means nothing if you can’t deliver it. In the wild, a beast won’t stand still and wait for you to land a punch. If you’re too slow, you’re meat."

He gestured toward the whirring labyrinthine network of silver pillars and lasing light beams.

"Candidates, get ready."

Lucian glanced over at the network of glimmering lasers.

His expression tightened.

A thin smirk curled at the corners of his mouth.

Suppressing his strength had proven relatively straightforward. It involved sealing off his meridians and restraining his physical strength.

Agility, however...

Speed of movement, coordination...

Responding to hundreds of randomly firing high-speed lasers and pneumatically-launched projectiles while feigning the slow reflexes of an ordinary D-Rank cultivator?

Ah, yes. That ought to be quite troublesome indeed.