Forsaken Hunter-Chapter 10: Trial by Combat

The guild hall was a maelstrom of life—a sprawling cavern pulsing with a chaotic symphony of sound that battered the senses.

Nervous chatter ricocheted off rough-hewn stone walls, a jagged chorus of voices—some sharp with brittle triumph, others low and fractured with despair.

Candidates milled in restless clusters, their boots scuffing the worn floor, kicking up faint dust clouds that shimmered in the flickering glow of mana-infused sconces.

The victors of the Mana Test buzzed with fragile pride, their laughter edged with nerves—like sparks threatening to ignite dry tinder—while the defeated slumped against chipped pillars or hunched on benches, faces shadowed, eyes hollow as their dreams crumbled under the trial's ruthless verdict.

The air hung thick and heavy, laced with the sour sting of sweat, the metallic bite of anxiety, and the greasy whiff of abandoned trays—half-eaten bread crusts and congealed stew left to rot in the chaos.

At the storm's heart stood Franky—a scarred colossus, forged in blood and fire. His broad shoulders strained against a battered leather coat, the deep scar slashing his cheek glinting like a blade under the dim light.

His presence hit like a hammer, silencing the din as his gravelly voice erupted—a landslide of raw power. "Alright, brats! Results are in!" He paused—letting the words settle like ash after a blast, his cruel grin baring yellowed teeth worn by years of grit. "72 passed. 87 failed. That's the hunter world—sink or swim."

His massive hand rose, fingers splayed—a gesture dripping menace as he drank in the crowd's unease.

"You survivors... round two's next. Written exam. Yeah, I know—boo-hoo. Pens up, heads down. Too dumb to pass? Crawl home and cry about it."

A tidal groan swept the hall—dismay crashing like a wave. Curses slipped out in jagged whispers—"Shit, seriously?"—while nervous chuckles faltered, fragile as embers in a damp wind.

Tension coiled tighter, a serpent poised to strike. But Beno Mark stood apart—hazel eyes sparkling with a reckless thrill, lips twitching into a faint, defiant grin.

His lean frame buzzed with energy, a live wire defying the room's weight. Where others saw a wall, he saw a door—and he was itching to kick it down.

Franky's voice still echoed as Beno bolted—boots pounding the stone in a staccato rhythm, a wild pulse that reverberated through the hall.

His grin stretched wide—a slash of white against his tanned face, messy brown hair bouncing with each stride.

His movements were light, almost buoyant—like he'd swallowed a storm and it was lifting him off the ground.

The Mana Test's brutal weight sloughed off, replaced by a throbbing exhilaration igniting his veins.

The waiting room was a pocket of stillness—walls draped with faded tapestries, threads unraveling under time's slow decay, depicting hunters long turned to dust.

Luna leaned against the far wall, her slim frame wrapped in a worn leather jacket, arms crossed tight. Her dark hair fell in loose waves, catching the faint glow of a lantern, while her amber eyes tracked Beno's approach with an amused smirk teetering on warmth.

"Not in a hurry to chill, huh?" Her voice was dry as desert sand, laced with a teasing edge that danced like a blade's tip.

Beno skidded to a halt, chest heaving, grin unshaken. "Too pumped!" His laugh burst free—bright, unrestrained, chasing shadows into the corners.

"That was easy!" His hands flexed, fingers twitching with restless fire, as if he could punch through the next trial right then.

Luna's brow arched, smirk sharpening. "Don't get too full of yourself. Second trial's waiting to chew you up." Her tone cut, but her eyes softened—a flicker of pride she couldn't hide.

His grin widened—fists clenching, a tremble of excitement rippling through him. But beneath it, a shadow of sorrow flickered—so quick it could've been a trick of the light.

"Easy!" he shot back, voice bold and brash. "We'll find Renzo in no time—once I'm strong enough." His tone dipped—a raw, unguarded vow slipping free: "Wait for me, Renzo... I'll find you. I swear it." His gaze clouded, staring past her—lost to a memory of a brother, a promise unkept, heavy as chains.

Luna caught it—the crack in his armor, the ache behind his fire.

Her smirk faltered—softening into a gentle curve, her eyes lingering with a tenderness she buried fast. She tossed a playful jab, voice light to pull them back. "Confidence bites back, you know. Don't trip over your own ego."

Beno blinked—the haze lifting, a wink flashing with his old spark. "With you around, I can handle anything!"

Her cheeks bloomed pink—a faint flush creeping up her neck. She turned her head sharp, hiding the smile tugging her lips, and cleared her throat with a dramatic huff. "Hmph.

Just study, alright? Don't embarrass me out there."

"You're the best teacher I've got!" he chirped, voice a lifeline of light piercing the dim.

Their banter wove a fragile shield—a moment's peace against the storm beyond.

But in the shadows, a darker gaze pierced their warmth. Charles lingered near the doorway—his tall, wiry frame half-shrouded by a tapestry's edge.

