CHAPTER 342: STRENGTH TEST

A few days later.

Harry stood before a towering building, its shadow looming across the street like a guardian from another age.

The structure itself was carved from deep, dark stone, polished to a sheen that reflected faint glimmers of the sun overhead.

Its architecture was sharp and imposing, designed less for comfort and more for intimidation.

At the very top of the building, mounted against the sky, was a massive obsidian dragon head.

The dragon’s maw was wide open, frozen in an eternal roar, its fangs glistening like daggers freshly pulled from the forge.

Even from where he stood far below, Harry felt the pressure of its gaze—the black glassy eyes seemed alive, as though they could pierce through his skin and stare into his soul.

The monstrous sculpture radiated the fierce pride of what the guild used to be, and the silent desperation of what it had now become.

He exhaled quietly, lowering his gaze back to the massive double doors in front of him.

Adventurers of all kinds moved briskly in and out, their boots echoing sharply against the stone steps.

Some were clad in heavy armor, others in lighter gear, but all carried the same air of determined purpose.

The building seemed alive with motion, a constant stream of people weaving in and out as if the guild were still thriving in its glory days.

Harry stood patiently for a moment, his sharp eyes scanning the faces around him, before a soft but clear voice called out from the side.

"Excuse me—are you Harry Ainsworth?"

He turned, finding a woman approaching him with calm strides.

She was striking in her own right, her features refined and symmetrical, carrying the kind of beauty that could hold attention without effort.

Her long black hair was tied neatly into a bun, and her formal attire—consisting of a well-fitted dark blazer and pencil skirt—emphasized her professionalism.

A small badge bearing the guild’s emblem gleamed faintly against her chest.

Harry inclined his head in a polite nod. "Yes."

The woman mirrored the gesture with a slight nod of her own, her expression remaining carefully composed.

"Good. Please follow me." she said.

Without waiting for further response, she pivoted lightly on her heels and led the way toward the guild doors.

Harry fell into step behind her, his expression calm as always, his mind quietly observing.

The moment they stepped into the building, the full intensity of its atmosphere washed over him.

The guild hall was bustling with life—voices rose and fell in layered harmony, the clatter of boots and equipment rang against the polished floors, and the air carried the faint metallic tang of sharpened weapons mixed with ink and parchment.

Large notice boards stretched along the walls, covered with pinned missions and reports.

Tables were crowded with adventurers laughing, arguing, or negotiating contracts, while guild staff moved swiftly between them with papers and data-tabs in hand.

The woman didn’t pause to admire the scenery. Her stride was brisk, heels tapping rhythmically against the floor as she cut through the crowd.

Harry followed silently, his gaze flickering from one corner to another.

Even in its decline, the Black Dragons Guild carried an unmistakable weight—one that couldn’t be erased by its fall from power.

Eventually, she stopped before a side hallway and pushed open a set of doors, guiding him into a separate room.

The space was wide, its dimensions carefully arranged to offer openness without extravagance.

Smooth stone walls framed the chamber, their dark surfaces glimmering faintly under strips of enchanted lighting overhead.

The floor was bare, polished clean, with no markings except for the faint outlines of a magical array etched discreetly into the center.

Only a few chairs sat against the far wall, simple in design, offering seating but no comfort.

The emptiness of the room gave it a solemn atmosphere, as though it were built for assessment, not leisure.

The woman stepped ahead of him, then turned smoothly, her hands clasped neatly before her. "The first thing we need to do," she said evenly, her eyes fixed on him, "is test your true capabilities."

Harry gave no outward reaction, only a small flicker in his gaze as he watched her raise one hand.

With a practiced motion, she tapped the air in front of her, and a faint ripple spread outward like water disturbed by a stone.

In the next instant, a holographic tab materialized, glowing softly in the air.

Harry’s gaze lingered on it, calm and unreadable. He wasn’t surprised.

No matter how far the Black Dragons had fallen, they had once stood among the few Mythril-ranked guilds in the world.

