The next morning, with Mori settled into his role as the manor's new head of security and training, Kevin made his final preparations. The dynamic in the mansion had shifted again; Mori's calm, grounded presence was a different kind of anchor than Kevin's intense, strategic focus. The training regimen began not with aura exercises, but with foundational physical conditioning and meditation techniques designed to sharpen focus and bodily awareness—the bedrock upon which Nen control is built.
Kevin watched from his window as Mori led the three Kurta and a reluctantly participating Neon through a series of slow, deliberate movements in the garden. There was no talk of vengeance, only of breath, balance, and endurance. It was exactly what they needed.
Satisfied, Kevin shouldered his pack. It was time. He said brief, purposeful goodbyes.
To Light in his study: "The forge is yours. Run it well. I'll return with the license."
To Mori in the yard, during a water break: "They're in your hands. Build the vessel. I'll fill it with Nen when I return."
To the Kurta, their faces already sheened with honest sweat: "Your path starts here. Listen to Mori. Master your bodies. I'll be back to teach you to master your souls."
To Neon, who was pouting after being made to hold a difficult stance: "The sparkles you feel when you concentrate? That's your strength. Master Mori will help you find more of them."
An hour later, Kevin was on a private Nostra jet, heading north. The prophecy's directions—"Lift your head and go north; the white-haired friend is already waiting"—were his flight plan. He spent the journey reviewing everything he knew about the Hunter Exam's infamous, often lethal, practical phases, and mentally cataloging the properties of the basic potions he had prepared and stored in Light's new, high-security vault.
His landing point was a windswept, grey coastal city. The air smelled of salt, fish, and industrial exhaust. Following the clues from both the prophecy and his own gathered intelligence, he made his way to a dilapidated dockyard in the oldest part of the port. Among the rotting hulls and rusting cranes sat a single, ominous-looking iron-hulled ship. It was older than anything else in the harbor, its plates stained with decades of grime, yet it sat impossibly high in the water, as if it were empty. This was the "iron ship destined to be buried at the bottom of the sea." The exam's starting point.
Dozens of other applicants loitered in the shadows of the warehouses, their eyes sharp, assessing. Kevin ignored them, his senses extended in a subtle En, not to probe, but to listen. He was looking for a specific aura.
He didn't have to look for long.
Leaning against a corroded bollard, apart from the main crowd, was a tall, lean man. He wore simple, travel-worn clothes, and his hair was indeed a shocking, pristine white, cropped short. He looked young, perhaps in his late twenties, but his eyes, when they met Kevin's across the dock, held a depth that spoke of far more years. They were the same eyes from the border-town library, but now they held no surprise, only a quiet expectation.
Kevin walked over, the noise of the harbor fading into background static. The white-haired man straightened up, a faint, unreadable smile on his lips.
"You're late," the man said, his voice a low, clear tenor. "I've been watching this rust bucket for three days."
"The prophecy said you'd be waiting," Kevin replied, stopping a few feet away. "It didn't specify an arrival time. I'm Kevin."
"I know." The man's smile didn't reach his eyes. "You can call me Lin. Or 'the friend,' if you prefer the poetry. Though 'friend' might be presumptuous. Let's say… a concerned party. One who has been waiting for the heir to a certain 'inheritance' to stop running and start looking for answers."
The word 'heir' landed with the weight of the prophecy. The "long-awaited trial of inheritance."
"The stone," Kevin said. "From the library."
Lin nodded. "A beacon. It crumbled when it confirmed what you are. Or rather, who you are connected to. Your presence here, now, means you're ready—or as ready as you can be—for the trial. This exam," he gestured with his chin towards the iron ship, where examiners were beginning to appear on deck, "is a preamble. A filter. Your real test begins after. Assuming you pass this one."
He fell into step beside Kevin as they moved with the crowd beginning to board the ship. "Don't expect help from me during the exam," Lin said casually. "I'm a candidate, same as you. But afterwards… we have much to discuss. About your 'A Moment's Dream.' About the alchemist who came before you. And about why the spiders you've tangled with might be the least of your worries."
With that, he melted into the press of applicants heading up the gangplank.
Kevin boarded the iron ship, the cold metal under his hand feeling like the first page of a new, dangerous chapter. The Hunter Exam was a gate. Lin, the white-haired 'friend,' was the guide on the other side, pointing toward the "trial of inheritance." The pieces of his life in this world—the Kurta, Light's empire, his own mysterious origin—were no longer separate threads. They were converging, and this rusting ship was carrying him directly into the knot.
As the ship's engines groaned to life, pulling away from the dock towards the open, frigid sea, Kevin stood at the rail. He looked back at the shrinking city, thinking of the manor in Lutto, the training in the garden, the potions in the vault. Then he looked ahead, to the horizon and the white-haired figure leaning against the far rail.
He had come to this exam for a license. He now understood he was really here for a key. And the inheritance it unlocked was a legacy far more ancient and perilous than a mafia pharmaceutical empire or a feud with a band of thieves. The forge was lit back home. Here, on the cold northern sea, he was about to step into the crucible of his own past.