His wild red hair gleamed like embers, but his amber eyes were ice—locked on Beno's grin with unblinking fury. His fists clenched—nails biting deep, drawing dark beads of blood that glistened against pale skin.

A sickening disgust churned in his gut, twisting tighter with every laugh Beno let slip. That smile... so damn infuriating. He doesn't belong here—not after what he did.

His jaw tightened—teeth grinding with a faint creak—a vow hissing out, low and venomous: "I'll crush you, Beno Mark. Just wait."

The exam hall was a sea of dread—its vastness swallowed by rows of scarred wooden desks stretching into the gloom.

The ceiling towered high, studded with mana-lit chandeliers casting a cold, flickering glow—jagged shadows spilling across the stone floor like spilled ink.

Examiners prowled the aisles—dark guild uniforms crisp, silver badges glinting like eyes in the dark, their sharp gazes enforcing a suffocating silence that pressed like stone on the chest. The air thickened—dense with the sharp scent of ink, undercut by the metallic tang of fear.

Papers hit desks with a soft thud, pages rustling—a fragile thread in the stillness. A wiry candidate near the front—hair plastered with sweat—whispered, voice trembling: "A written test? This ain't some damn school!"

A broad-shouldered girl with a scarred cheek groaned into her hands, muffled and raw: "I'm screwed. This is impossible."

Beno sat midway back—his paper a battlefield before him. He skimmed the first question—"List three strategies for surviving an E-rank goblin horde"—and blinked.

Then flipped to the next—"Describe the mana flow of a D-rank slime core"—and the next—"Explain the ecological impact of a dungeon break." A grin broke free—bright, unguarded, lighting his face like a torch in the dark. "Woah! This is easy!" he blurted—a thunderclap shattering the silence.

The room froze—heads whipping toward him, jaws dropping in shock. A sea of eyes—some incredulous, some furious—pinned him like arrows.

An examiner—a stern woman with a tight bun, clipboard clutched like a shield—glared over wire-rimmed glasses. "Maintain silence, or you're disqualified!" Her bark was cold, each word a lash cutting the air.

Beno scratched his head—cheeks reddening, sinking low in his seat. "Uh... sorry," he mumbled, grin fading to a sheepish quirk, his voice small under her stare.

Whispers hissed fast—venom spreading:

"What the hell's wrong with him?" a girl with braided hair snarled, leaning close to her neighbor. "He's a damn psycho," a boy with a patchy beard muttered, shaking his head.

Beno's mind drifted—unfazed, a vision blooming. Luna perched on a golden throne, her dark hair cascading like midnight, amber eyes glowing with wisdom.

Thanks, Luna. Every late night, every quiz—you drilled this into me. Her voice echoed—steady, sure: "You've got this, Beno." He bent over his paper—pen flying, answers flowing like a river unleashed.

Two hours later, a deep bell tolled—vibrating through the hall. Papers stacked in uneven piles, the room exhaled—tension easing like a bow unstrung.

Beno burst into the hallway—heart pounding, boots skidding on polished stone as he spotted Luna by the results board.

The massive slab loomed—runes pulsing faintly, a judge of fates. Luna stood with arms crossed—her knowing smirk a quiet welcome, leather jacket creaking as she shifted.

"So easy!" he crowed—bouncing on his heels, voice ringing with joy. "You're amazing, Luna!" His eyes shone—wide, bright, reflecting torchlight.

She chuckled—soft, warm, curling around him like a shield, brushing hair from her face with a flick. "I know. No big deal," she teased—her smile crinkling her eyes, real and unguarded.

A staff member's voice boomed—amplified, cutting through: "Exam results in 15 minutes. Check the board." The words echoed—a proclamation of destiny.

Beno's excitement surged—body vibrating, eyes feverish. "This is it, Luna! My chance!" His voice trembled—hope raw and heavy.

Whispers slithered nearby—sharp, cutting:

"That guy's weird..." a lanky boy muttered, eyeing Beno with disdain.

"Up one second, down the next—total roller coaster," a girl with a sharp nose snickered, mocking.

Luna's eyes narrowed—a chill radiating, air thickening. Her glare sliced through—the gossipers froze, skin prickling:

"Uh... washroom's that way—" the boy stammered, backing off, tripping over his feet. "Wait up!" the girl squeaked—bolting after him, bravado crumbling.

They scattered—roaches under torchlight. Luna sighed—exasperation softening to concern. Beno's grin faded—hands trembling, a battle flickering in his eyes—pride clashing with doubt. She grabbed his wrist—firm, warm.

"Forget them," she said—low, steady, cutting his haze. "You've earned food. Let's go."

She tugged him toward the cafeteria—her touch a lifeline. The world warped—colors sharpening, sounds fading—her presence a tether he hadn't known he needed.

