Extra's Ascent

Chapter 142 142: Gerald's Offer

"I am Gerald by name," The man declared, his tone even and composed, "And by the power vested in me as Captain of the Second Division, I formally offer you, Eric Aldaman, a position as an Executive Official within the Mystic Order."

His words dropped like thunder in a silent room.

Eric blinked, still lying in the hospital bed, unsure whether he was hallucinating or if the trauma of the past few hours had finally pushed him into a dream-like delirium.

To maintain peace and regulate the use of mystic arts in a world divided into two governing systems, the Mystic Order, comprising the Extraordinary, and the National Order, built for the Ordinary, the Executive Mystic Arms was established.

The Executive Mystic Arms operates under the Mystic Order, but it is overseen directly by esteemed members of the Mystic Society. They are also not affiliated with any of the three ruling mystic clans, and their separation was intentional, crafted to ensure impartiality when passing judgment, fair and untainted upon any mystic who endangers the delicate balance of society, be it among the gifted or the common.

Due to the gravity of their role, they do not welcome just anyone into their ranks. Their recruitment is stringent, devoid of favouritism or the influence of power-hungry intermediaries. Much like the selection process of Eldora Institute, the Executive Mystic Arms chooses only those with evident potential and an unwavering commitment to the welfare of all mankind, mystic or otherwise.

And now, that kind of organization is here before him, proposing an offer to enlist him as one of their own?...

Eric was stunned.

This couldn't be real. The very organization renowned for its ruthless efficiency and incorruptible standards… now extended a hand toward him?

Why?

"What's the catch?" he asked quietly, barely able to voice his disbelief.

"You're shocked. Understandable," Gerald said, sensing Eric's internal chaos. "We rarely make such offers, especially not to someone with little to no known ties to contemporary mystic affairs."

'Shocked' didn't begin to cover it. Eric was beyond comprehension. He was... flabbergasted.

Who was he to receive an invitation from the very faction responsible for prosecuting rogue mystics, regardless of their clan affiliations? A group so feared and revered that even elite mystics whispered their name with caution?

"This decision," Gerald continued, "came after lengthy deliberation, considering your capabilities as a mystic and, more importantly, the choices you made when wielding those abilities. You used your gifts not for self-glorification, but to protect others."

Protect others?

Eric scoffed internally. He didn't fight Hector for altruistic reasons. He fought to survive and to ensure the safety of his employer, who, frankly, paid him a very decent wage. That was it. He wasn't some messiah or champion of the innocent.

"I see," he replied cautiously, "but may I ask… what abilities exactly are you referring to?"

He couldn't help but question it.

Gerald after all, had subdued Hector effortlessly. True, Hector had been drained and clearly at the end of his rope, but even then, no ordinary mystic could neutralize him with such ease. That sort of power required years of training and a rank far beyond Eric's own.

Gerald had witnessed the wreckage, seen the aftermath. Surely, he realized Eric had been nearly killed in that very encounter. So what was there to be impressed by?

"You defeated Hector the Wonder Ice, did you not?" Gerald stated plainly.

Eric opened his mouth, about to offer a technical correction.

"Techn—

But Gerald cut him off.

"Hector, by the nickname Wonder Ice or Heck, is a wanted criminal in the mystic underworld. A terrorist with a bounty of ten million placed on his head. And you brought him down. Alone."

Gerald's delivery was fluid, but Eric couldn't help noting how he skipped the full stop his sentence so clearly needed.

"I heard 'ten million bounty.'" Eric latched onto that detail, eyes now fully alert. "What currency are we talking about here, and whose head exactly is worth that?"

Gerald sighed softly, clearly aware that Eric had tuned out everything except the number.

"The ten million," he reiterated, "is the reward for Hector's capture. And yes, it is in dollars."

Eric suddenly found Gerald's claim of him defeating Hector to be far more agreeable.

Let the records show: from this moment forward, Eric officially recanted any prior statements attributing Hector's defeat to Gerald. That was a mistake. A slip of the tongue. An oversight.

What Gerald. Did was deliver the final tap, trying to steal his kill and claim rewards for the troubles he sweated and toiled over.

However, What Eric did? That was the real fight.

The man bled, scraped, and almost died for that victory. Gerald just walked in and claimed the remains. Not the same thing. Definitely not the same thing at all.

"So I brought him down. Does that mean…?"

Pride swelled in his chest like a storm-gathering force. Ten million. Ten. Freaking. Million. Even in today's world of unrelenting inflation, ten million dollars still meant something, meant everything.

"You're entitled to claim the bounty," Gerald confirmed, almost too casually. "And I can personally assist in ensuring a smooth collection process."

Eric looked at the man anew. This? This was a friend, a true friend.

"When can I collect it?"

His energy returned like lightning.

"I suggest recovering first," Gerald answered, exasperated. "Also, I think you're ignoring my offer to join the Executive Mystic Arms."

Because he was.

Eric's thoughts had already drifted toward how to spend that money. A good portion would go to Aldrich and Saldrich, non-negotiable. The rest? He could finally live without anxiety clawing at his throat.

"It's not that I'm ignoring it," Eric said, regaining his composure. "It's just... I don't believe I've done anything remarkable enough to warrant a position in such an organization."

That wasn't modesty. It was truth.

Unlike the overconfident mystics he had encountered, Eric understood his limitations. He knew his strengths, yes but he also understood where his capabilities ended. And stepping deeper into the mystic world… well, that didn't seem like a path he would survive for long.

That was why he'd taken this job in the first place, to avoid the very chaos he had just lived through.

"Hector was a fluke," he thought.

"You're selling yourself short, Mister Aldaman," Gerald replied, his tone shifting to one of admonishment. "The technique that shattered buildings across Upstate, the force that tore through concrete and carved its legacy into the skyline, it was yours, was it not?"

Technically, the destruction was a result of the clash between his Black Lightning and Hector's Ice Dragon. However… Eric's attack had overwhelmed Hector's.

So, yes, he could reasonably claim sole ownership of the aftermath.

"That level of devastation is listed in our database as a top-S classification," Gerald revealed. "Which means, in our records, you are officially categorized as a Disaster-Level threat."

The room went quiet.

Eric stared at him, wide-eyed.

A Disaster-Level threat? Is that the sort of threat that could potentially wreak considerable havoc on a sector, almost bring it to its ruins and even potentially rival the full force of a professor in Eldora Institute?!

At least potentially, from what he heard while dabbling in the world of mystics in his younger days.

He didn't know whether to be terrified or proud, or to even call his bluff.