The forest path, illuminated by fragments of moonlight piercing the thick canopy, was eerily silent except for their footsteps and the distant, unsettling calls of nocturnal creatures. Goreinu's reminder hung in the damp air.
"The guide," Bajiao explained, his voice low. "For the first phase, we're not just racing to North Blue Port. We have to find the guide—the examiner—first. They're somewhere between here and the port, and they set the pace. Last year, the guide was a crazy old man on a mountain bike who made us chase him through a swamp. If you fall too far behind and lose sight of them, you're eliminated."
Kevin processed this. It made the challenge more dynamic, less a simple marathon and more a test of tracking, endurance, and adaptability in real-time. "So the real race hasn't started yet. We're just moving towards the starting line."
"Exactly," Goreinu nodded. "And the guides… they don't make it easy. They'll take the most punishing routes, through terrain that's difficult to traverse quickly. And there are usually… obstacles. Not set by the examiners, but by the environment, or sometimes by other applicants who see thinning the competition as a valid strategy."
As if on cue, a guttural roar echoed from the darkness to their left, followed by the sound of snapping branches. Something large was moving parallel to them, keeping pace.
Bajiao's hand went to the hunting knife at his belt. "See? The 'fierce beasts' weren't an empty warning. That's probably a Bloodfang Boar. Nasty temperament, thick hide. A distraction we don't need."
Kevin didn't break stride. He was analyzing. A direct confrontation was a waste of energy and time. The goal was the guide, not monster hunting. He reached into his pack and pulled out a small, opaque vial.
"Keep walking. Don't look at it," he instructed quietly.
He cracked the vial's seal and tossed it gently into the underbrush in the direction of the crashing sounds. There was no explosion, no flash. Instead, a potent, cloying stench of rotting meat and sulfur bloomed in the air, so thick it was almost visible. The aggressive crashing stopped immediately, replaced by a confused, disgusted snort, then the sound of the creature rapidly retreating in the opposite direction.
"Stench Grenade," Kevin explained, tucking his hand back into his pocket. "Non-toxic. Just makes anything with a sense of smell think there's a giant, putrid carcass nearby. Most predators will avoid it."
Goreinu looked impressed. "You come prepared."
"A Hunter's tools aren't just their fists," Kevin said, echoing something Ging had muttered once. "Efficiency is key."
They picked up their pace, the unsettling silence returning. After another hour of swift, silent travel, Bajiao, who had the sharpest eyes of the three, held up a hand. "Up ahead. A clearing. And… a light."
They slowed, moving to the edge of the trees. In a small, rocky clearing, a campfire crackled. Sitting on a log by the fire, calmly roasting what looked like a large lizard on a spit, was a wiry woman with her hair tied in a severe bun. She wore practical, rugged clothing and a Hunter Association badge was pinned casually to her lapel. This was no lost applicant.
"The guide," Bajiao whispered.
But she wasn't alone. Lying motionless around the edges of the firelight were three other figures—applicants by their gear. They weren't dead; their chests rose and fell slowly, but they were clearly unconscious or incapacitated.
The woman examiner glanced up as they emerged from the treeline, her eyes glinting in the firelight. She didn't seem surprised.
"Took you long enough," she said, her voice raspy. "The slowpokes are already napping." She gestured with her chin at the unconscious forms. "They thought ambushing the guide was a shortcut. It was a detour into dreamland." She took a bite of the lizard, chewing thoughtfully. "Name's Menchi. I'll be your guide for this leg. Rule is simple: keep up. I leave at first light. If you lose sight of me before we reach North Blue Port, you're out. Try anything funny like these three," she kicked a pebble that bounced off one snoozing applicant's helmet, "and you'll join them for a much longer nap."
Menchi. Kevin recognized the name. One of the Hunters who had taken the exam with Mori. A Gourmet Hunter. This explained the lizard—she was probably evaluating its taste as she traveled.
Menchi's sharp eyes scanned them, lingering on Kevin for a half-second longer. "You. The one who reeks of chemicals. You cleared the Bloodfang Boar without a fight. Smart. Don't get cocky. The forest has worse." She looked at Bajiao and Goreinu. "A repeater and a… what are you, a wrestler? Fine. Get some rest. You have four hours until dawn. I suggest you use them."
She turned back to her meal, dismissing them.
The three of them moved to a spot a respectful distance from the fire, under the shelter of a large overhang. The first hurdle was cleared—they'd found the guide. The next would be keeping pace with a Gourmet Hunter who likely had the stamina of a marathon runner and the terrain knowledge of a mountain goat.
As Kevin settled against his pack, he watched Menchi. This was the "smiling guide" from the prophecy's warning? She wasn't smiling. But the "spider's thread" that ran through that place… was that a metaphor for the Trap of the exam itself, or something more literal?
He closed his eyes, not to sleep, but to meditate, conserving every joule of energy. The real exam started at dawn. And according to the prophecy, a critical choice involving a "vial" awaited him. He was ready. The forge back home was operating. Here, in the wilds, he was the tool being tested. And soon, he would see if he was sharp enough to cut through whatever the Hunter Association—and fate—threw at him.g