9 minutes 58 seconds—that was Botobai's fastest clear time.
He only set it by eating a hit from the Orc General's axe.
The kid hadn't cleared yet, but he'd held for ten minutes, and looked like he'd go longer. That already said plenty.
"Hey," Gel watched Botobai, voice suddenly serious. "One hundred million jenny for a vial of Zoldyck blood. Deal?"
Reputation isn't made of smoke.
"Poison-resistance" had fallen off Gel's top research list. More than trialing venoms, what she wanted now was—
Roy's blood.
Gel had seen excellence—plenty of it. Every Hunter Exam coughed up a few. But excellence at a Zoldyck level? That was outside her map.
Her gut told her Roy's blood wasn't ordinary.
"Do it yourself. And—try not to die while you're at it."
Botobai, ever the straight pipe, couldn't have been clearer. The woman was drifting toward mad science. If that long-haired silver fox were the one standing here, he'd probably have killed her outright.
"Researching everything is how you end up a corpse."
Botobai crossed his arms. Behind the opera mask his face was unreadable. He glanced up and caught Wutong watching them; two cold snorts jetted from his nose.
Eleven minutes… twelve… The clock chewed on. Every other examinee had already left.
Up at the entrance barbecue, the two old men sipped tea. The hall behind them had emptied of footsteps. The bean-faced attendant silently refilled cups. The grillman dared not breathe wrong, sliding over fruit plates now and then for the "VIPs."
Thirteen minutes… fourteen…
In the illusion.
Sajin—done.
Roy pushed off the corpse and went straight for Daso. The Scout was smallest, and the panel read C- (10/100000) for both pools—softest fruit on the branch.
Squeeze the soft first—Roy lived by it.
Thump, thump, thump— Gul'dan read him. In step with Warren's spiked-mace toss, the brute threw himself into a Barbaric Rush: a five-meter broadsword shrieked in a horizontal Half-Moon Slash at Roy's head. The shockwave ripped the air.
A broadsword wasn't an axe. Less vertical bite, more sweep: bigger arc, wider lane, better for mowing groups—at a higher Nen toll.
The crescent overtook Roy a beat later. A side shot of spiked iron fell from above; directly ahead Daso's fletchings hissed in triple time. With no foothold in the air, Roy had already decided how he'd spend this life—even if he died, he'd take the Scout with him.
Jaw set, he didn't flinch. Every pore popped—Ren flooded and polarized—a milky magnetic field warped the line of sword and mace. His right hand angled the short blade down—
—and he triggered Illusory Blade.
"Water Breathing, Eleventh Form: Illusory Blade – Water-Mirror Sun-Flare."
Drip— The tap of a falling drop rang in the skull.
Ripples bloomed out from Roy, wrapping Gul'dan, Daso, Warren in a blink.
Pig–eyes the size of saucers glazed a beat, as if a red sun was climbing out of the sea. They shook their massive heads, clawed off the intruding vision, swung and hurled—
Too late is still too late.
A single scream. The two brutes came to just in time to see—
—the boy's twin crimson blades punch through Daso's chest and flash out his back, stealing his life in an instant.
[Swordsmanship +50]
[Life Energy +9]
The Half-Moon still hit—pinning Roy's retreat all the same.
So he didn't retreat—he smiled at Gul'dan.
His head flew. Midair, Roy watched the Orc's eyes flare red as it charged his "corpse." He shut his own—and cut the link.
Memory pinned at 15:20, the moment Daso fell.
Crash—the sea atomized on rock.
Cognition Sea.
Light motes knit a shape.
Roy stepped out of re: The Game of the Dead and, through the Black Gate, respawned on warm sand again. He reached up and felt the neck the Orc's blade had lopped—still there. He blew out a long breath.
Panel check—Daso's nine points landed. He let his mind refill a notch, rolled to his feet, materialized short blade, and slipped back through the seam.
This time—in Gul'dan's face—he took Warren.
[Swordsmanship +50]
[Life Energy +10]
Memory pinned at 17:38, the moment Warren lost his head.
Five to three to one: now only Gul'dan—and the big one in the trees—remained.
"Why hasn't it moved—just watching its own get butchered?"
After strings of fights with Sajin, Daso, Gul'dan, Roy knew: these orcs weren't dull. They coordinated, they felt, they spoke (whatever that guttural bark was). Like the Kiriko—a thinking race.
So while he carved, he watched the tree-line, ready for the cold snap that would break his line. But nothing. Two comrades dead, a third soon to follow—and still silence.
"Is it contempt?" After Warren, face-down on the sand, Roy admitted the possibility.
Maybe he was too weak to be worth raising a hand. That stung.
He snorted at himself, rose, and went back for Gul'dan's head.
20:20—> [Swordsmanship +50], [Life Energy +12].
Three minutes later—without Sajin, Daso, Warren—the broadsword Orc went down, Roy's blade rammed through its mouth to mulch the windpipe.
A mountain breeze walked out of the giant-tree maze and riffled Roy's hair. Four down. One to go.
He planted the cane–sword, set his spine straight, sent the short blade orbiting, and called into the woodline: "You coming, or do I come to you?"
Silence, then—
THUD.
THUD.
THUD.
Each step sank a crater.
Roy's eyes narrowed. A ten–meter shadow shouldered aside trunks, an iron collar and chain coiling its neck; axe and mace hung from the chain. It looked down, pig–eyes the size of helmets flashing blood–red—
[Bestiary: recording…]
[Orc General]
[Manifest Nen: C+ (99950/100000)]
[Latent Nen: C+ (99950/100000)]
[Assessment: C+ (not weaker than a standard Chimera Ant squadron leader)]
(Notes: known Youpi ~400k+; typical squadron leader ~100k; Neferpitou & Shaiapouf ~200–300k.)
One glance told Roy enough:
This Orc General wasn't a whit beneath peak–state Uvogin.
Panel blinking, he called the short blade to hand, tightened his guard till it rang.
He'd seen what Uvo did: an army of Shadow Beasts alone. Without Kurapika's Vow and Covenant—without chains made into anti-Spider exorcisms, the scarlet eye, Emperor Time, and a forced Zetsu—who knew where that ended?
"Gulululu… the elder forbade me from eating men," the General rumbled. "I should thank you for killing them for me…"
Its mouth opened, white tusks like lances. The words were nothing Roy recognized.
His fingers whitened on the hilts. Both blades flushed red-hot, heat shimmer bleeding off into the green—he hunted for an opening.
The General ignored him. It stooped, hauled up Warren's still-warm body and bit off half the head.
?!
"Chomp, chomp…" Warren burst like fruit. Limbs hung. Then Daso, then Sajin, then—
Gul'dan under Roy's boot.
[Note: Orcmen]
[Racial Trait: Crawling Hunger]
[Remark: So long as breath remains, hunger gnaws. Cannibalizing kin strengthens the self. Eating outsiders restores Nen and steals their "data," including Nen abilities.]
"Roar!" Three half–corpses down, the General shuddered with pleasure. Its aura changed.
[Alert: Orc General evolving…]
[Orc Warlord]
[Manifest Nen: B (10000/1000000)]
[Latent Nen: B (99999/1000000)]
[Assessment: B-class monster, cap ~B+, nips at the Ant King's heels]
Prompts stacked like death warrants, all but telling Roy to run.
"So… do I punch the King now?" he said softly.
He drew a long breath and forced the fear flat.
He had just found his footing—
—and blinked—
—because the Warlord's thrown mace pulped his head.
21:15. Memory nailed to the second Roy died.
~~~
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