The Summit Center was abuzz with flashing lights and clicking shutters—paparazzi and press clustered at the grand entrance, vying for photos of the recognizable and the remarkable.
But then, silence fell.
From one of the sleek black cars that had pulled up, a woman stepped out with an air so commanding that even the photographers hesitated. They called her the Ice Queen—and rightly so. Her presence was quiet, yet absolute.
She wore a dark gown that shimmered with tiny sparks of light, each one reflected off the intricate jewelry adorning her neck, wrists, and fingers. Every item she wore was no ordinary ornament—each piece was sourced from dungeons, forged with materials only the bravest dared claim.
And though her beauty was undeniable—her features sharp, her expression cold—it was the man who followed her out of the car who truly stole the breath from those watching.
He wore a sleek, half-buttoned black shirt that clung perfectly to his lean frame. His eyes, blood-red like polished rubies, stood in stark contrast to his raven-black hair. A dark mask covered the lower half of his face, but there was no mistaking him.
The World's Hero.
The hunter who had defeated the world boss that brought disaster in his wake. The one who disappeared without a trace after rumors of hospitalization hit the media.
And now—he was here.
Effortless. Ethereal. Every step beside Clair, the Ice Queen herself, left the crowd buzzing in confused awe.
Who is he really?
What is their relationship?
Neither of them answered. Without a word, they entered the grand building, leaving only their silent elegance behind.
Inside, the Summit was already underway.
Clair soon rejoined her companions—Lola and Iris—after a brief separation. Snow and Lisa, however, had stayed back, though not without reason. Yet even with the entrance of three high-profile hunters, the attention of the room barely shifted.
Because seated at the front... was someone else.
She was the only one with a throne-like chair—elevated, ornate, unlike the standard seating offered to others. Her presence radiated sanctity and silent power.
A white and gold clergy dress hugged her figure, a modern take on the traditional nun's attire. Her long, golden hair flowed like threads of divine light, while a delicate blindfold—stitched with golden filigree—covered her eyes. Despite it, she seemed to see everything.
A Holy Saintess—the embodiment of grace and godliness.
Everyone tread carefully in her presence. Even the tardiness of Lola, Iris, and Clair drew no reprimand.
Clair walked to her seat among the Top 10 Hunters—beside the formidable Ibrahim and the ever-curious Arthur.
"I thought you wouldn't show up," Ibrahim murmured.
"You jest. I wouldn't miss it... especially if he was going to appear." Clair replied, a knowing smirk touching her lips.
"Wait... he's awake?" Arthur turned to her sharply.
"Yes," Clair confirmed.
"I only heard the news last night. I wondered where he went." Arthur said.
"He should be here any minute," Clair said coolly. "He had something to handle."
"You and Lola seem to be getting close," a woman nearby noted with a teasing lilt.
"It just happened," Clair replied simply.
"You really go with the flow, don't you?"
"Indeed." And with that, the conversation died.
Clair was not one for small talk. She poured her time, energy, and fortune into only what she deemed worthy. Everything else? It barely crossed her mind.
To many, she was arrogance incarnate. And yet, no one could question her place—Rank 3 in the world, just beneath Ibrahim and Arthur, with Blake trailing behind.
But despite the buzz, no meaningful progress had been made in the summit.
"So," Clair said, resting her elbow on the armrest, "Have they concluded anything useful today?"
Arthur sighed. "The Association proposed new emergency protocols—to avoid disasters like the recent incident."
"They're still debating the best approach if something similar happens again," he added.
"It all started," Ibrahim interjected, "when the Oracle resurfaced that old prophecy. One about the world's destruction."
"World leaders think it's better to focus on the present," he said bitterly. "They refuse to take the prophecy seriously."
"Hungry fools," Clair muttered. "This meeting is a waste of time—just as I thought." She crossed her arms, unimpressed.
Ibrahim chuckled quietly.
"You just got here, and you're already criticizing a summit that's been going on for three hours?"
"A summit that drags for three hours without a conclusion is just an inflated balloon," she snapped.
"What about the hero?"