Fifteen minutes later, the hall was a throng—candidates shoving to the board, runes flickering, names solidifying. Beno elbowed through—breath catching, eyes locking on:

Rank 2: Beno Mark.

His chest swelled—pride and disbelief crashing, a grin forming—slow, unsteady, then blazing. "I... I did it. Rank 2... thank you, Luna," he whispered—voice thick, fingers brushing the air, tracing her name in his mind.

Charles strode in—his red hair a fiery crown, amber eyes hitting the board: Rank 1: Charles. His smirk twisted—cruel, sliding to Rank 2. Contempt flared—low, venomous: "Disgusting," he spat.

Cheers buzzed—"Charles, you're a legend!"—but his smile was ice, praise twisting thorns in his pride.

"Luna..." Beno's joy dimmed—a frown creasing his brow. "I don't know my ability from the awakening."

Her head snapped toward him—eyes widening, shock trembling her voice. "What?! No notification? No flash? Nothing?"

He shrugged—frustration etching lines, hands flexing. "Nope. No voice, no pop-up. Like it never happened."

Luna's face darkened—concern swallowing her tease, eyes searching his with intensity. She stepped closer—boots scuffing, voice dropping urgent. "It'll show in combat. That's the only way."

Doubt cracked his bravado—gaze dropping to his scarred hands, trembling. "What if it's useless? What if I've got nothing?"

Her hand found his—squeezing with quiet ferocity, warm and steady. "You'll fight," she said—firm, unyielding. "You'll push through. I know you will." Her eyes softened—trust shining, piercing the storm. "I trust you, Beno. More than anything."

"Combat Skill Test, White Room Hall Underground. Passed candidates, proceed." The announcement cracked over the speakers—a call to arms.

Beno wove through—heart racing, pulse a drumbeat. The White Room loomed—a stark descent, 18 candidates scattered at the threshold—Rio, Joy, Annie, Charles among them, the rest dust. The air thickened—metallic, a prelude to blood.

The White Room was a void—blinding white walls smooth as glass, reflecting harsh lights in a dizzying glare. The floor gleamed—polished stone mirroring every move. Silence pressed—broken by a mana hum. Beyond a thick glass panel, Franky and officials watched—eyes cold, predatory.

"Beno Mark!" Franky's voice roared—a thunderclap.

Beno stepped forward—breath shallow, chest tight. "Yes, Sir," he said—steady, despite trembling hands.

The door hissed shut—sealing him in, air shifting—charged, prickling his skin. A robotic wolf faced him—sleek metal glinting, red eyes glowing with menace, claws clicking a rhythmic tap-tap-tap.

Beno grimaced—gripping his notched sword. A robot? That's it? Disappointment flickered.

It lunged—blindingly fast, claws slashing—missing his chest by a breath, wind ruffling his shirt.

His sword snapped up—clang—metal meeting metal, force shoving him back, boots squealing. His heart hammered—unease creeping, breath catching.

Beyond the glass, Rio sneered—voice dripping mockery: "He can't keep up. Pathetic."

Joy snickered—arms crossed: "Two minutes 'til he's scrap."

Annie smirked—cruel: "Weak. Why's he even here?"

The wolf circled—relentless. Beno blocked—impact jarring, stealing breath in ragged gasps. Think, damn it! Sweat stung his eyes, legs trembling.

Officials murmured—disdain humming:

"He's flailing. Done," a thin man muttered. "A joke," a woman agreed—flat, dismissive.

Franky's voice cut—cold, commanding: "Take it seriously. Show the dark power."

Beno collapsed—knees slamming stone, pain shooting up his spine.

Sweat soaked him—breaths desperate. The wolf loomed—claws poised. I failed... The thought sank—heavy, final—vision blurring.

Then—a surge. Electricity crackled—wild, igniting his veins with ferocious heat. His aura flared—lightning dancing, blue-white tendrils snapping, illuminating the room in a blinding flash. His hands shook—sword trembling with power.

"I'm not done!" he growled—low, guttural, defiance clawing free. The wolf lunged—he swung. A lightning bolt erupted—searing, smashing the beast with a deafening crack. A shockwave rippled—metal exploding into sparks and ruin, red eyes winking out.

Beno stood—chest heaving, sparks skittering. Silence rang.

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Rio choked—sneer gone: "Lightning?!"

Joy gaped: "What is he?"

Annie stared—smirk erased: "How...?"

Franky grinned—slow, intrigued: "Well, well. A contender."

Charles watched from the shadows—malice alive, amber eyes gleaming feral. His smile bared teeth—wicked, fingers scraping glass, a faint crack spreading. "You think you've won, Beno Mark?" His murmur dripped venom—lost in the hum. "You've barely begun."

His eyes flashed—rage storming, unrelenting. "I'll avenge my sister," he hissed—a vow carved deep. "You'll pay for abandoning her to die." His mana flared—red heat pulsing, fading as the glass creaked.

[End of Chapter]