What is this thing? A giant that can turn invisible? That would truly be astonishing. It seems Number 1 is quite the formidable character! I thought to myself, staring in shock toward the elevator entrance.

But then, a nagging feeling suggested something wasn't quite right.

For one, individuals possessing invisibility powers are typically assassins or infiltrators, people who would exert every effort to mask their sound, lest they be detected.

If someone possesses immense stature and formidable strength, invisibility becomes somewhat redundant.

Though perhaps, this time it was a performance, which is why he chose to make such a massive racket?

Secondly, the intensity of the vibrations indicated that the entity was stomping the floor with immense force, yet there were no impressions on the carpet that a heavy weight would leave.

What did that imply? It meant no one had walked over.

Therefore, the entity was most likely merely a ventriloquist, capable of producing sounds almost indistinguishable from reality.

However, upon deeper consideration, I felt something was still amiss; a ventriloquist is hardly a combat asset. No matter how skilled, they couldn't possibly defeat the SSS-ranked Ranger that Yang Zhifeng mentioned.

As I was pondering this, the sound of the invisible giant walking abruptly ceased, replaced by the sound of countless pigeons taking flight—at least a hundred of them, fluttering vigorously above our heads.

I could even feel the rush of air from their wings brushing against my face, and the distinct avian scent of pigeons drifted into my nostrils.

I was immediately struck by wonder. Though I couldn't see the pigeons, I could palpably feel their presence—this was beyond the capability of an ordinary ventriloquist.

In fact, everyone except me had stopped sipping their coffee and looked up toward the ceiling.

Someone muttered, "Xiao, enough already, that trick again!"

Seeing how they were all guarding their cups, as if something might fall into their coffee, I instinctively understood the problem. I quickly tried to cover my own cup with something, but I was a step too late.

Suddenly, something foreign seemed to drop into my coffee cup, causing small ripples.

Then, I saw it: a white blob floating up from the bottom of the cup.

It was nothing less than pigeon droppings!

At that moment, laughter erupted throughout the previously silent meeting room.

They began exchanging remarks: "So unlucky. It's been ages since Xiao pranked a newcomer!"

"Right, right. It's been about three years, ever since that Number 10 died last time."

"For three years, there hasn't been a newcomer with any real talent, and now we get three at once this year."

I looked with mild frustration at the pigeon feces in my cup, still trying to process everything.

Just then, a sound like a fierce north wind suddenly howled from the sky, and I felt a chill envelop me. My thin clothes offered no resistance.

Soon, a layer of white frost formed on my eyebrows, and I could barely stand it.

Someone immediately shouted, "Xiao, that’s enough, you’ll give the newcomer a cold, and he won’t be able to complete his mission."

The person seated in the main chair finally spoke, saying, "Come out now, stop messing around."

Hearing the man in the main seat speak with such gravity, the sound of pigeons flying overhead instantly vanished.

The elevator door had remained open, and now, a man in his early twenties finally stepped out.

This fellow was dressed in a tailcoat, the kind worn for conducting an orchestra. He was quite small and slender, barely reaching five feet three inches, looking almost like a dwarf.

However, his features were delicate, yet possessed a distinct sickly pallor; his face was as white as paper.

Because he was so slight, I hadn't noticed him at all while he was hiding in the elevator.

Thinking back, everything that had just happened was likely just trickery—some form of sleight of hand.

I watched him slowly walk past me without sparing me a glance, which struck me as odd.

After playing such a trick on me, not even speaking to me—that was incredibly rude.

But as soon as I thought this, Number 1, who had seemingly walked past, suddenly appeared directly in front of me, locking eyes with me.

Simultaneously, I caught a glimpse with my peripheral vision that the figure who had been walking forward continued moving straight ahead.

"Cloning technique?" I thought, a realization dawning on me.

However, the face directly before me suddenly smiled and said, "You must be the new Number 10? Not bad; you can handle ten tons of cargo without collapsing. Even I can't manage that."

Seeing the sincerity, devoid of falsehood or pretense, in his smile, I also laughed and replied, "Oh, that's nothing special... but Number 1, your cloning skill is truly astonishing; it leaves one speechless."

Number 1 looked somewhat surprised and said, "Cloning technique? What cloning technique are you talking about?"

Then, as if realizing something, he pointed to the other 'himself' still walking forward: "Oh! You mean him?"

Saying this, he made a beckoning gesture, and the Number 1 walking ahead instantly dissolved into a piece of black fabric that flew toward him.