Arthur's expression darkened.
"They're requesting a reevaluation—claiming he needs to be properly examined before receiving recognition or privileges."
"In short, they're questioning if he's even qualified to be called a Hunter."
He paused, then added, "Thanks to Ruciel and Kyle's harsh remarks, his identity was all but erased from the official record. Now they want a full explanation about the masked figure who fought Azazellion."
"It was a mess—an hour of chaos. I'm glad he wasn't here to see it."
Clair's eyes narrowed. "So this is what the world's come to... disappointing."
She leaned back in her seat. "I wonder what they'll say... when he does appear."
Arthur looked at her, puzzled. "You mean he's really coming here? With all the guild masters, vice presidents, world leaders, and association heads present?"
Clair smirked. "Watch and see."
And before she could even finish her sentence—
The room fell silent.
A pressure unlike any other gripped the air. It struck not like a wave—but like a storm collapsing inward. Everyone froze, their instincts screaming.
The summit doors burst open.
And there—
A figure draped in black stepped through.
He entered.
His lower face masked, his ruby-red eyes gleaming with quiet fury and buried fire. He descended the stairs like a god among mortals, his presence alone heavier than gravity. And behind him, a woman in white and gold followed—her unique uniform embroidered in sacred patterns, her face concealed beneath a thin silk veil. She was regal, untouched, and quiet, yet no less suffocating than the one who walked ahead.
Together, they moved like judgment made manifest—heading straight for the center of the room where the summit's podium awaited.
The very air trembled.
Some of the most powerful individuals on the planet buckled under the pressure, beads of sweat forming on brows that had never known fear. Even the Oracle, veiled in divine sanctity, quivered in her seat. Her hands clenched tightly together as if praying.
No one moved.
No one dared.
By the time the tension could be processed, the two had already reached their destination.
The masked man took a seat among the top, his companion standing silently by the hia side—watching, but saying nothing. A silent sentinel.
The silence was only broken when the President of the World Hunter Association, WILLIAMS, finally found his voice.
"Now that the man of the hour is present... shall we welcome him to the stage?"
The masked figure—Snow—rose slowly, hands in his pockets, and walked calmly to the center of the room. Every eye followed him. Every soul held its breath.
He stood at the podium, a storm hidden in flesh, silent.
"It's a blessing to see you on your feet again," Williams offered with a strained smile.
Snow didn't answer. He simply extended his hand.
Williams blinked, then hesitantly handed over the microphone.
"I'll be straightforward," Snow said at last, his voice like sharpened steel, cold and unyielding. "I didn't come here to waste anyone's time."
His tone pierced through the room like a dagger, and many hunters—those proud enough to call themselves S-rank—looked away, unable to meet his gaze.
"I'm here for two reasons."
"The first: to provide vital information."
"The second: to request Immunity."
A collective murmur surged through the room. Immunity? From him?
Immunity was a rare privilege—one only given to figures like Ibrahim and Arthur. It granted absolute freedom: unrestricted travel, five legal pardons for killing—even hunters—and exemption from national interference. It was a crown reserved for those capable of bearing nations on their shoulders.
"Are you seeking Immunity for a particular reason?" a calm female voice echoed.
All heads turned.
She sat on her elevated throne-like seat, radiating divine authority—her white and gold vestments glowing softly under the summit lights. It was the Oracle herself. Despite the pressure she had felt earlier, her voice remained composed.
Snow's gaze fell on her.
"Immunity has its uses," he said coolly. "And I wish to share that privilege with someone who has... granted me an opportunity."
The Oracle tilted her head, curious.
"Do you mean to establish a guild with that in mind?"
"Not quite," Snow replied. "I simply intend to extend what I've received."
She was silent for a moment.
"You are, as I hear, a hunter of lower rank. You do understand your qualifications do not match the status you're requesting?"
"Then allow me to take a reevaluation test," Snow said simply.
She paused again.
"You don't need to," she said softly. "I sense no ill will in you. But I ask only this—do not turn your strength against humanity."
Snow chuckled under his breath.
