The laughter died down… but the damage was already done.
One by one, hunters began rising from their seats—not with reverence, not with silent respect, but with dismissive shrugs and disappointed groans. The crackling energy that once filled the ceremonial hall was gone, replaced by the low murmur of boots against polished floors and the occasional clink of gear as they filed out.
The hiss of scorn still lingered in the air, like smoke after a failed firework.
A burly hunter near the aisle muttered under his breath, "Should've stayed home. At least my dog believes in me."
"Peerless Guild? More like Clueless Cult," someone else scoffed.
Laughter trailed behind them like echoing nails on glass as the hall emptied.
