The early morning light of the black sun in Namil City, streamed through the cabin window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. Adam woke with a sense of quiet anticipation, his body feeling primed and ready. The intense physical and mental preparations, coupled with his personal vow, had honed his focus to a razor's edge. Today was the day for the fourth exam, overseen by Fitzgerald, the embodiment of strength.
He found his companions already stirring, a hum of focused energy in the cabin. Julian was meticulously sharpening his blade, the soft rasp of steel a rhythmic sound. Astrid was braiding her hair, her eyes sharp and alert. Panchenko was doing some last-minute stretches, his powerful frame limber despite the previous day's exertions. Tom was going over a mental checklist, his brow furrowed in concentration. Edward, a silent sentinel by the window, seemed to radiate a quiet, ancient power, his crimson eyes fixed on the distant skyline of Namil.
"Morning," Adam greeted, his voice low but firm. "Ready for Fitzgerald's challenge?"
Panchenko cracked his neck, a determined glint in his eye. "Ready as I'll ever be, Adam.
My fists are itching for some action after all that running and climbing."
Astrid gave a confident smile. "This is a test of strength, yes. But also of cunning. Raw power isn't everything."
Julian nodded in agreement. "We have faced overwhelming odds before. This is merely another obstacle."
Edward turned from the window, his gaze sweeping over them, assessing each one. "Fitzgerald's exam is a test of more than just physical might. It is a test of resolve in direct confrontation. Of the will to prevail when faced with numerous, powerful opponents. You will be pushed to your limits, but remember your purpose."
They shared a quick, silent breakfast, their movements efficient, their minds already engaged in the impending challenge. The air in the cabin was thick with focused energy, a silent testament to their shared determination.
They arrived at the Adventurers' Guild at precisely 7:50 AM. The grand hall, now a familiar sight, buzzed with a tense energy.
The remaining one hundred applicants, the elite survivors of the previous three grueling exams, stood in disciplined rows, their expressions a stark tapestry of emotions.
Some applicants wore masks of fierce confidence, their postures radiating readiness for battle. Others showed clear signs of fear, their eyes wide, their bodies subtly trembling. There were also those with grim determination, their faces set in resolute lines, ready to face whatever came next. The pressure was immense, the stakes higher than ever.
Adam scanned the faces, recognizing some of the more formidable individuals they had seen pass the previous exams. This was a gathering of the strongest, the most resilient, and the most skilled.
As the Guild Hall's central clock tower struck 8:00 AM, a collective hush fell over the crowd. The massive double doors leading to the exam hall swung open, and Natasha appeared, her welcoming smile a familiar beacon of calm amidst the tension.
"Good morning, all of you!" Natasha's voice was bright and professional. "Congratulations again on reaching this stage. Please, follow me. Sir Fitzgerald awaits."
She led them through the doors and into the vast exam hall. Unlike the previous tests, this hall had been completely transformed.
The tiered seating rose around a massive, circular arena floor, its surface gleaming under bright, overhead lights. And in the center of the arena, stood Fitzgerald.
He cut an imposing figure, his long yellow hair and piercing yellow eyes radiating an aura of quiet power. He wore his customary black suit, impeccably tailored, and his hands were clasped loosely behind his back.
As the last of the one hundred applicants filed into the hall, filling the designated standing areas, Fitzgerald raised one hand, a single, decisive gesture that silenced any lingering murmurs. The entire hall fell into a profound, expectant silence.
"Congratulations to each and every one of you for getting this far," Fitzgerald's voice was calm, yet resonated with an undeniable authority that filled the vast space. It was a voice that conveyed absolute confidence in his own power, and a silent challenge to those before him.
"You have proven your cunning, your endurance, and your agility," he continued, his yellow eyes sweeping over the assembled applicants. "Today, however, the trials of subtlety and evasion are over.
Today, we will test the very essence of an adventurer's might."
He paused, allowing the weight of his words to settle. "As you know, my exam is about Strength. But it is not merely brute force. It is the strength to endure, the strength to overcome, and the strength to prevail when all odds are against you."
A collective ripple of apprehension went through the crowd.
"Therefore," Fitzgerald announced, his voice gaining a sharper edge, "the Fourth Adventurer's Exam will be an all-out brawl."
A gasp, followed by excited, nervous murmurs, swept through the hall. An all-out brawl? Against each other?
"Indeed," Fitzgerald confirmed, a faint, almost imperceptible smile touching his lips. "You will enter the Namil Arena, just outside this hall. It is a grand stage, befitting a challenge of this magnitude. And many people will be watching, from the stands and across the city's public viewing screens."
The idea of performing before a live audience added another layer of pressure, and excitement, for many.
