The Sun

"Bark!"

There were barking noises in the room, which at first seemed to belong to a dog, but upon closer listening, they belonged to a human being—a man.

"Good boy!"

It was a woman's voice. It was the voice of Sophie, the President of the North Block. Sophie was sitting in her gold-colored armchair with her right leg crossed over her left leg, the elbow of her right arm crossed over her leg, and a leash between her index and thumb fingers. She had a wide smile on her face and her eyes were sparkling, her head was tilted and her eyes were downward. What he was looking at was a man, about mid-twenties, a big man with a thick beard and mustache. Outside this room, he gave people a stern impression, but now he was serving a woman as a dog. But that was the end of the fun. There was a knock at the door, and the knocking drowned out the barking sounds made by the man.

"Come!"

Another man entered with his head bowed, and Sophie bit her lower lip and looked him up and down, not because of sexual attraction, but because she wanted to put him in the same situation. Unfortunately, this was not to be.

"You're needed at the station immediately, Master Sophie." 

In the early hours of the morning, a person lying on his back on a white, double, body-sized bed opened his eyes. Not needing an alarm to wake up on time, he sat up without waiting long, got up, and threw himself out of bed. The space he was in was very different from that of normal people. The doors and ceilings were tall so that he could pass through without difficulty, and the rooms were large so that he could be comfortable. This person showered first, brushed his teeth, and was in the dining room at the appointed time. He had a soldier's cap on his head. He finished eating at the appointed time and got to work at the appointed time. This was the President of the Eastern Bloc, famous for his discipline, who had a separate room to work in, living a life away from the noise and the agenda, until his door was opened without a knock. This person frowned in response to this disrespectful gesture but did not interfere and kept his eyes locked on the intruder.

A young woman entered. As soon as she entered, she bowed her head, moved to the center of the room, cleared her throat for once, and began to speak.

"My apologises, Master Azazel. You are urgently needed at the center."

The President of the Southern Bloc was having fun in his place with half-naked women. He sipped the most expensive drinks, and the most expensive fruits were thrown into his mouth by the women. Some of the women danced in front of him, some massaged his feet in hot water, and some were in charge of feeding him fruit and making him drink. The man had a broad smile on his face, it was good for him to have this kind of fun alongside his disciplined life. However, his fun was interrupted by a woman. A 19-year-old woman, who was doing it out of necessity, was putting a drinking glass in his mouth when it slipped out of her hand, and she tried desperately to catch it at the last moment but failed. It spilled on the man who had paid her a large sum of money. The accident caused the other women's work to come to a halt and all attention to be focused on her. The president's body remained unresponsive, neither flinching nor jumping out of fear. Only with a deep sigh did he lock his eyes on his ruined clothes, and after a brief deathly silence he opened his lips, only to be interrupted by the door opening just as he was about to speak. He turned his eyes to the disrespectful person who had entered without knocking and frowned slightly.

"How dare you?"

The young girl who had spilled a drink on the owner was being attended to by people who had been in the business for a long time, while the President took a more upright position as several women left.

The person who entered appeared to be about 5'5" tall, of low weight, and with irregular facial features. After taking a few steps in front of the door, he stopped, crossed his hands over his stomach, and bowed his head.

"Forgive me, sir, you are urgently needed at the center."

The leaders of the Eastern Bloc, the Northern Bloc, and the Southern Bloc had arrived at the headquarters after a long journey. As they descended the long underground staircase, Hector, as usual, rambled on, only to be silenced by Azazel's warning. To describe the three of them in turn, the leader of the Northern Bloc is a young but very mature-looking woman. Full lips, light long straight blue hair, aesthetic physique. Anyone who made eye contact with this woman would feel cold inside. She is wearing a thick coat. The leader of the southern bloc has her hair sticking straight up. She wears a black eye patch and, as always, a wry smile on her face. His teeth are white and sharp. He looks young, a young man. The Leader of the Eastern Bloc, on the other hand, was not only different from them all, he had a different aura. He is an extremely large man, probably in his late forties, 8 feet tall, with a body full of scars. He has a soldier's cap on his head. When the three of them arrived at the meeting point, everyone took their seats. There was something strange about the West Block seat, which was occupied by a boy of about 14, with white hair down to his hips. He was very feminine and thin and his gaze was very still compared to his peers. Under his eyes were triangular patterns painted in red. His nails were covered with black nail polish. On everyone's seat was his name.

Chem Sophie, leader of the North Bloc.

South Bloc leader Chem Hector.

Eastern Block leader Scier Azazel.

In front of the little boy was the name Scier Ruby, the new leader of the West Bloc.

Hector's eyes scrutinized Ruby from head to toe, his eyes widened and his lips stopped making contact with each other.

"S-Scier? This little boy is Scier? And a leader? Impossible!" Hector's voice echoed around the room.

There was no response, and Hector licked his hands and straightened his hair. Then he continued with his sarcasm.

"When the boss comes, I will against this order." And that was that.

A few minutes later, the Boss entered, with a dominant aura. His face is not visible in any way, hiding inside the hood. With quick steps, he took his seat and began to explain the latest developments.

"A boy named Xavier Arxtem found the Western headquarters and organized a raid. Most likely an enemy of the cult-" He had a thin male voice.

Hector jumped straight into the middle of the disrespectful conversation.

"So what? A single child defeated the Leomord? But how is that possible? Leomord was too strong." There was anger as well as sadness in his eyes. His brow was furrowed throughout this conversation.

The room was silent for a while, again no one said anything. Hector, finally realizing his mistake, apologized and bowed his head. He clenched his teeth together and tried to keep his feelings to himself.

"So I've made Ruby, who I believe is the heir apparent, the new bloc leader. She's now in charge of the Western Region. Any questions?"

Hector, having failed in his endeavor, banged his right hand on the table and raised his voice. The sound of the force on the table drew everyone's attention.

"Is that the boy? The heir? While I was there?! I'm one of the few who can use two alchemies, and he's the heir and not me?"

"Then prove it."

"W-What?"

"Prove you are the Prophet's heir. I give you a week, bring me Xavier's head. Maybe then I'll believe you."