The Namilian dawn of the third exam day broke with a crisp, invigorating chill. Adam woke feeling remarkably refreshed, his muscles no longer screaming in protest, but humming with a quiet readiness. The two days of rest and focused, light agility drills under Edward's demanding eye had worked wonders. He felt alert, primed, and ready for whatever Kafka, the enigmatic overseer, would throw at them.
He found his companions equally revitalized. Panchenko was stretching with surprising fluidity, a determined glint in his eye. Astrid was already in her practical, dark adventuring gear, her daggers glinting softly.
Julian was performing swift, silent combat forms, his blade a blur. Tom was double-checking his communication device, its hum barely audible. Edward, standing by the window, emanated an almost palpable sense of ancient power, his crimson eyes observing the waking city with a predatory stillness.
"Morning, everyone," Adam greeted, his voice low and steady. "Feeling ready for Kafka's challenge?"
Panchenko grunted, flexing his arms. "My body's ready, Adam. My mind's ready. Just hope this isn't another thirty-mile run, my legs might abandon me entirely."
Astrid gave a confident smile. "Nerves are for those unprepared. We've trained for this. This is where our agility shines."
Julian nodded in agreement. "Edward's drills were precise. Our movements are more fluid. We are prepared for a test of speed and agility."
"Kafka's reputation," Tom interjected, tapping his data-pad, "suggests a test of sustained, intricate movement. It won't just be about being fast, but about being fast and precise, over a prolonged period. The kind of stamina that allows for relentless, high-level performance."
Edward turned from the window, his gaze sweeping over them. "Indeed. Speed without control is chaos. Agility without purpose is wasted energy. Kafka seeks those who can maintain equilibrium in the storm, striking with intent even amidst a flurry of evasions."
They shared a quick, nutrient-rich breakfast, their movements efficient, their conversation focused on tactics and mental preparation. The usual pre-exam jitters were present, but they were overshadowed by a quiet confidence forged in the crucible of the previous two exams.
The Adventurers' Guild was, by now, a familiar sight. The air inside was thick with anticipation, but the remaining applicants—the two thousand who had passed the endurance test—were a far more hardened, stoic group. They stood in disciplined rows within the vast exam hall, their gazes fixed on the central stage.
Natasha was there, as always, her welcoming smile a comforting presence. She spotted them immediately and waved them forward. "Good morning, survivors! You're looking remarkably spry after that mountain climb. Come this way, Sir Kafka is about to begin."
She led them through the silent ranks of applicants, all eyes now fixed on the stage. Kafka stood there, his black hair and mustache stark against his pale face, his simple yet elegant black suit giving him an air of understated authority. His eyes, dark and piercing, seemed to take in every individual in the vast hall, his presence radiating an aura of intense focus.
Kafka raised a hand, and the murmurs that still lingered in the hall immediately died. A profound silence descended, heavy with expectation. His voice, when he spoke, was surprisingly calm, almost soft, yet it carried an undeniable gravity that commanded absolute attention.
"Welcome, applicants, to the Third Stage of the Adventurer's Exam," Kafka began, his voice clear and precise. "Yesterday, you proved your endurance. Today, we will test your Stamina—specifically, your capacity for sustained, precise, and agile movement under pressure. This is a challenge of Speed and Agility."
He paused, his gaze sweeping over the disciplined ranks of hopefuls. "The life of an adventurer is not merely about enduring pain, but about acting with precision and intent when under duress. To evade the blow and deliver your own. To outmaneuver a superior foe, not just outlast them."
Kafka then gestured to a series of archways that had opened up along the sides of the arena, revealing what appeared to be dark, forested pathways. The interior of the exam hall was clearly capable of transforming into various environments.
"For this exam," Kafka explained, his voice gaining a sharper edge, "you will each enter a simulated forest environment. Within this environment, you will encounter professional Guild adventurers—trained experts in combat and evasion."
A murmur of apprehension rippled through the crowd. Facing pro adventurers, even in a test, was a daunting prospect.
"Your objective is two-fold," Kafka continued, ignoring the reactions. "First, you need to evade their attacks. These pro adventurers will be attempting to land a blow on you, using non-lethal, energy-dampened attacks. If you are struck, that counts as a failed attempt."
