Sage finally caught a proper glimpse of her. She stood at the center of the Adventurer Guild Hall like a blade driven into the earth, unyielding, merciless, and exuding an oppressive aura that made the air feel thick and stifling.

Her face resembled ice, sharp and devoid of emotion, as if she had long discarded any hint of vulnerability. A chilling killing intent radiated from her entire being, not wild or explosive but dense and suffocating, like a frozen tide pressing inward from all sides.

As her gaze swept slowly across the hall, Adventurers reacted instinctively. Burly warriors, who had faced beasts, bandits, and even death itself, felt their throats tighten and their palms grow slick with sweat. But when her eyes settled on the men, the temperature in the room seemed to drop further.

Disgust. Pure and unrestrained disgust. To her, the male Adventurers appeared no different from refuse, filth cluttering a battlefield after the slaughter had taken place. Her nose scrunched in revulsion, and her lips tightened as if she had caught the whiff of something rotten.

The disdain in her eyes was so palpable it felt almost tangible, as though she were staring at creatures that had never deserved to exist at all, mistakes, abominations that the world had foolishly allowed to breathe.

From behind the desk, Sage observed her quietly, curiosity flickering in his eyes. He took in her every detail, measuring and analyzing without haste. When he noted the unfiltered hatred smoldering in her gaze each time it passed over a man, he couldn't help but nod faintly to himself.

Yep, he thought calmly. "Flatboard princess wasn't exaggerating. This one really hates men."

Yet a frown tugged at his brows as another thought surfaced. "What kind of hell did you endure to end up like this?"

No one simply wakes up one day deciding to loathe an entire gender. Hatred this profound isn't casual; it's forged, tempered, and reinforced over years of suffering, betrayal, and possibly a lifetime of trauma.

Genuine curiosity stirred within Sage, but he shook his head sharply. Not now. This wasn't the time to dissect someone else's scars, he had his own problems to contend with.

Refocusing, Sage examined her more closely. She stood tall, taller than most women in the hall, with long crimson hair cascading down her back like living flame. Tight black leather armor molded perfectly to her figure, a blend of functional and battle-worn that was impossible to overlook.

Where it should have been full, it was; where it should have been narrow, it was. Every curve was accentuated without being excessive, a balance of lethal beauty and brutal practicality.

Her skin exuded a healthy glow, deceptively delicate beneath layers of violence and death. There was no denying that her face was stunning. Since Sage had arrived in this world, he had seen many women, but none matched the sheer presence she commanded. Yet, her pitch-black pupils brimmed with nothing but murderous intent.

'Damn,' Sage thought honestly. 'A deadly thorn rose.'

Another impression quickly followed. She resembled a corpse, an emotionless shell that had learned to walk, breathe, and kill. Since the moment she entered the Guild Hall, her expression hadn't shifted in the slightest. No surprise. No anger, at least none visible, just cold, unyielding hostility.

Sage glanced around the hall. The Adventurers stood pale-faced, many unconsciously edging closer to the desk, forming a loose barrier between her entourage and the heart of the Guild. Gregor was among them, jaw clenched, swords half-drawn, and eyes locked on the woman with grim determination.

Sage smiled faintly, then stepped out from behind the desk. The movement drew attention. He walked forward, hands clasped behind his back, posture relaxed to the point of audacity.

He stopped a few meters in front of her, close enough to feel the chill radiating from her body like an icy wind. Lifting his head, he offered his usual professional smile.

"Hello, beautiful lady," Sage said smoothly. "How may I help?"

Her icy gaze snapped to him instantly. Disgust flickered in her eyes, unhidden and raw enough to make Sage's lips twitch despite himself.

'Damn it,' he cursed inwardly. 'Don't look at me like that.'

His smile remained intact. "Who are you?" she asked, her voice low, steady, and utterly devoid of emotion. Each word landed cleanly, without hesitation.

Sage cleared his throat lightly and flicked a glance toward Mina, who was partially hidden behind her sister's arm. Mina stuck out her tongue at him, pink and unapologetic, a smug little grin on her face that made Sage's eye twitch.

He returned his attention to the woman. "My name is Sage," he said calmly. "You may call me Guildmaster Sage."

The moment "Guildmaster" escaped his lips, her expression cracked. The killing intent she exuded surged violently, multiplying in density and slamming into the hall like an invisible hammer.