"The rules are simple, yet absolute," Fitzgerald declared, his voice firm. "You can use any kind of weapon you possess or choose to acquire, provided it adheres to Guild regulations regarding non-lethal application in tests." He paused, his gaze hardening slightly. "Killing is strictly prohibited. Any applicant who causes a fatal injury will be immediately disqualified and face severe Guild sanctions, possibly permanent removal from the Adventurer program."
He then gestured to a wide, circular marked area in the center of the arena floor, visible through the large archways leading out from the hall. "The brawl will take place within that designated circle. If you step out of that circle, you fail. If you are rendered unconscious or pass out, you fail."
"The exam will continue," Fitzgerald concluded, his voice ringing with power, "until only ten people are left standing. When the number of active participants reaches ten, the bell will chime, and that will be the end of the exam. Those ten will be the successful applicants for this stage."
He then looked at his comms device. "You have ten minutes to prepare. Consider your strategy. Assess your opponents. Only ten will prevail. Good luck, applicants."
With that, Fitzgerald stepped back, his imposing figure a silent challenge. The exam hall, which moments ago had been silent, now erupted into a cacophony of hurried whispers, the clinking of armor, and the drawing of weapons.
Adam turned to his companions, his mind already racing, processing Fitzgerald's words. An all-out brawl. One hundred participants. Only ten winners. This was a brutal test of combat skill, awareness, and sheer endurance.
"Alright," Adam said, his voice calm, cutting through the rising tension. "Ten minutes. This is what we prepared for. Direct confrontation."
Julian, already adjusting the grip on his sword, nodded. "The objective is survival, and to be among the last ten. Not necessarily to defeat every opponent."
"No killing," Astrid murmured, her daggers already in her hands. "That means we need to focus on disabling opponents, not eliminating them. Subduing."
Panchenko cracked his knuckles. "So, just knock 'em out. I can do that. Big ones, small ones, makes no difference."
"The biggest challenge won't be one-on-one fights," Tom interjected, his eyes darting across the other applicants, assessing their gear and stances. "It'll be avoiding getting caught between multiple opponents, or targeted by a group. And conserving our energy. This could last a long time."
Edward, his crimson eyes gleaming with a strategic light, spoke then. "Precisely. This is not merely a test of individual strength. It is a test of strategic strength. Of alliances, however temporary. Of understanding the flow of battle. And of preserving your own resources until the opportune moment."
"Temporary alliances?" Adam questioned, raising an eyebrow. "You mean we should work together initially?"
"It is a logical strategy," Edward confirmed. "Six against ninety-four is still a disadvantage. But six working in concert against a chaotic melee of individuals is a formidable force. Protect each other. Disable those who pose an immediate threat. Create space."
For now, we fight as a unit. We protect our own. Our goal is to get as many of us through as possible."
"Conserve your energy," Astrid stressed. "Don't go all out at the start. Watch for openings. Use the momentum of the battle to your advantage."
"And the circle," Tom added. "It's a boundary. Don't get pushed out. Watch your back."
"My pistols," Adam said, drawing his two meta pistols. "I'll focus on suppressing fire, disarming, or stunning opponents from a distance. Create openings for you guys to move in."
"My spear can sweep through multiple opponents," Panchenko declared. "Keep 'em off you, Adam. I'll be your brawler."
"We'll focus on quick, decisive disabling blows," Julian stated, indicating himself and Astrid. "Rapid engagements, then disengage and reposition."
"And I'll assist with tactical observation," Tom added, already activating a small scanner on his wrist. "Identifying key threats, weak points, or incoming attacks for our group."
Edward's presence was a silent anchor. He would be their unyielding wall, their primary enforcer, guiding their movements with subtle cues.
The air thrummed with the energy of a hundred formidable individuals, each with their own strengths, their own strategies.
The countdown from Fitzgerald's ten minutes was visibly ticking on a large holographic display above the arena.
Five minutes.
Adam looked at his friends, his gaze resolute. They had trained for this. They had survived far worse. They would not break now.
"Remember Kazakhar," Adam said, his voice low but firm, just for them. "Remember what we're fighting for. This is just another step."
A collective, determined nod passed between them. The roar of the crowd in the Namil Arena was already beginning to seep into the exam hall, a hungry murmur awaiting the spectacle.
Two minutes.
They moved towards the main archway, merging with the flow of other applicants. The path led directly into the heart of the Arena.
One minute.
The bell chimed again, a single, clear note. The gates to the Namil Arena opened wide, revealing the vast, cheering crowds, the bright lights, and the expansive battle circle.
The roar of the spectators intensified, a deafening wave of sound.
"Good luck, applicants!" Fitzgerald's amplified voice boomed one last time.
Adam stepped onto the soft, resilient surface of the arena floor, his two meta pistols raised. His gaze swept over the other ninety-nine applicants, each a formidable opponent. Only ten would prevail. And he, along with his friends, intended to be among them. The all-out brawl had begun.