Even after their downfall, traces of that era remained—cutting-edge technologies, ancient resources, and practices that kept them above the common guilds that lingered at the lower ranks.

To see such a display here was only natural, proof that the bones of a giant still carried weight even after its collapse.

The woman’s fingers moved smoothly across the holographic surface, tapping several sequences with efficiency born of experience.

Symbols shifted, glowing faintly, as she activated whatever process was set in place.

Harry’s eyes narrowed faintly, waiting.

Twissh!

The ground in front of Harry gave a low mechanical hum before splitting apart, the polished tiles sliding seamlessly into the walls.

A moment later, a black punching bag rose up from the floor.

It wasn’t the typical canvas bag one would find in training halls—this one gleamed faintly under the light, its surface reinforced with some kind of alloyed material, sleek and dangerous in its design.

Harry’s brows twitched upward. For a second, his calm expression cracked with mild surprise.

"First," the woman said, her voice steady though her hands rested lightly behind her back, "we’ll need to test your strength."

Harry turned his head toward her. She gestured at the strange bag, her tone matter-of-fact but carrying a faint note of anticipation.

"Strike at the black punching bag with all your strength."

Harry gave her a polite nod before facing the bag again. He drew in a slow breath, his hands balling into fists. His knuckles tightened, the faint creak of his bones echoing in his ears.

’I shouldn’t go all out on this...’ he thought, narrowing his eyes slightly.

His chest rose and fell once more as he exhaled, letting his shoulders relax into the motion. ’Here we go.’

With that, Harry’s fist shot forward.

Bang!!

A deep bang reverberated through the wide chamber, bouncing off the smooth walls and ceiling.

The impact sounded more like an explosion than a mere punch.

Yet the bag... didn’t move.

It absorbed the blow without so much as a sway. Instead, faint lines of light rippled across its surface, transmitting information directly to the woman’s tab.

Harry smirked faintly, lowering his fist.

’Wow... it’s quite sturdy.’ he thought.

Despite holding back, the weight behind his punch was undeniable. He hadn’t poured his full strength into it, and still the impact had carried frightening power.

The fact that the bag still didn’t move only highlighted how durable it truly was, another testament to the Black Dragons’ resources.

Slowly, Harry turned his gaze toward the woman.

Her eyes were wide, staring at the glowing readings on her tab as if she couldn’t believe them.

"B–rank... strength?" she muttered under her breath, disbelief slipping out before she caught herself.

Her head snapped up, eyes meeting Harry’s steady, almost unreadable gaze.

She cleared her throat, forcing her tone back into calm professionalism. "Strength... B-rank."

But the subtle tremor in her voice betrayed her.

On the surface she looked composed, as if this was routine, yet inwardly she was struggling to process what she’d just seen.

Because Harry hadn’t cast a single spell. He hadn’t invoked any enchantments, no elemental boosts, nothing to amplify his raw body.

Yet, he had struck hard enough to register at B-rank.

That could only mean one thing—if he did use his spells, if he unleashed all that he had—his strength would rise to A-rank!

Her mind reeled at the thought. This was unheard of.

Elementalists were revered for their mastery over elemental magic, but physically? They were frail compared to combat mages.

At best, an Elementalist might scrape by with D-rank physical strength, perhaps C-rank if their training was rigorous.

Yet here he was.

Harry Ainsworth. An Elementalist who had just displayed the kind of raw physical prowess she would expect from a combat mage.

Her lips parted slightly, words failing her. This was the first time she had ever met an Elementalist like this.

Unbeknownst to her, what she had seen was only the surface. Harry’s true strength—what lay dormant beneath his calm exterior—was already enough to rival that of mages.

"Hmm..." Harry muttered, his eyes narrowing slightly.

’She seemed shocked by the result... perhaps I should have held back a bit more?’ he thought, letting out a low sigh.

However, he didn’t think about it for too long, as it didn’t matter much anyway.

All he had to do was focus on his future plans from here on out.