Several Adventurers staggered, gasping as if their lungs had been squeezed. The floor creaked ominously beneath the strain.

"You…" she said slowly, each word forced through clenched teeth. "You are the Guildmaster?"

Sage nodded once, still smiling. "Yes, I'm the Guildmas...."

CRACK!

The sound split the air like thunder ripping through a storm cloud. Before Sage could finish his sentence, a web of afterimages exploded into existence.

Whips, countless overlapping arcs, lashed forward with terrifying speed, tearing through the space where Sage had just been standing.

The Guild Hall erupted into chaos.

Adventurers turned pale, fear etched across their faces. Gregor's eyes widened in horror as he felt his heart pound against his ribs.

It was too fast. He hadn't even seen her move. One moment, Sage was speaking; the next, he was engulfed by a storm of whipping shadows.

'He's dead,' Gregor thought numbly. 'There's no way he survived that.'

"Guildmaster!" he shouted hoarsely.

Fear, shock, and grief rippled through the hall. To them, Sage was still just a man, clever, yes, mysterious, perhaps, but still made of flesh and blood. How could anyone endure an attack like that?

"You know, Iron Lady," a voice chimed in lightly, slicing through the panic, "that's not how you greet someone."

Silence fell suddenly, as if time itself had halted.

Gregor's eyes widened in disbelief.

Everyone turned toward the source of the voice and froze. Sage was standing behind the mercenary.

He maintained the same relaxed stance, hands clasped behind his back, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips as if he found amusement in a bad joke.

Shock washed over the hall in a wave. The sister's eyes widened, if only for a fraction of a second, before her composure snapped back into place.

She attacked again. Her long crimson whip lashed through the air like a living serpent, trailing shockwaves in its wake. The sound was a deafening boom, as if the very air had split apart.

Sage shifted. He leaned to the side just as the whip grazed him, missing by a hair's breadth. But it recoiled instantly, bending in a way that seemed impossible, striking again like a viper ready to strike.

Sage flickered out of sight, reappearing a step away, fingers brushing the back of his neck where a tingling sensation lingered.

His heart raced. For the first time since a gun had been pointed at his head, since a bullet had lodged itself into his skull in another life, Sage felt genuine fear.

"It looks like I'm a greenhorn when it comes to combat experience," he thought inwardly, turmoil churning within him despite his outward calm. "If I hadn't moved earlier, my head would be rolling on the ground by now."

He understood; the sister was a mercenary, a warrior who had spent her life drenched in battle and death. Her combat experience was vast, as deep as the sea.

Without the Guild's invincibility buff, if they were of equal strength, Sage doubted he would last long; in pure combat, he felt like a child next to her.

Sage's combat experience was a bit of a nonexistent. If he was able matched hers in terms of experience and strength, then he would be able to withstand for a while.

The invincibility granted by the Guild was absolute in result, though not in execution. It didn't make him omniscient; it merely ensured that he couldn't take fatal damage within the Guild's walls. Skill, perception, and reaction still mattered.

Invincibility guaranteed a successful outcome, but the journey there wasn't easy. If he failed to react in time, the system would intervene at the last moment, but that window was terrifyingly narrow.

Pain, shock, and disorientation were all very much still in play.

"She's a battlefield monster," Sage thought grimly. "Even if we were on equal footing, I'd still be finished."

The sister launched another attack, and this time, Sage concentrated intently.

His movements flowed effortlessly. The whip cracked through the air, but Sage slipped past it with agility. The floor shattered where it struck, and the air erupted with a piercing sound. She intensified her assault, attacking faster and harder, her strikes coming in like a relentless storm. As she pressed on, Sage found his own movements becoming smoother. His focus sharpened as he adapted, reading her rhythm and anticipating her next move but it was still clumsy.

He wasn't fighting back; it felt almost like he was dancing. To the Adventurers watching, the hall became a blur of chaos. Figures flickered in and out, afterimages collided, and shockwaves rattled the walls. They struggled to keep up with either of them, only catching glimpses of flashes, sounds, and destruction.

Gregor stood frozen, his eyes wide with apprehension.

Then, in a sudden move, Sage reached out and calmly closed two fingers around the whip.

The weapon halted abruptly, and the hall fell into an eerie silence.

And Sage smiled.

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A/N: The two chapters will be updated soon.

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