My Supernatural Girlfriends Spoils Me Rotten-Chapter 369: Journey To The Center 9

Shery explained, "That person is a tetramand. They're known for their raw strength, but they can't use energy base attack."

Asher watched the alien again. Just looking at its bodybuilder-like physique and red skin was enough to hint at how it fought.

Finally, it was his turn.

"Good luck. You don't need to get a high score in this, as long as you ace your next test, Boss."

Asher nodded quietly, rolling his shoulders as he walked toward the machine.

He was the last to take the test so every gaze was on —

BOOOOOM!

The punching machine was completely destroyed, unable to withstand even one blow.

Everyone's jaw dropped, unable to process what just happened. That machine was rated to handle up to 10,000,000 Newtons.

Which meant—he hit harder than that.

"That's impossible!" the four-armed alien barked, his deep voice cracking with suspicion. "He must've used an external power! There's no way that twig punched it to pieces!"

His heavy steps echoed as he stomped forward, fists clenched. Muscles tensed under thick red skin, and his lower arms twitched with rage. He pointed at Asher like accusing a cheater in a rigged game.

"No one that size can produce that force naturally!"

Logically, the alien had a point. A hit like that shouldn't have been possible without some sort of enhancement.

But Asher wasn't normal.

He was half-dragon.

Even without transforming, his body was built different. His bone density alone could shatter medical scanners. If they weighed him now, he'd be pushing over 10,000 kilograms—and that was just standing still.

He usually kept a weight-reduction spell running on himself just to move around like a normal person. Without it, each step left cracks on normal floors.

The tester checked the readings. After a few seconds, a verdict popped up on the monitor:

"No external enhancements detected."

That shut down the protest fast.

The four-armed alien growled in frustration, his red muscles twitching. He slammed his lower fists against his sides.

"There's no way!" he snapped. "This has to be rigged!"

But the officials ignored him. One even waved him off, already logging Asher's result.

Unmeasurable. Machine failure due to excessive force.

Gasps spread through the crowd again. Some participants looked stunned. Others whispered to each other, exchanging guesses about Asher's origin.

The ones who had underestimated him earlier now kept their heads down.

A few even stepped back without realizing it. They didn't know who—or what—he was, but one thing was clear: he was stronger than them.

When he walked back, Shery was still frozen. Her jaw hung open, eyes wide like she'd seen a ghost.

He reached over and gently pushed her chin up. "Close your mouth."

She blinked. "I thought you were a mage?" she burst out, still trying to process what just happened.

He gave a half shrug . "I am a mage."

Shery didn't let it go.

"Mage? That's not how it works!" she whispered sharply, stepping closer. "You shattered a machine rated for ten million newtons like it was a toy. Even full-body enhancers can't fake that without tripping the sensors."

"You're making a big deal out of it," Asher muttered, brushing past her. He refused to answer any more questions.

In reality, he held back.

The next test began.

A large pulley stood in front of them, its steel ropes gleaming under the harsh lights. But this wasn't just any ordinary machine.

The mechanism was powered by a unique material, one that responded to pressure in a unique way. The more force you exerted, the heavier the material became, as though it adapted to each pull.

One by one, participants took their turn. The first person stepped forward, gripping the thick rope.

With a grunt, he pulled, the rope moving a few inches before the material inside grew heavier.

The man's muscles strained, his face reddening with the effort, but within seconds, he stumbled back, breathless, as the machine beeped and registered his maximum effort.

"6000 kg. Average," the tester called out, jotting down the score.

Just like the first test, more and more began to try.

Once again, the four arms were able to pull 200,000 kg using both hands.

He looked at Asher, a smug expression on his face.

It was his turn now. He walked past the alien and grabbed the rope.

'This time, I'll hold back more,' he gently pulled it.

"205,000 kg."

The Tester was once again in disbelief, and what was more shocking was that he was using only one hand.

"'Do you want to try again so we can measure your real strength?' the Tester asked.

"No need," Asher shook his head, then walked back to Shery, as if what he had done wasn't even worth celebrating.

