The biting wind of Mount Kabuku's peak seemed to carry with it the echoes of triumph and exhaustion. Below them, the world stretched out in a breathtaking, if frigid, panorama. The surviving applicants, a mere fraction of the ten thousand who had started, huddled together, their faces etched with a mix of relief and profound weariness.
Fyodor, ever calm and collected despite the extreme altitude, surveyed the huddled masses before him. His voice, clear and resonant, carried across the frigid air.
"Congratulations again, applicants. You have faced an unparalleled test of endurance, and you have emerged victorious. You are truly among the most resilient individuals in the Dark Star System."
A collective, weak cheer rose from the summit. Many simply slumped to the ground, too spent for anything more. Adam felt a bone-deep ache radiate through every muscle, a testament to the brutal demands of the run, the swim, and the climb. He looked at his companions – Panchenko, barely able to stand; Astrid, shivering uncontrollably despite her resilient nature; Julian, his usually stoic face drawn with fatigue; Tom, pale but with a faint, triumphant grin; and Edward, whose usual composure was now subtly marred by a faint sheen of frost on his pale skin.
Just as Fyodor finished speaking, a deep, resonating bell chime echoed from somewhere below, its sound surprisingly clear even at this altitude. It was a familiar signal from the Guild Hall, indicating an official announcement.
Fyodor nodded, acknowledging the chime. "That signals the end of the Second Exam. Out of the five thousand who attempted this trial, only two thousand of you have passed."
Another wave of gasps, followed by the quiet sighs of the defeated, rippled through the dwindling crowd. The culling was even more severe than the first. Only two thousand remained from the initial ten thousand.
"For those of you who have pushed your limits and reached this summit, you have earned a reprieve," Fyodor continued, his voice softer now, almost empathetic. "Your bodies are undoubtedly screaming for rest.
Therefore, the Guild has granted you a necessary period of recovery."
A collective sigh of relief swept across the peak. The thought of immediate further challenges was almost unbearable.
"The Third Exam will be held on the day after tomorrow," Fyodor announced. "You have two full days to rest and recuperate. It will be overseen by Kafka, and he will brief you on its specifics then. For now, descend Mount Kabuku carefully. Rescue teams are stationed at various points for those unable to make the journey back unassisted. Good luck, and congratulations once more."
With that, Fyodor gave a slight bow and then, to their surprise, began to descend the mountain with an almost effortless grace, disappearing into the swirling mists. The remaining applicants began their slow, cautious descent, their focus now solely on rest.
The journey down Mount Kabuku was nearly as arduous as the ascent. Their muscles, already protesting from the climb, screamed with every downward step. The cold wind seemed to cut deeper. Adam felt like his legs were made of lead, each movement a conscious, painful effort.
Rescue teams were indeed present, offering aid and sometimes even transport for those too exhausted to continue. Adam and his group, however, stubbornly refused assistance, a silent pact of self-reliance forged in Kazakhar. They walked, stumbled, and occasionally slid, but they made it all the way back to Namil City under their own power.
By the time they reached their rented cabin, the black sun had long set, and the city lights twinkled like scattered jewels. They were utterly, profoundly spent. Their clothes were torn, their skin chapped and cold, and every single joint and muscle screamed in protest.
"I… I can't feel my legs," Panchenko groaned, collapsing onto the cabin floor the moment they stepped inside.
Astrid simply nodded, too tired to even take off her boots. Julian leaned against the wall, his head bowed, his sword still clutched in a white-knuckled grip. Tom swayed on his feet, his eyes half-closed. Even Edward, usually indefatigable, moved with a subtle slowness, his movements deliberate.
"Beds," Adam managed, his voice hoarse. "Just… beds."
They stripped off their grimy, cold clothes, leaving them in a pile. The simple, clean mattresses of their cabin had never looked more inviting. They collapsed onto them, almost in unison, too exhausted even for conversation. The moment their bodies hit the soft surface, sleep claimed them, a deep, immediate oblivion that blotted out the aches, the cold, and the lingering tension.
For the next almost twenty-four hours, they slept. It was a sleep born of utter exhaustion, a profound unconsciousness that allowed their battered bodies to begin the slow, arduous process of repair.
