The hum of the Adventurers' Guild exam hall, a stark contrast to the lively city of Namil outside, was now a low, heavy silence.
The two-hour limit for Kafka's speed and agility test had just expired. Thousands of hopefuls had entered the simulated forest, and now, a much smaller, somber crowd awaited their fate. Adam and his companions, having all passed their individual trials, stood together, their relief tempered by the knowledge of the brutal culling that was about to be announced.
Kafka, his dark eyes piercing, once again stood on the central stage. He held no data-slate, no grand gestures. His presence alone commanded absolute attention.
"Applicants," Kafka's voice was calm, precise, and carried an undeniable gravitas. "The Third Adventurer's Exam, a test of your stamina, speed, and agility under duress, has concluded."
A collective intake of breath rippled through the diminished crowd. The air was thick with anticipation, fear, and desperate hope.
"Out of the two thousand who attempted this trial," Kafka announced, his voice devoid of emotion, "only one hundred of you have passed."
A stunned, horrified silence descended upon the hall. One hundred. From two thousand. More than half had failed. The brutal efficiency of the Adventurers' Guild's selection process was laid bare. Gasps, sobs, and quiet murmurs of disbelief finally broke the silence. Applicants who had proudly conquered the Azron Woods and scaled Mount Kabuku now stood shattered, their dreams ending in the blink of an eye.
Adam felt a cold knot in his stomach. The sheer ruthlessness of it. Yet, a grim satisfaction also settled within him. They were among the chosen. They had endured.
"For those whose journey ends here," Kafka continued, his voice unwavering amidst the despair, "your efforts were noted. You are dismissed. The Adventurers' Guild seeks not just strength or speed, but relentless, enduring precision under pressure. You lacked the complete package for this particular trial. Do not despair. Life offers other paths."
Hundreds of broken individuals began to slowly shuffle out of the hall, their movements heavy with defeat. Adam watched them go, a somber understanding of the immense stakes of this exam. Each test wasn't just about skill; it was about revealing a fundamental quality of an adventurer.
Then, Kafka's gaze swept over the remaining one hundred, his eyes holding a glimmer of something akin to respect. "To the one hundred who stand before me now, who have proven their enduring agility and their precision under the most demanding circumstances, I offer my sincere congratulations. You have earned your place among the elite."
A quiet, almost reverent cheer rose from the small, select group. They were a diverse collection of beings, battered but unbroken, their eyes shining with fierce triumph.
"You have pushed your bodies and your minds to their limits," Kafka continued, his voice gaining a slight note of warmth. "You are undoubtedly depleted. Therefore, the Guild has once again granted you a necessary period of recuperation."
A collective sigh of relief, far more pronounced than after the second exam, swept through the hundred. The idea of immediate further tests was daunting, even for them.
"The Fourth Exam will be held tomorrow morning, at 0800 hours, in this very hall," Kafka announced. "It will be overseen by Fitzgerald. He will brief you on its specifics then. For now, you are dismissed. Go home and rest. Replenish. For the challenges ahead will only grow more formidable. Good luck, and congratulations."
With a final, sharp nod, Kafka descended from the stage, his figure melting into the background as the remaining applicants began to disperse.
Adam looked at his companions, a grim pride in his eyes. All six of them. They had beaten the odds, not just once, but three times over. From ten thousand, to five thousand, to two thousand, and now to a mere one hundred. They were truly inching closer to becoming adventurers. But the unspoken truth hung heavy in the air: the tests would only get harder.
"One hundred," Panchenko breathed, his voice tinged with awe. "We're really doing this, aren't we?"
"We're doing it, Panchenko," Adam affirmed, a rare, tired smile touching his lips. "But this was a brutal cut. They're weeding out everyone who isn't absolutely top-tier."
Astrid's eyes were serious. "Fitzgerald. He's known for strength. The fourth exam will likely be a direct test of combat prowess. Raw power."
Julian nodded grimly. "Against formidable opponents, no doubt. Perhaps multiple opponents. Or challenges requiring immense physical force."
"And we've only got tonight to prepare," Tom added, running a hand through his hair. "Our bodies are still recuperating from the endurance and agility tests. We can't over-exert."
Edward, his crimson eyes gleaming with a strategic light, spoke then. "Fitzgerald, yes. His reputation precedes him. He commands power, raw and unrefined, yet focused. The fourth exam will demand not just strength, but the application of strength. The ability to break through, to withstand. It will test your resolve in direct confrontation."
"Which means we need to be fully prepared," Adam concluded, his voice firm. "No more light drills. Tonight is about rest, recovery, and mental preparation."