This time, she didn't look as shocked, half-expecting the result already.

Last in the physical tests was the speed test. Once again, Asher aced it, his time three times faster than the second-best, and that was while he was jogging.

The four-armed alien, who had once protested, lost all motivation and accepted that there was always a higher mountain.

He thought he could brag about being the best in his batch, but as luck would have it, he ended up in the same group as a literal monster.

(Bunch of weaklings.)

Pantheon sneered, hoping that someone strong would humble Asher. But the ancient dragon had expected too much from Starfront.

The quality of fighters here was embarrassing; no wonder they were treated as disposable.

(Brat, don't let this get to your head. It's because all the talented and powerful individuals have already been scooped up by other powerful organizations or powerhouse families. This place is just collecting the breadcrumbs.)

"I didn't say anything."

(You didn't, but I know what's running through your head. You think I exaggerated when I said people like you are common here. Well, it seems the quality has gone down while I've been gone.)

The ancient dragon still refused to admit that Asher was simply too strong, but it was for his own good. It didn't want Asher to become careless.

He knew this as well, so he simply went along with his partner's ranting.

When the physical tests ended, results were posted on the main board.

Asher's name sat at the very top. Rank One. No debate, no ties, no questions. His scores weren't just high—they were untouchable by his peers.

The other spectators—mostly friends, family members, and a few managers—began whispering among themselves.

Theories spread fast.

Some guessed he belonged to a race that prioritized brute strength.

But because he looked fully human—with no horns, tails, or glowing marks—they couldn't figure out which one exactly.

"He has to be mixed blood," someone muttered.

Others pushed a different idea.

"Maybe his energy control is trash," one observer said. "Like the Tetramand. All strength."

"Yeah, that would explain it. That kind of physical dominance usually comes with a trade-off."

A few nodded in agreement. It made sense, and would balance things out.

But not everyone was convinced.

Either way, the mystery deepened.

And the next round—Energy Control Aptitude—was about to answer a lot of questions.

Participants were called out again and told to place their hands on a crystal ball the size of a car.

The tester stepped forward, eyes scanning the group. He placed a hand on the smooth surface of the giant crystal, his fingers trailing along its glowing surface.

He raised his voice. "It measures your EP—energy points. The higher the number, the stronger your are. No tricks, no adjustments. What you get is what you've got."

A faint hum pulsed from the crystal, its light shifting between colors.

"Touch it when your name is called. That's all you need to do."

He stepped back, and let the first participant stepped forward.

[118,000 EP]

Others nodded in approval; it was far above the average of 10,000 EP. Now it explained why the first participant was physically weak.

More and more got tested.

[86,500 EP]

[142,300 EP]

[75,500 EP]

[301,000 EP]

Then it was the four-armed participant's turn. He placed his hands on the crystal, and the number that appeared was a messy 12,000 EP—the lowest so far.

Still, given that he was second in the physical test, passing wouldn't be hard for him.

Now, all eyes were on Asher, some secretly hoping he would embarrassingly get a low score, just so they could feel better about themselves.

He ignored the comments and placed his hands on the crystal. This thing wasn't really accurate; one could easily control the output and manipulate the results

"Alright, I'll just use 20% of my energy," he muttered to himself.

CRACK!

It backfired immediately as the crystal shattered into pieces, exploding with a deafening crash.

A cloud of dust filled the air, and pieces of the shattered crystal rained down, scattering across the floor.

The tester's eyes widened, his mouth going dry. "What the hell—"

Asher stood still, his hands still extended in the air, a confused expression crossing his face. He was certain he had only used 20% of his energy.

(Brat... It's the quality of your energy. It's too pure for this cheap measurement machine to handle!)

Before he could respond, the doors to the testing room hissed open.

A man with blue skin and red eyes stepped in. Dressed in a sharp tuxedo, its crisp lines contrasted with the intensity of his gaze.

Asher watched him closely, only able to gauge a small fraction of his power.

It meant they were likely on par in strength.

"Guild Leader, what brings you here?" The tester bowed his head respectfully.