When Adam finally woke, the cabin was bathed in the soft glow of the late morning sun. He stirred, feeling the lingering stiffness in his muscles, but also a remarkable sense of rejuvenation. The deep sleep had worked wonders. He sat up, stretching cautiously, feeling his joints pop and crack.
He looked around. Panchenko was still snoring, a rhythmic rumble. Astrid was already up, sitting by the window, quietly meditating. Julian was performing slow, deliberate stretches, his movements fluid despite the previous day's ordeal. Tom was, surprisingly, already dressed and tinkering with a salvaged piece of tech he'd found. Edward, of course, was by the window, observing the city.
"Good morning," Adam said, his voice clearer than yesterday. "Anyone else feel like they got hit by a cargo hauler?"
Panchenko groaned, rolling over. "Worse. A cargo hauler driven by a very angry troll." He slowly sat up, rubbing his eyes. "But I'm alive. And starving."
"Food, then," Astrid said, opening her eyes. "My body needs serious fuel after that."
They decided to visit Marcus's pub again. The walk felt less like a death march and more like a gentle stroll. The Namilian morning was vibrant, full of the sounds and smells of daily life.
Marcus greeted them with a booming laugh as they entered. "Well, look at you lot! You look ten times better than yesterday! I heard the climb up Kabuku was a real killer. How many made it?"
"Only two thousand, Marcus," Adam replied, taking a seat at their usual round table.
"They don't make it easy."
"That's the Adventurers' Guild for you," Marcus chuckled, placing steaming mugs of hot, aromatic brew before them. "Only the best of the best. What can I get you today? You lot look like you could eat a whole herd of Azron Boars."
They ordered an enormous breakfast, a spread of savory meats, fluffy pastries, and sweet, energizing fruits. As they ate, the conversation naturally turned to the upcoming exam.
"So, Kafka," Tom began, taking a bite of a savory roll. "The overseer for the Third Exam. His reputation suggests he focuses on challenges that require precise, almost surgical skill. And Fyodor said it's about speed."
"Speed and agility, more likely," Astrid corrected, dabbing her lips with a napkin.
"Kafka is known for his intricate combat forms and his lightning-fast movements. He's a master of evasive techniques. I'd wager the exam will involve navigating complex obstacles, possibly under pressure."
"Or fighting multiple opponents without rest," Julian added, his eyes thoughtful. "A continuous, draining combat scenario. Or a labyrinth that requires constant movement and quick thinking."
Panchenko groaned. "More running, then? My legs are still trying to forgive me from yesterday."
"It's not just about raw speed, Panchenko," Adam said, cutting into a piece of roasted meat. "It's about endurance of movement. Doing intricate maneuvers over and over, without losing precision, even when exhausted. Like what Edward put us through with the Azron Boar pursuit, but perhaps even more intense."
Edward, who had been listening silently, finally spoke. "Agility, as Fyodor defines it, is the capacity to maintain performance under prolonged exertion. Kafka, as Astrid correctly surmises, tests agility and fluid motion. The combination indicates a continuous, demanding physical test that requires not just strength, but sustained grace and control."
"So, what kind of preparations can we make in two days?" Tom mused. "We can't do another marathon. Our bodies need to fully recover."
"Light drills," Julian suggested. "Focus on footwork, quick changes in direction. Practicing evasive maneuvers in tight spaces. Short bursts of intense activity, followed by rest, to simulate the demands of the exam without over-exerting."
"And food," Astrid added emphatically. "Lots of protein, carbohydrates. We need to top up our energy reserves completely."
"And rest," Adam stressed. "Even with light drills, we need to be at peak recovery for the actual exam. No late nights, no extra training. Just enough to keep us limber, then complete rest."
Panchenko visibly brightened. "So, lots of eating and sleeping? I can do that! Best training regimen ever!"
Adam smiled faintly, shaking his head. "Don't get too comfortable, Panchenko. Fyodor and Kafka aren't known for their generosity. This 'rest period' is just to make sure we're not too broken for their next trial."
The conversation continued as they ate, planning out their two days of recovery and focused, light preparation. They had come a long way from Kazakhar, from desperate fugitives to aspiring adventurers, constantly tested, constantly pushing their limits. The next exam, overseen by the enigmatic Kafka, promised to be another brutal, yet essential, step on their long and dangerous path.