It took a good thirty seconds before the bar unfroze and whispers began to ripple across the crowd.
"F**k, that’s Shura! Can’t be fake, right?"
"Are you brain‑dead? You can’t impersonate someone in the Samsara Space..."
"Finally get to see the real Shura boss!"
"He wouldn’t show up for nothing—what’s he after?"
"Think he’s here to publish the strategy for free?"
"Free SSS strategy? Keep dreaming. Would you give it away?"
"Half the Space has been looking for him. This bar’s about to explode!"
"Heard the No. 97 on the Global Master List—One Leaf Knows Autumn—is hunting him too."
"Heh. Let’s see how this plays out..."
Speculation churned. Eyes locked on the stage.
Fenric lifted the mic again.
"I’ve heard a lot of people have been looking for me lately."
The noise died.
"I know everyone’s interested in my ’Zombie World War’ clear route. I’m here to find a single buyer. One. I will not mass‑license the strategy. If disputes arise, I’ll ask the Samsara System to arbitrate."
He paused, then added:
"I’ll open a private room in a moment. Entry: C‑rank or higher only. Anyone serious about talking, come find me."
He turned to step down.
He’d come to sell the strategy—simple as that. He could never re‑enter Zombie World War; the data was dead weight in his hands. Better to convert waste into growth.
That was when a Samsara player sprang to his feet and shouted:
"Shura! You should release the ’Zombie World War’ strategy for free—for the good of humanity! Make everyone stronger!"
The bar went still—then faces twisted. Some stared like he’d sprouted horns. Others leaned forward, waiting. They wanted to hear Shura’s answer.
Fenric looked back, expression unchanged.
"You trying to morally blackmail me?"
"I—I’m not—" the man stammered.
Fenric didn’t bother with him. He addressed the room.
"I’m not releasing the ’Zombie World War’ strategy publicly—for a simple reason: the consequences of not releasing it are better than the consequences of releasing it."
He let that sink in, then continued, voice steady, carrying.
"Since the Samsara Space appeared, tons of young people have gained power. Did they use that power to help society? Most didn’t. They used it to do whatever they wanted. Crime rates spiked. You all remember the ’11·6 Incident.’"
A hush fell.
On November 6, 2009, a coalition of newly empowered youth seized a coastal city and declared independence. The military intervened. Fighting escalated. Hundreds of thousands died. In the end, even an intercontinental missile was used to stamp out the rebellion.
The fallout was enormous. Public outrage exploded. Across the nation, ordinary citizens marched, demanding the government eliminate all
Even now, more than a decade later, many civilians still distrust those with abilities.
"..."
Bringing that memory up here—and now—hit hard. Conversation died again.
Fenric’s gaze sharpened.
"I don’t know what people are thinking when they demand I give away a Tower clear for free," he said. "But in my view? Not releasing the strategy is better for human society. It prevents selfish trash from grabbing power and using it to wreck everything."
Then he turned his eyes back to the heckler.
"Don’t duck your head. When I say ’idiots,’ I mean you."
The room detonated.
"Hahahaha!"
"Savage!"
"That’s Shura for you!"
"Serve it hot!"
Applause cracked through the bar—sharp, approving. Even those who’d hoped for a freebie couldn’t attack him now; he’d framed refusal around social stability and historical bloodshed. Moral kidnapping met with higher moral ground—and shattered.
The man who’d spoken shrank in on himself. His friends quietly eased away. Face burning, he shot Fenric a venomous look and fled the bar.
Fenric caught that look—but dismissed it. Trash. If the man crossed him in a dungeon, he’d crush him like an ant.
He stepped down from the stage, intent on booking the private room to negotiate the Zombie World War sale—
When a cold voice cut in behind him:
"You’re Shura?"