"You have a sense of humor," he said with a thin smile. "But perhaps you should be more worried that humanity doesn't turn against me."
And then—
A pressure unlike before.
So thick, so violently heavy, it poured out of him like a tidal wave. The very air screamed as bloodlust filled the room. Every neck snapped to him. Every breath hitched.
The Oracle's hand flew to her chest. Her voice shook.
"Y-You... have made your point."
"Immunity shall be granted," she finally said. "Now... what is the information you wish to provide?"
Snow's eyes narrowed.
"Before that, tell me—how far into the future can you see?"
Her reaction was telling. A flicker of panic. A pause too long.
"It depends," she replied.
"They say you've seen the end of the world."
"You're right," she confirmed quietly.
"Then... have you seen any futures lately?"
She fell silent once more.
"I would prefer not to answer that publicly. It could cause panic."
Snow nodded.
"Then I'll say this to everyone here—listen carefully."
"You must prepare... for what is coming."
The murmurs returned, louder now.
"What information could make you say that?" Williams asked, his voice laced with disbelief.
"That depends," Snow replied, "on whether you choose to believe it or not."
The Oracle leaned forward slightly.
"Your information... it concerns the future, doesn't it?"
Snow smirked.
"You're not a fraud after all."
A heavy pause.
"Yes. You're right."
His voice cut through the air like thunder.
"In six months, a dungeon will appear."
"Not just any dungeon."
"It will be the first SS-RANK Dungeon ever recorded in history."
Gasps. Shouts. Even the strongest among them twitched.
"Given the current state of our hunters and how fractured the guilds are... I strongly advise you all to prepare to clear it—upon its arrival."
"What do you mean!" a voice cried from the crowd.
Snow turned his gaze toward the direction the voice had come from—and saw Arthur.
"It's just as I said," Snow began, his voice calm and steady. "This dungeon will come with a countdown, so it is best you clear it the first day it appears otherwise the consequence will be greater"
"And what if we fail?" Ibrahim asked grimly.
Snow didn't answer right away. He simply looked at them.
Then, with a composed tone that carried a subtle edge, he replied, "You simply wouldn't dare to think of that."
The room tensed.
"How can we believe a single word from a Hunter who hides his face?" came another voice, laced with disdain and familiarity.
Snow's eyes slowly rose.
Ruciel Faithhood.
"Are you doubting me right now?" Snow asked, his tone sharp, his stance unyielding. His piercing gaze met hers, and for a moment, Ruciel was struck by a strange sense of déjà vu.
"I am," she said boldly. "You're a Hunter whose identity remains unknown. You appeared out of nowhere, earning fame after defeating the invader known as Chronos Avatar. And yet here you are, speaking of world-ending threats—why should someone like that be given immunity? Or the right to even stand among us?"
Her words sparked murmurs across the chamber.
"Who is he?"
"Why is his face still hidden?"
Snow closed his eyes.
"I see... some people never learn."
He took a step forward. "Very well. I'll reveal my identity—but in return, only those in this room are allowed to know."
"That's absurd!" Kyle snapped. "You don't get to decide who sees your face!"
"Then I'll assume revealing it is unnecessary," Snow replied coldly. "I've given you the information you need and i expect the immunity to be granted to me until then I'll be taking my leave."
"Wait."
A gentle yet firm voice stopped him. Snow turned to look.
From across the room stood a girl with luminous, pale eyes—eyes that almost looked blind from a distance. Theresa Williams.
"If you're saying a dungeon will appear in six months, how do you suggest we prepare to clear it?" she asked.
Snow met her gaze... and sighed.
"The truth is, even I don't know how."
"Why?" she asked, her voice soft yet steady.
"Because this isn't your average dungeon." Snow's expression darkened. "It's a double-S-rank dungeon. A hellish one. Even if we mobilized every current S-rank Hunter in the world, I doubt they could clear the first floor—let alone all seven."
"Explain," the Oracle spoke at last.
Snow nodded. "It's a field-type dungeon with seven floors. Each floor is themed after the Seven Deadly Sins. Their terrains vary—ice, water, lava, wood, wind, thunder, and fire."