They made their way out of the Guild Hall and back into the bustling heart of Namil. The city, vibrant and alive, felt a world away from the intense, enclosed world of the exam. The aromas of street food, the distant hum of traffic, the laughter of passersby – it all provided a comforting, grounding contrast to the severe reality they had just experienced.
Their destination, as always, was Marcus's pub. It had become their sanctuary, a place of warmth, good food, and familiar faces. As they stepped inside, the comforting aroma of sizzling meats and brewing drinks enveloped them.
Marcus, seeing their weary but triumphant faces, immediately boomed, "Look at you lot! You made it through Kafka's labyrinth, did you? I heard he was particularly ruthless this year! How many did he let through?"
"Only one hundred, Marcus," Adam replied, as they made their way to their usual round table.
Marcus whistled, a low, impressed sound. "A hundred! That's a brutal cut, even for the Guild! You lot are truly exceptional. This calls for a proper feast! Everything you want, on the house! You've earned it, my friends!"
A few other patrons, recognizable as fellow passed applicants, looked over, offering silent nods of camaraderie and respect.
Marcus quickly brought them a lavish spread: roasted meats, hearty stews, fresh bread, and an array of energizing drinks.
As they ate, the initial exhaustion began to fade, replaced by the warmth of good food and the satisfaction of their achievement. But the conversation quickly turned to the looming challenge.
"Fitzgerald," Adam began, tearing off a piece of bread. "Edward's assessment of him being about raw power. What does that mean for us?"
"It means direct confrontation," Julian stated, his jaw set. "We won't be evading this time. We'll be meeting force with force. Or finding a way to overcome overwhelming power."
"Maybe it's a fight against a really big, strong monster," Panchenko suggested, shoveling a generous portion of stew into his mouth. "I like fighting big things. My spear is good for that."
Astrid thoughtfully chewed her food. "It could be. Or it could be a challenge of breaking through seemingly impenetrable defenses. Or even a test of our own resilience against powerful attacks, seeing how much we can withstand."
"Remember his appearance, too," Tom added, his brow furrowed in thought. "Long yellow hair, piercing yellow eyes. He radiated a quiet, almost overwhelming confidence in his own strength. It wasn't aggressive, but it was absolute."
Edward nodded slowly. "Indeed. Fitzgerald embodies the very concept of insurmountable force. His trials often involve overwhelming pressure, demanding an equally overwhelming response. It could be a gauntlet of powerful, non-lethal strikes that you must withstand, or a test of raw output – how much force you can generate against a target designed to absorb it."
"So, how do we prepare for that tonight?" Adam asked, looking around the table. "We can't magically gain more strength in a few hours. And we're still recovering."
Julian considered this. "Mental preparation. Visualization. Reviewing our combat techniques for maximizing impact and minimizing vulnerability. Ensuring our stance is solid, our defenses airtight."
"And gear check," Astrid added. "Are our weapons, our armor, in optimal condition? We'll need every advantage we can get."
Panchenko flexed his muscles. "I'll just hit things really, really hard. And try not to get hit back harder."
Adam looked at Edward. "Any specific advice for a test of pure strength, given our… limitations?"
Edward's crimson eyes held a deep, ancient wisdom. "Strength is not merely muscle, Adam. It is also the strength of your resolve.
Your will. A seemingly weaker blow delivered with absolute conviction can shatter a stronger, but hesitant, defense. For this exam, you must become the immovable object, and the irresistible force. You must embrace the idea of confrontation. And understand that power, when correctly applied, can overcome even the most daunting obstacles."
He paused, then added, "Your new pistols, Adam. They are powerful. Their energy output can be significant. Learn to channel that power, to deliver precise, concentrated bursts that will test even Fitzgerald's criteria for 'strength'."
Adam nodded, a plan beginning to form in his mind. He would focus on maximizing the output of his dual pistols, channeling their energy into devastating, focused shots.
Julian and Astrid would hone their precision strikes, targeting weak points. Panchenko would rely on his raw power, but with more focused application. Tom would be the strategic observer, finding openings and weaknesses. And Edward, their silent anchor, would be there, lending his formidable presence and ancient wisdom.
They finished their meal, the pub's warmth a comforting contrast to the cold, hard realities of the Adventurers' Guild. Their bodies ached, but their spirits were resolute.
They were down to the elite hundred, and the next challenge, a direct confrontation with the very concept of strength, awaited.
After eating, they would go back to their cabin and rest, gathering every ounce of strength for tomorrow. The path to becoming an adventurer, and eventually to Demon king, was proving to be a crucible of ever-increasing intensity. They would not falter.