Online Game: Starting With SSS-Ranked Summons-Chapter 356: Protector Jasmine

More voices joined the chorus of complaint, turning the celebration into something uglier. Players who'd been grateful for protection moments before now demanded explanation for why they'd been excluded.

Human nature at its finest.

Arthur's expression darkened

Time to end this nonsense.

Arthur's spatial aura flared, reality itself seeming to recoil from his rising anger. The temperature in the plaza dropped several degrees as his presence expanded.

Ungrateful fools.

"Enough."

His voice cut through the complaints like a blade through silk. The single word carried such authority that several players who were shouting instinctively stepped backwards with fear in their eyes.

They have no idea what they're dealing with.

"Let me make something crystal clear," Arthur continued, his tone dropping to dangerous quiet.

"Jasmine owes none of you anything. She has no obligation to protect ungrateful whelps who think power should be handed to them."

The complaining players faltered, recognising the shift in atmosphere. This wasn't the patient Fateless who'd helped them before; this was someone far more dangerous.

"She could walk away right now," Arthur pressed on, taking a step toward the loudest complainers.

"Leave you to face what's coming with nothing but your wounded pride for protection."

"Instead, she's choosing to stay. To shield people who've done nothing for her. To risk her life for strangers who immediately questioned her worthiness."

The irony is delicious. They're angry at the person saving their lives.

One of the protesters, a scarred warrior with delusions of grandeur, refused to back down.

"We're players too! We have rights! Just because she got lucky—"

Arthur teleported.

One moment, he stood twenty feet away. Next, he appeared directly in front of the warrior, close enough to rip his throat out. The scarred warrior shuddered from the look in Arthur's eyes.

"Lucky?" Arthur's whisper carried more menace than any shout. "What do you know?"

Arthur's spatial aura pressed against the man's consciousness, not enough to cause damage but sufficient to make him understand the vast gulf between their capabilities.

The arrogance of ignorance.

The warrior's breath came in short, gasping breaths as invisible pressure squeezed his mind. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the cool air.

"You think power is something handed out like participation trophies?" Arthur's voice remained dangerously quiet.

"You think power inheritance works based on who complains loudest?"

They have no concept of what real strength costs. Foolish...

Space rippled around Arthur's position, reality itself seeming to bend away from his presence. The other protesters took involuntary steps backwards, their bravado crumbling in the face of true authority.

"I—I just meant—" the warrior stammered.

"You meant that you deserved something you never earned." Arthur's eyes bored into the man's soul.

"That your mere presence entitled you to power beyond your comprehension."

Classic player mentality. Everything should be accessible to everyone.

The spatial pressure intensified slightly, making the warrior's knees buckle. Around them, the plaza had fallen silent, every eye fixed on the demonstration of overwhelming superiority.

"Tell me," Arthur continued, his tone conversational despite the menace underlying every word.

"What trials have you faced? What sacrifices have you made? What bloodlines do you carry?"

Nothing. They've done nothing.

The warrior opened his mouth, but no words came. How could he answer questions that revealed the depth of his ignorance?

"Exactly." Arthur stepped back, giving the man room to breathe but not escape.

"You know nothing about the requirements for such power. Nothing about the costs involved. Nothing about the responsibilities that come with it."

Yet they demand equal treatment.

"Your Protector didn't get lucky," Arthur's voice carried across the entire plaza now. "She met conditions that ninety-nine percent of you couldn't fulfil even if you knew what they were."

I would have said all...but that would make them feel too incompetent.

The crowd murmured, understanding beginning to dawn. This wasn't about fairness or opportunity—it was about capability and worthiness.

About time they figured it out.

"But more importantly," Arthur's gaze swept across the assembled players.

"She's choosing to use that power for your benefit. Despite your ingratitude. Despite your insults."

Shame began replacing anger on many faces. The protesters who'd been so vocal moments before now looked at their feet, unable to meet his stare.

Good. Shame is educational.

Arthur turned his attention back to the lead complainer, who was still struggling to remain upright under his pressure.

"So here's what's going to happen," he said with deadly calm.

"You're going to apologise to your Protector. Then you're going to thank her for choosing to risk her life for ungrateful strangers."

Basic human decency. Apparently, a rare commodity now.

The warrior nodded frantically, terror overriding whatever pride had driven his initial protest.

"I'm sorry!" he gasped, turning toward Jasmine.

"I'm sorry, Protector! Thank you for... for protecting us!"

Pathetic. But adequate.

Arthur released the pressure, allowing the man to collapse to his knees.

The demonstration had served its purpose; Jasmine's authority was established, consequences demonstrated, and respect was installed.

He had made himself their villain, the one whom the protestors would hate. Jasmine just had to be a good leader, and they would follow her. After all, she wasn't the one who embarrassed them...it was Arthur.

"Mayor Richards," Arthur called without turning around.

"Yes, sir?"

He's learning proper deference.

"These players have shown poor judgment during a crisis. What's the standard response?"

Richards straightened, his weathered face hardening with official authority. Years of leadership had taught him when examples needed to be made.

"Guards!" his voice boomed across the plaza.

Armoured figures emerged from their positions, moving with efficiency toward the chastened protesters.

Finally. Proper consequences for poor choices.

"Three days in holding cells for public disruption during emergency proceedings," Richards announced.

"Time to reflect on appropriate behaviour."

The protesters' faces went white as corpses.

Three days. During the merge.

The lead protester stumbled forward, desperation replacing his earlier arrogance. "Wait! Please! The attacks are coming—everyone knows it!"

His voice cracked with genuine terror.

"We have families to protect! Children who need us!"

Another protester joined the plea, his scarred hands trembling.

"Three days in prison is a death sentence!"