I have stared into the flames of hell, and I have crawled through the human world, feeling the chill and warmth of people, the churn of fate—keeping that feeble fire in my chest alive…
On the cusp of death I shed my mortal shell. My soul returned to the spirit realm. A thousand years passed; I fought without number, led death gods from all quarters, and wrought an era of my own—yet when I looked back, I still could not withstand the turn of ages; even a spirit body decays…
I was not willing—unwilling to sink. I asked myself over and over: What is eternity? How does one become 'eternal'?
Until I lifted my head—and saw the sun.
Fwoosh… A blaze of orange-red, a core of blinding white.
Heat ripples warped the air.
Roy's battered face settled into calm. He gripped the twin blades as if holding two small suns.
Under the stunned eyes of Beyond, Pariston, Netero, and Zeno, he lifted them lightly, swept crosswise—
A thin crimson line whispered out along the edge…
It skimmed the ghoul-head spider horde like a pair of scissors through paper, silently halving them.
Boom!
The world paused for the briefest instant—then nearly eight hundred spiders detonated in unison.
Shockwaves heaved turf and roared toward Roy—and melted into steam before reaching him, consumed by the flames blazing on his twin blades.
"Hah—"
A few seconds later, silence fell.
Roy let out a slow breath, turned with a flick, sheathed both swords—then blinked out of the scarred clearing.
[Hint: Life Energy +8]
Meanwhile, at the grill by the venue entrance…
Netero and Zeno exchanged a look. For a heartbeat neither spoke.
That "flame-qi" was plain to see: the boy had used the sun as his visualization, then layered Ken—a heavy concentration of Nen—along the edges to burn it into the steel.
"I do seem to recall someone saying my grandson wouldn't last," Zeno's white hair fluttered as he glanced at Netero, lips tipping in a small sneer. "Tell me—has he lasted now?"
Nearly a thousand ghoul-head spiders cremated with one stroke—this wasn't just Ken. It screamed of a huge Nen reserve behind the scene. "Wouldn't last," where?
"Heh-heh-heh…" Netero played dumb. What could he say—contradict Zeno? Criticize the kid? He wasn't an idiot.
The boy had come for the hunter exam; pass it and he was Association from then on. Plenty of time to cultivate that bond.
We'll make him an Isaac yet, the old man thought darkly.
Clap… clap… clap.
Applause rippled through a lavish study in the Kakin capital.
Beyond stood before the massive TV, watching the swamp turned to a charnel field, the spider army gone to slag in one cut. "Has the old man's bite," he murmured with relish.
Same domineering, same no-discussion approach—only difference: one used fists, the other, blades.
He glanced at Pariston. The boy had clamped his legs together and ducked his head, fighting off a shiver; Beyond frowned. "Control yourself. You can't beat him yet. Going back now is pointless."
"Heh-heh… I know—I always know…" Pariston's grin was a twisted rictus, excitement and pain mingling. "That's why you hold me down! Roy Zoldyck—he's too good! If he'd just stabbed me dead back then, I wouldn't be suffering here…"
Beyond understood. He looked out toward the pier. Four o'clock, and the quayside burned with activity as workers raised the hull of a colossal ship—his Black Whale, the dream of the second half of his life. Roy was to Pariston what the Dark Continent was to Beyond: the one and only dream.
Nothing hurts like love you can't have. The old man wanted to smash his dream; Beyond had no choice—so he'd smash the old man first, even if that old man was his father.
Milsy Wetland
When the shock finally cleared, Botobai flinched and cut the control lines to his spider army. Captain Youke's radio squealed with a dead tone.
"Report!" Youke barked to himself, then to the air. "Suicide unit expended. Target not neutralized. Request deployment of special operations—"
"Denied." Botobai shut it down instantly. He stood, arms folded, meeting the boy's gaze through the lens. Whether reassuring himself or explaining to Youke, he said calmly, "It's an exercise, not counterterror; there's no need to waste the soldiers."
"Yes, sir!" Youke snapped a crisp salute. Nen flowed from Botobai's brow—"Youke Captain" dissolved back into him.
Botobai waited in silence. Moments later the underground command door swung open. On the monitor, the boy was gone.
"…Congratulations." He turned around. He'd known it the moment he saw Roy's cut. "That stroke was impressive."
"Forced," Roy said honestly. "Another wave like that and I'd have folded."
Residual Flame Blades—the Ken-forged flame edge—hit too hard; one sweep cleared the board and nearly emptied him out. Not a trick to sling around lightly.
"Whatever the case, you made it." Botobai set aside rank, stepped forward, and offered his right hand, solemn. "Roy Zoldyck—congratulations. You've passed this cycle's Hunter Exam."
