Inside the Room of Authority, the heavy doors slowly closed behind Rock.
"Boom—"
The dull sound of the doors shutting echoed through the vast, oppressive room.
Rock swept his gaze over the figures before him: four in black, one in white.
Ten years had passed, yet time had left little mark on them.
Perhaps the only change was in their eyes, now gloomier and even harder to read than before.
At the center of the room.
Three sofas were already occupied.
Only Mars Saint, with his long beard, stood to one side with an indifferent expression.
Clearly.
They still remembered how someone had barged in ten years ago and taken a seat the moment he entered.
Rock glanced at the occupied sofas, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly.
"Yo."
"You prepared quite thoroughly."
As those words fell, the atmosphere in the Room of Authority noticeably turned colder.
The old men all looked displeased.
Nusjuro Saint's eyes darkened, his fingers lightly resting on the hilt of his sword.
Just as he was about to speak, the next instant—
"Crackle—"
Lightning suddenly bloomed behind Rock. Countless tiny arcs emerged from the air, intertwining, twisting, and solidifying.
The lightning coiled like threads, gradually weaving itself into a shape.
In the blink of an eye, it formed a magnificent and imposing Thunder Throne before the Five Elders.
Lightning patterns flowed across the throne's high back, while its armrests stretched forward like Dragon Claws.
Every arc silently danced, as though it could rip apart the air and transform into a Thunder Prison at any moment.
Rock slowly sat down, leaned back, and crossed one leg over the other.
He looked up at the Five Elders.
"Go on."
"I've only been back for a few days. Why were you in such a hurry to summon