At that very moment.
Inside the Legion Guild's conference room, everyone was arguing heatedly over the Training Camp's selection of recruits.
"Number Fifteen clearly outperformed Number Three in actual combat. What is there to argue about?" one administrator said bluntly.
Someone immediately objected, "You can't just look at the surface! Number Fifteen's combat power is higher because he has a level advantage and better equipment."
"But his talent is only B-rank, while Number Three's is genuinely A-rank. Which one is worth more as a long-term investment?"
"Talent matters, of course, but the person using it matters more."
"Some high-rank talents do nothing but add a little attack power. They're less useful than certain unusual low- or mid-rank talents that can turn a battle around at a critical moment!"
"We're selecting outstanding all-rounders, not support characters who occasionally have a moment of brilliance!"
"What's wrong with support? Isn't Chongxing a support player? Would you dare say that to his face?"
"What does Chongxing have to do with this? I'm talking about the candidates! Stop twisting my words!"
"Quiet!" Lu Zheng barked. Watching a roomful of people nearly come to blows over a few candidates, he felt his temples throb.
He had thought the selection would let them assemble a team capable of taking on major responsibilities and fighting in the coming contest among the myriad races.
Instead, problems had plagued them from the very start.
Not only had various factions planted informants and made private deals to interfere with the process, but quite a few people in this very room had accepted favors from certain factions and were secretly backing particular candidates.
This was inevitable, really.
People's selfish interests drove them to recommend their own.
Did anyone seriously think people would instantly become selfless just because the apocalypse was coming?
Impossible.