"Thank you." Roy clasped hands, looked him in the eye. "May I ask something rude?"
"Ask."
"How much strength did you use in there?"
"Twenty percent."
Pure Botobai—blunt as an iron bar. He looked down at the boy. "At your age, I was worse. But now—you're still green."
Roy nodded. "Thank you for the truth."
Botobai waved it away. "Out that door, right turn, five kilometers—little hut. Pick up your license."
"Understood." Roy turned to go.
"Boy," Botobai called after him, "I look forward to your growth."
Roy smiled, stepped through. A gust blew between worlds and split them.
Botobai leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, watching the figure recede. For a breath he saw a scarfed boy from long ago—young, limitless potential. Hard not to envy.
Knock, knock, knock.
Ten minutes later.
Roy strolled the wetland's peculiar landscape until he spotted, half-hidden by trees, a shack. He rapped on the panel.
"Enter."
The door creaked open. Inside, Netero sat behind a rough-hewn table—alone. A quick glance: no Zeno.
"Don't bother," Netero said. "He's gone."
He pointed to the chair. "Sit."
Beans poured two cups of tea—one for the chairman, one for Roy. Steam curled as Roy accepted it, unabashed.
Netero flicked his eyes, and Beans produced a small card—the card—and set to reading the Ten Hunter Precepts in the same sing-song he used for all who passed.
"(1) As a Hunter, you must hunt a target.
(2) As a Hunter, you must master at least basic martial skills.
(3) Once obtained, a Hunter License is never revoked nor reissued, under any circumstances.
(4) …"
Roy turned the license in his hand and listened. Rules mattered less than power. With enough power, rules bend, break—or are written by your hand. Netero was "strongest human," hence the Association's weight, privileges, and the line of elites begging to be tested each year. And yes—the Association truly had recruited giants: like Gairu, like Botobai, like Ging.
"(10) All unsettled matters are decided by a council of Chairman, Vice-Chairman, and Advisors. The Chairman may appoint the Vice-Chairman and Advisors."
Beans stepped back. The room belonged to two.
Netero lifted his tea, eyes bright. "Well then, Roy-chan—you heard him. Interested in serving as one of my advisors?"
As an advisor, or as a toy for when the chairman was bored? Roy could not deny that the future Zodiacs held lofty weight in the Association—but that weight came with "work," endless meetings, and the politics of step-worn halls. He raised his hand, showing the brand ticking down his life. Half a day gone, eight hours burned.
"Survive first," he said, simply.
Netero nodded—he'd expected that. With a lazy flip he tossed a round medallion across the table.
Roy snagged it, turned it over. Front: a man's profile. Back: two crossed axes.
"Zigg left that," Netero grinned. "It's a 'Knight's Medal'—so he claimed—bestowed by Domir, King of Giants. With it, you pass the palace without announcement, enter the throne room without bowing. Priceless, he said."
He mimicked Zigg's drawl and chuckled. "The old coot loved his tall tales. Is it true? How should I know? I never made it to Dorragun."
Wait—hadn't Zigg, Netero, and Linne gone together? Then… they split? Netero's eyes crinkled.
"Zigg says you've honored him—so you've seen the sandworm." He sipped. "Thank it kindly—one surge, we were scattered."
Makes sense. That thing's Ren alone nearly pressed Roy flat. He slipped the medallion away carefully.
Netero set down his cup and looked the boy in the eye. "Down to business. Kid—
What kind of Hunter do you want to be?"
Rule one: a Hunter must hunt a quarry. "Professional Hunters" branch by craft—bounty hunters, gourmet hunters, beast hunters, relic hunters like Ging... Life's short; choose and the road chooses you.
Netero waited.
Roy stared into the tea, thumb rubbing the brand, then lifted his head. "Feels like I don't have a choice. I'll have to kill a god for a lark…"
"Godslayer Hunter," then."
Beans: "…"
Did that sound like a job? "Killing a god for a lark"? There's no such classification—
"What, not allowed?"
"Ho-ho-ho-ho!" Netero's laugh rattled the rafters, startling birds from the shingles. His eyes gleamed. He remembered the riverside talk: a boy chasing freedom. He grew serious. "If that day truly comes, and I'm still breathing—let me witness it."
Tick-tock, tick-tock—the curse clicked on, shaving another minute from his life.
Roy slid the license into his pocket, rose, and pulled open the door.
"I hope you won't be waiting long."
The door thumped shut behind him.
Tap… tap…
Footfalls faded.
Netero sat where he was, like Botobai before him, and watched the boy's back recede through the window. He tipped the teacup and drank the last of it in a single swallow.
"Good tea."
~~~
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