Reborn In A Perverse Monster World! My System Adapts To Everything!

Chapter 137: The Council [FIXED!][09/08!]

Jason was expelled from the realm without further ado.

One moment he was standing before the throne of bones, the ruler’s golden eyes fixed on him with an expression that varied between warning and amusement.

The next, the ground beneath him dissolved, the crimson sky shattered like glass, and he was hurtling through a void of swirling colors and soundless chaos.

The sensation was disorienting, like being pulled apart and reassembled in the span of a single breath. He felt his body stretch and compress, his consciousness flickering between awareness and oblivion.

He landed hard on cobblestone.

The impact jarred his bones, but his body absorbed the force without complaint. He rose to his feet, brushing dust from his clothes, and looked around. The familiar weight of his power settled around him like a cloak, reassuring and absolute. He cracked his neck and surveyed his surroundings.

He was no longer on the island.

He was in the middle of a town. A bustling, crowded town filled with merchants, adventurers, and guild members going about their daily lives.

The buildings were tall and weathered, their walls covered in faded signs and peeling paint. The streets were narrow and winding, packed with stalls selling everything from fresh bread to enchanted weapons. The air was thick with the smell of cooking meat and the murmur of countless conversations.

And on every wall, every post, every visible surface—there were wanted posters.

Jason’s face stared back at him from a dozen different angles. The sketches were crude but recognizable, capturing his features with unsettling accuracy. Beneath each portrait, bold letters declared:

[WANTED: JASON. LEADER OF THE DARK GUILD. DEAD OR ALIVE.]

[REWARD: ANYTHING YOU ASK FOR!]

Jason sighed in that moment because there was no reason for him to appear here whatsoever. "Of course."

He had been expelled not to the island, but directly into the heart of a town that had been hunting him for months. The irony was not lost on him. He had been given a choice—to retreat, to hide, to disappear into the shadows—but the ruler’s words echoed in his mind. The realms were collapsing. The chaos was spreading. And he was the only one who could stop it.

He knew he could no longer be a passerby. He could no longer allow the world to pass him by. He had to participate. He had to make sure whatever was happening didn’t get worse. But to do that, he knew he could not do it alone. There was no way he could face this alone—it seemed bigger than anything he had ever encountered. There were so many unanswered questions, so many pieces of a puzzle he had only begun to understand.

The guild members noticed him almost immediately. Their eyes widened, their hands drifted to their weapons, and a ripple of recognition spread through the crowd like wildfire.

Conversations died.

Footsteps halted.

The air grew heavy with tension.

"That’s him," someone whispered. "That’s the dark guild leader!!!"

Another voice, sharper: "He’s wanted dead or alive. Someone call the guards!"

Jason did not move. He did not run. He simply stood there, his hands raised in a gesture of peace, his expression calm. His eyes swept across the crowd, meeting their gazes without flinching.

"I’m not here to fight," he said, his voice steady and clear. "I need to speak with the council."

The guild members exchanged glances. They did not lower their weapons. The wanted posters had described him as dangerous, ruthless, and capable of slaughtering armies with a single thought. They had been warned to approach with extreme caution.

But Jason’s posture was relaxed. His voice was steady. And something in his eyes made them hesitate.

The crowd did not disperse, but they did not attack. The air was thick with tension, with uncertainty.

Jason stood in the center of the crowd, his hands still raised, his expression was calm. The tension in the air was suffocating. Dozens of guild members surrounded him, their weapons drawn, their eyes fixed on his every move.

He could feel their fear radiating off them like heat from a furnace, their uncertainty, their desperate desire to either capture him or flee before he did something terrible. The wanted posters on the walls behind them seemed to mock the situation, his face staring down at them with cold, printed indifference.

Then Jason twitched.

It was barely a movement—a slight shift in his posture, a brief adjustment of his weight from one foot to the other. His shoulder rolled, his head tilted, and his fingers curled for just a fraction of a second. But to the guild members, it was a trigger. It was the sign they had been waiting for. It was the moment that told them he was about to attack.

They attacked first.

A massive explosion erupted from the crowd, a concentrated blast of raw mana that would have reduced any normal creature to ash and bone. The impact was deafening, the light blinding, the force enough to shatter stone and send shockwaves rippling through the street. The guild members who had fired it were confident—no one could survive that. No one. They had seen it kill creatures with the strongest hide, topple towers, and obliterate armies. Jason was just one man.

But Jason was not anyone.

The explosion washed over him like water over stone. The mana—dense, volatile, lethal—simply bounced off his skin, dissipating into the air without leaving a scratch. His clothes didn’t even ruffle. His hair didn’t move. He stood there, untouched, utterly invulnerable, as if the blast had been nothing more than a gentle breeze.

The crowd fell silent.

Jason slowly turned his head, his eyes scanning the faces of the guild members until they landed on a trembling figure in the back. A mage, his staff still raised, his face pale with horror. The man’s hands were shaking so badly that his staff clattered against the cobblestones.

Jason pointed at him. "Who did that?"

The crowd responded immediately. A dozen hands shot out, all pointing at the same mage. They didn’t hesitate. They didn’t even look guilty. They snitched without a second thought, their fear of Jason overriding any loyalty they might have had to their fellow guild member.

"Him!" someone shouted, their voice cracking with panic.

"Yeah, it was him!" another added, pointing aggressively.

"He fired it! We all saw it!"

The mage’s face went from pale to ghost white. His staff clattered to the ground. He looked like he wanted the earth to swallow him whole. His mouth opened and closed, but no words came out.

Jason stared at the scene for a moment, his expression neutral. Then he spoke, his voice dry and flat. "No honor among thieves, huh?"

He looked at the mage, who was now trembling so violently that his knees were knocking together. Jason sighed, his tone shifting to something almost amused, almost comedic. "Relax. I’m not going to kill you." He paused, glancing at the crowd. "You already did the job for me. The snitching, I mean. That was brutal. I’ve never seen people throw their own so fast."

The crowd shifted uncomfortably. A few of them actually had the decency to look ashamed.

Jason shook his head slowly, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "You see me as a monster. That’s fine. I understand. I probably would too if I were you. But right now, I need to speak with the council." He turned and began walking toward the town hall, his steps calm and unhurried. "And honestly, after that display of loyalty, I’m pretty sure they’ll listen to me."

The crowd parted before him like water before a ship. No one dared to stop him. No one even tried.

-

Jason stepped into the council chamber with relative ease, there was not much resistance almost like an order had been given to let him through.

The room was vast, its ceiling lost in shadow, its walls lined with art and designs depicting the history of the world. At the center, a long table of polished obsidian dominated the space, surrounded by ten ornate chairs. Only six were occupied for reasons best known to them.

The six most powerful mages in existence or at least, tha was how the story went.

They came from different corners of the world—elven archmages with silver hair and condescending eyes, dwarven runecasters with beards braided with enchanted rings, a lizardkin shaman whose scales shimmered with protective glyphs, and a towering orc warlock whose very presence seemed to warp the air around him.

They had been expecting him.

Jason walked forward, his footsteps echoing through the chamber. The council members watched him with stoic facial expressions. They knew who he was. They knew what he had done but they did not attack.

Because if Jason wanted violence, he would have begun slaughtering everyone indiscriminately. The fact that he was standing here, unharmed, attempt to speak to them, meant he had come for another reason.

"We felt the attack," one of the elves said, her voice calm and measured. "You were fired upon."

Jason shrugged. "It bounced off."

The council exchanged glances. They had made preparations. They were confident in their strength. If it came to it, they believed they could take him.

But Jason was not here to fight.