When it reached Number 1's hand, it transformed into a long black umbrella, resembling a walking stick.

Number 1 held the stick across his chest, bowed to me, and said, "That other one was indeed magic—he transformed from an umbrella. But the sonic manifestations I created in the elevator? Those weren't magic."

With that, he patted my shoulder and said, "Enjoy your coffee, newcomer."

I froze, glanced at the pigeon droppings in my cup, and managed a wry smile, wondering what he meant by "sonic manifestation." I had never heard that term before.

As I pondered, Number 1 had already walked away.

Number 8, standing nearby, sighed, stood up, took my coffee away, and said, "That's just how he is; don't worry about it. He’s actually a warm-hearted kid, just loves practical jokes. As for 'sonic manifestation,' it means that any sound Number 1 can imitate can become real. Do you understand? Even if it has no discernible shape and can't be seen, the effect is real."

I felt I grasped her meaning and asked, "So, if he imitated the sound of a cannon firing, a person would genuinely be hit by a cannonball, but the victim wouldn't see the shell?"

Number 8 nodded and confirmed, "That’s essentially it."

At that moment, Number 1 had settled into a chair and impatiently called out, "Eight, are you being too chatty!"

Number 8 showed him no deference: "You little brat, sit still. If you talk anymore, I won't make you coffee, see if I do."

Number 1 seemed genuinely deterred by the threat, sitting there looking displeased, forced to glare silently.

Number 8 gently placed the coffee in front of me again and explained, "While this boy can imitate all sorts of sounds, making him almost omnipotent, he has one weakness: he cannot create specific qualities. For example, he can create the feeling of taking a bath in an empty tub, but he cannot create hot water. All the water he creates is cold, because sound cannot convey temperature."

Number 1 interrupted impatiently again: "Even if I can't make hot water, I can create magma! Because when magma flows, it has the sound of explosions, a unique viscosity, the sizzle when it hits the ground, and the crackle when it burns insects or plants—that is a sound utterly unique in the world! Want to try it out?"

I quickly waved my hands, saying, "No, no!"

I mused that his ability to create the feeling of a howling north wind must come from imitating the unique, gritty sound of snow crystals colliding in the wind. What a bizarre superpower.

No wonder that SSS-ranked Ranger couldn't best him. Even if one could freeze someone instantly, summoning magma would render even the mightiest ice useless.

And when he blew someone's head off, he must have imitated a cannon blast. He is truly a dangerous individual. I wondered what experiences he had in the past—had he accidentally killed many people?

Just as I was thinking this, Number 1 was already chatting and laughing with Yang Zhifeng, clinking his coffee cup against Yang's, saying "Cheers," and then downing his entire cup in one gulp.

After finishing, he sighed contentedly and remarked, "Eight’s coffee is truly excellent. Everyone else's technique is totally beneath notice! Haha!"

Hearing him praise it so highly, I took a sip, but I felt nothing remarkable.

Perhaps we outsiders simply aren't discerning enough when it comes to brewing coffee.

As I was thinking this, the elevator chimed again, opening, and a dark, furry creature poked its head out.

I looked curiously at the little creature, and quickly recognized it as a black-furred monkey.

This monkey was smaller than average, about the size of a cat, with a ring of white fur around its eyes, making it look very clever and endearing.

"It looks like Number 2 has finally arrived!" Number 8 commented from beside me.

I asked, slightly confused, "Number 2 is a monkey? Or maybe a Sun Wukong who can shapeshift?"

Number 8 smiled faintly and said, "You'll know soon enough."

At that moment, the small monkey quickly retracted its head back into the elevator.

Then, a monk dressed in azure robes and wearing gaiters stepped out.

This monk was also quite young, perhaps twenty-seven or twenty-eight, standing about six feet tall, with determined, sharp features.

Looking at his biceps and thighs, I knew he must be a martial monk, and likely quite skilled.

A smile rested on his dark complexion, suggesting he wasn't an unfriendly person.

The strangest thing was the bamboo basket strapped to his back; I couldn't tell what was inside, but it looked heavy.

Entering such a luxurious hotel while carrying a bamboo creel on his back was inherently comical.

Moreover, the little black monkey perched on his shoulder, combined with his dust-covered monk’s robes, completely shattered the faint vampire gathering atmosphere.

Someone quipped, "Chen! Where were you begging for alms this time? You're so late!"