Chapter 426: A Name Pulled from Death

Luke stood inside the building where the interviews were being held. The place, an old structure built from pale stone, had the kind of solidity that suggested it was designed to outlive generations. The wide walls seemed to hold onto the echoes of everything that happened inside them. The building became one of the busiest points in the region: crowded corridors, hurried footsteps, voices overlapping from room to room.

There were many Americans in the tutorial. He figured it was because he himself was American, so it made sense that the tutorial had placed him in a location where Americans made up the majority of the population.

Earlier that morning, interviews had dragged on for more than half an hour each. But as the hours passed, the whole process began to pick up speed. The officers already had enough information to streamline everything, and the line moved with more confidence and less tension. Luke kept watching the people who left the interview rooms. Some looked relieved.

“Next,” called a firm voice.

A woman stood at the doorway, clipboard in hand. Luke straightened up. His turn.

The moment he stepped through the door, the noise hit him from every direction. Conversations, boots striking stone, and the clatter of wooden bowls and cups somewhere off to the side. The room must have been a cafeteria not long ago. Rows of long tables, support columns, a high ceiling that amplified every sound. Now it had been transformed into a makeshift command center, with soldiers weaving between desks, stacks of papers stuffed into crates, and temporary workstations scattered around.

He walked between tables, dodging clusters of people arguing over logistics. The smell of strong coffee mixed with the scent of old wood, creating a strange contrast that said the same thing as the walls: this place was doing its best to function despite everything.

“Feel free to choose who you want to interview with,” said a man about Luke’s age. His uniform was simple, but the tiredness in his face suggested he’d been there since dawn.

“That woman over there,” Luke answered, giving a small gesture in her direction.

She lifted her head from her clipboard. Her eyes locked on him for a brief, sharp assessment before she gave him a nod to approach.

They walked toward a side door that led to a quieter room being used for more formal interviews. Voices carried from inside, lively and overlapping, people busy with forms and notes.

Inside, Luke noticed two people holding clipboards beside a man seated at a small table.

“Judith, right?” Luke asked.

“That’s me. And you’re the guy who almost gave me a heart attack earlier,” Judith replied, perfectly calm. “This is Amit, my colleague. He got lucky and ended up with very few Indians in the tutorial, so he’s got extra time.”

“And unlucky enough to be stuck doing paperwork,” Amit muttered, rolling his eyes just slightly.

Luke took a seat on a simple wooden chair, the edges worn smooth. Judith sat across from him, clipboard already poised. The two others shifted position and prepared their pens, ready to jot down every detail as if assembling another piece of some massive bureaucratic puzzle.

“What’s your name?” Judith asked.

“Luke Moon,” he replied.

“And where are you from, Luke Moon? Were you born or naturalized as a U.S. citizen?”

“I was born in the United States. I’m from Maine.”

Judith made a few quick marks on the form. While she worked, Luke noticed Amit quietly sketching his face. The strokes were quick and confident, the kind of ease that came from someone used to drawing people without thinking too much about it. Luke guessed it was either a profession skill or plain talent.

“Has your family always lived in the United States, or are they immigrants?” she continued. “You don’t have to answer that part if you’d rather not.”

Luke didn’t see any reason to avoid it.

“I was adopted when I was five. My biological mother… she died and left me with another family who took me in.”

Judith jotted everything down, her expression blending sympathy with professional focus.

“It’s sad that happened, but I’m glad you found a family who adopted you,” she said gently.

“She didn’t have any family?” Amit asked, without fully lifting his eyes from the drawing.

“No. She was abandoned as a child and lived in an orphanage called Moon. My registered name is Luke Moon. She got that last name from the orphanage since no one in her family ever claimed her, and it ended up being passed down to me.”

Judith paused mid-writing, as if mentally rearranging the information before continuing.

“It must have been hard living in that tutorial. Nine years… an entire place acting like a parallel world,” she murmured, still struck by the thought. “How long were you there?”

“One year.”

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“Luke, what’s your class?” asked someone else in the room, one of the clipboard holders.

“Archer,” he answered.

It was simple and harmless. His real class, assassin, wasn’t exactly friendly on paper.

Amit tapped his fingers on the table.

“Some people in that place managed to reach peak Rank and are now Rank E. They’re a lot stronger than most of us,” Amit said. “Are you Rank F or E?”

Luke chose honesty. Not out of naivety, but because it made it easier for them to grasp the actual level of power they were dealing with. Sometimes transparency was a sharper weapon than any lie.

“Rank E.”

Amit let out a sharp whistle. “And here I was feeling special for being level thirty. And you’re level fifty.”

The reaction made a few people exchange looks. No hostility, just shock. It was like staring at a decorated veteran surrounded by fresh recruits.

“What’s your Rank skill?” someone in the room asked.

Luke didn’t hesitate. His gaze turned cold, direct.

“I’m not telling you.”