His gaze became even more piercing. "Second, and equally important, you need to counterattack and land a blow on them. Your attacks will also be non-lethal and energy-dampened. A successful touch, a clearly landed strike that would, in a real combat scenario, inflict damage, will count as a successful counter."
The applicants exchanged bewildered glances. Evading highly skilled professionals and landing a blow on them? This was far more complex than a simple race or hunt.
"You will be given a small, wrist-mounted device," Kafka explained, and holograms of the device appeared above the stage. "This device will register both successful hits on you, and successful hits by you. Each participant will attempt this trial individually."
He then addressed the inevitable question of failure. "Should you fail to evade, or fail to land an attack within a reasonable timeframe, or simply fail to progress, you can do the test again. You will be transported back to the starting line, and given another chance."
A collective sigh of relief passed through the crowd at the mention of retries.
"However," Kafka's voice hardened, and the relief vanished. "You have a strict two-hour limit. Once your 2-hour limit has passed, your attempt is over, regardless of your progress. There will be no exceptions. You either pass within the time limit, or you fail."
His dark eyes swept over the silent applicants one last time. "This exam is a dance of shadows and speed. It demands perfect control, split-second reactions, and the stamina to sustain such a high-level performance. Prepare yourselves. The gates will open in five minutes."
With that, Kafka stepped back, his presence as enigmatic as ever. The vast hall, which had contained the eager anticipation of thousands, now hummed with a different kind of tension: the cold, sharp edge of individual trial.
Adam looked at his companions. Their faces, once simply tired from the previous day's training, now showed a deep concentration. This was a challenge that truly tested their combat instincts and their newly honed agility.
"This is what Edward prepared us for," Adam stated, his voice calm. "It's about constant motion. Don't get cornered. Don't stop moving. And find the opening."
Julian nodded, his hand already on the hilt of his sword. "It will be a test of adaptation. These professional adventurers will not be predictable."
Astrid's eyes gleamed with a familiar intensity. "A challenge I welcome. Evade and strike. That's what I do."
Panchenko cracked his knuckles. "Just hope they're not too fast. My spear needs a little room to swing."
Tom, surprisingly, looked less nervous than determined. "My role will be to constantly assess the environment and anticipate their movements. I might not be able to land a blow, but I can certainly try to evade."
Edward's crimson eyes held a calculating glint. "Remember your drills. Trust your instincts. And do not waste energy on unnecessary movements. Every action must be deliberate, precise."
The first of the archway-gates began to open, and applicants, one by one, started to move forward, disappearing into the simulated forest. The tension was immense, the seconds stretching into an eternity.
Adam stepped through the archway, and the familiar scent of forest air, combined with a faint hum of energy, filled his senses. He was in a dense, simulated woodland, the trees realistic, the ground uneven. His wrist device glowed faintly.
He moved cautiously, his senses heightened, his dual pistols already drawn, held ready for a quick draw. He heard no immediate sound, but the air felt charged.
Suddenly, a blur of motion. A professional adventurer, clad in light, flexible armor, seemed to materialize from the shadows of the trees. The pro adventurer, incredibly swift, moved to land a low kick.
Adam reacted instantly, a swift pivot and a backward step, evading the attack by a hair's breadth. The pro adventurer was incredibly fast, their movements fluid and unpredictable. Adam knew he couldn't simply outrun them. He had to outmaneuver them.
He kept moving, constantly shifting his weight, feinting in one direction, then darting in another. The pro adventurer was relentless, pressing their attack, attempting to land blows from every conceivable angle – high, low, from the front, from the sides.
Adam found himself relying on Edward's drills, constantly changing direction, weaving through trees, using the environment to break the pro adventurer's line of sight.
He managed to evade several more attacks, the near misses sending adrenaline coursing through him. But then, the challenge of the second objective loomed: counterattack and land a blow.
The pro adventurer feinted left, then spun into a rapid right hook. Adam ducked under it, his body twisting, and in that fleeting moment, as the pro adventurer was slightly off-balance from their momentum, Adam saw his opening.
With a burst of agility, he spun around, bringing the crimson-glowing energy pistol up. He didn't fire. Instead, he simply tapped the pro adventurer's side with the barrel, a clear, decisive thwack.
A small green light flashed on his wrist device. Counterattack registered.
The pro adventurer paused, their stance still, and gave a slight nod of acknowledgment.
Then, with another blur of motion, they vanished back into the shadows.