He paused. "Even if you manage to clear the first six floors, the seventh will require you to fight all seven bosses at once."
"And if we fail?" Theresa asked.
"Then a dungeon break will occur," Snow said. "And if you couldn't clear it inside the dungeon... what makes you think you can handle what comes out of it?"
"I see..." the Oracle murmured.
"You defeated the Chronos Avatar, didn't you? Couldn't you be one of the people to clear this dungeon?" Clair asked suddenly.
Snow chuckled, but there was no humor in it. His eyes shimmered with disappointment.
"You ask the funniest questions," he said. "Who told you Chronos Avatar was defeated?"
The entire room erupted.
"What?!"
"What do you mean?!"
Ibrahim stood, eyes wide. "Explain yourself!"
"Chronos Avatar was merely a vessel," Snow explained. "A shell to house Chronos himself—the only survivor of a long-forgotten war. His true goal is to destroy the world. Taking down his Avatar was only to stop him from having the remaining Zodiac Children fragment"
He narrowed his eyes. "And even now, I'm sure they're trying to bring him back."
The room was struck silent.
"This dungeon—it's just a distraction."
Snow's expression twisted with fatigue. "I already have enough on my plate. And now you expect me to babysit too? sorry not gonna happen"
His glare swept the room. The pressure of his presence alone forced many back into their seats.
"How do we know any of this is real?" Williams asked, suspicion in his voice. "How can we trust you?"
Snow's gaze grew cold. His disappointment was palpable.
He raised a single hand—and clapped.
Instantly, every device in the room shattered. Cameras, microphones, smartphones, even pens and paper were obliterated in a flash of invisible force.
Then, silently, his mask dissolved into his skin.
The room fell into stunned silence.
They recognized the face.
It was Snow. The rumored F-rank.
"I keep repeating myself... but my words always fall on deaf ears."
He rose slowly into the air.
"Believe me or don't. It makes no difference to me. But heed this warning—"
His voice turned sharp. His eyes began to glow. And above his head, a crown of light shimmered into view.
"Do not cross my path. For I will show. No. Mercy."
Weapons were drawn in panic, but before anyone could move, the woman beside him raised her hand.
In an instant, everyone who had raised their guard was slammed into the ground with a crushing force.
"I am not your enemy," Snow said coldly. "so don't make me one."
The pressure vanished. He glanced around and gave a tired sigh. His eyes dimmed, though the crown remained.
He nodded to the woman beside him, and she released them.
"I hope my warning lingers. Until then, I take my leave."
"W...Wait..." The Oracle's voice trembled, finally breaking free from the suppression.
Snow paused and turned to her.
"Would you be willing to accept my invitation?"
"...Invitation?" he asked.
"Yes. I'd like to speak with you... about the vision."
He looked at her for a long moment, then smiled softly.
"You've got it rough, huh?"
"Very well. But it'll have to wait."
"Why?"
"I plan to form a guild. There's much to set in motion before I can meet again."
"A guild...?" she echoed, surprised yet hopeful.
"Would you at least tell me its name?"
"You'll know it soon enough."
And with that, Snow and the mysterious woman began to fade, vanishing like mist in the wind.
But just before he disappeared entirely, his voice echoed like a whisper one last time.
"See you then... Quincecia Azeina."
The Oracle's eyes widened. That name—her true name—only she knew it.
And then they were gone.
The summit hall descended into chaos.
(He sure blew up the summit... just as I expected.) Clair crossed her arms, unbothered by the turn of events. She, Iris, and Lola were the only ones unaffected.
(Serves them right,) Lola thought. (He wasn't thanked. He wasn't rewarded. And yet they summoned him like a dog, demanding answers.)
Despite the mayhem, the summit continued.
Opinions were split.
Some called for Snow's detainment, labeling him a dangerous threat. Others argued he should be treated as an ally—someone too powerful to be made an enemy.
In the end, under the Oracle's ruling, the decision was made:
Watch Him closely. Observe his path.
Whether he would become the world's greatest threat... or its last savior—only time would tell.
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to be continued....