Adam took a deep, shaky breath, his heart pounding. He had done it. He hadn't expected it to be so immediate. But the test wasn't over. He had to maintain this level of performance for the duration, or until he found the exit. He kept moving, alert, ready for the next encounter.
Julian entered his own simulated forest environment. His pro adventurer was a master with a staff, their movements a blur of striking and blocking. Julian moved with a fluid grace, his sword a defensive extension of his body, deflecting the staff blows with minimal effort, always seeking a window. He moved in close, then out, always maintaining a precise distance, finally finding an opening and delivering a quick, precise tap to the adventurer's arm.
Counterattack registered.
Astrid's trial was a shadowy, twisting environment, her pro adventurer a master of stealth and sudden, silent strikes. Astrid, relying on her heightened senses and cat-like agility, was a ghost in the trees, evading attacks by inches, her daggers a constant, shimmering threat. She moved with uncanny silence, finally finding a moment to dart in and tap the pro adventurer's back as they re-materialized from a shadow. Counterattack registered.
Panchenko's forest was more open, his pro adventurer a heavy-hitter with a large axe, their attacks powerful and sweeping.
Panchenko, surprisingly nimble for his size, used his spear not just to defend, but to create distance, rolling and weaving to evade the axe's wide arcs. He then used his spear to lightly prod the pro adventurer's leg during a brief lull, securing his counter. Counterattack register.
Tom's trial was the most unique. His professional adventurer was not just fast, but highly intelligent, constantly adapting their attack patterns, seemingly anticipating Tom's evasions. Tom, not a combatant by nature, relied entirely on his agility, his rapid analytical mind, and Edward's reflex drills.
He dodged, he weaved, he scrambled, his body moving faster than he thought possible. He used the terrain, ducking behind trees, vaulting over roots.
He failed to land a counterattack on his first attempt. The pro adventurer was too fast, too skilled. His wrist device flashed red.
Attempt failed. Transporting to start.
Tom reappeared at the beginning, breathing heavily. He took a moment, reviewed his mental data, then went in again. He focused on observation, on finding patterns. He evaded again, pushing his body to its limits. This time, he saw a fleeting opportunity, a slight shift in the pro adventurer's balance after a missed kick. With a burst of unexpected speed, he lunged forward, tapping their shin.
A green light. Counterattack registered. Tom slumped against a tree, gasping for breath, but a wide, relieved grin on his face. He had passed.
Edward's trial was a spectacle. His professional adventurer was a master swordsman, moving with blinding speed and lethal grace. Edward, however, was a force of nature. He didn't just evade; he flowed, a dark, liquid shadow, making the professional adventurer's attacks seem clumsy, almost slow. He would disappear and reappear, countering with a mere twitch of his wrist, landing precise, almost imperceptible touches on the professional adventurer with the hilt of his sword, or even just his fingertips. Each time, his wrist device flashed green instantly.
The professional adventurer, after several minutes of relentless, futile attacks, finally halted, bowing in silent respect. Edward simply nodded, his crimson eyes gleaming with a quiet satisfaction. He had passed with ease.
Back in the main hall, time continued to tick. Applicants re-entered the gates, their faces a mixture of frustration and renewed determination. The two-hour limit was a constant, pressing weight. Some applicants, after multiple failed attempts, simply walked out of the gates, defeated, unable to pass within the allotted time. Others emerged triumphant, having finally secured their counterattack.
Adam, Julian, Astrid, Panchenko, Tom, and Edward all passed on their first or second attempts, thanks to their rigorous training and their innate skills. They reconvened in a waiting area, quietly observing the remaining applicants. The hall slowly thinned, as more and more applicants either passed or timed out.
As the final minutes of the two-hour limit ticked away, Kafka's voice, calm and precise, boomed over the speakers. "Time is now expired for the Third Exam. Those still in the simulated environment, please exit. All results have been logged."
The remaining applicants, a mixture of exhausted victors and crestfallen failures, began to disperse. The silence in the hall spoke volumes. Kafka, having watched every attempt from a hidden viewing platform, stepped back onto the main stage, his dark eyes surveying the much-diminished crowd.
The full results would be announced later, but Adam knew, with a quiet certainty, that all six of them had made it through. They had danced with speed, they had mastered agility, and they had proven their stamina. The path to Demon king was still long, but each successful exam was a crucial step closer.