Chapter 47: The Milsy Wetlands (Part I)
"A true aspirant to become a Hunter," Kurapika said calmly, "would never be fooled by a Human-Faced Ape in disguise. The moment that man claimed his Hunter License had been stolen, I knew immediately—he was the fake."
"I… didn't realize that at all."
Leorio rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. Hanzo, standing beside him, gave an awkward laugh and did the same.
Leorio had figured it out eventually—but only thanks to Osren's subtle hint. Without it, he'd still be lost in confusion.
Kurapika's eyes narrowed. "And that terrifying man—Hisoka. He actually used that moment as an excuse to attack the examiner… Now I understand what Tonpa meant when he called him dangerous. He truly is."
Osren's gaze flicked toward Hisoka. The magician was chatting casually with the man whose head was full of nails—as though nothing unusual had just happened. His expression was relaxed, his posture fluid, his danger masked behind a smile.
Osren let out a long, steady breath. As expected of the Orchard Keeper, he thought wryly. The chaos had finally subsided, and with it, the first stage of the exam had come to a close. But what lay ahead… would be far more perilous.
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"How long are you going to keep staring?" Killua asked, glancing over his shoulder at Gon, who was still standing motionless, eyes fixed on the two corpses—the man in green and the ape.
"...Yeah," Gon murmured absently, not really hearing him. His gaze was locked on the still bodies, the blood already beginning to seep into the soil. It was the first time he'd ever been this close to death—its silence, its finality. The impact was… overwhelming.
"There's no need to grieve," Satotz said, his deep voice steady, but not unkind. "For creatures like these, staking their lives on deception is nothing unusual. In the Wetlands, death is simply a part of daily life."
As if to prove his point, a harsh fluttering filled the air.
Flap… flap…
A group of vultures swooped down, circling the bodies. Within seconds, they landed and began to feast greedily. The sound of tearing flesh echoed across the clearing, a grim reminder of nature's indifference.
One after another, more birds descended. In moments, the corpses were buried beneath a writhing carpet of wings and feathers—until no trace of them remained.
The others looked away in discomfort, but Osren finally exhaled, grounding himself. He'd been careful not to look before, but there was no avoiding it now. Even for him, the raw reality of death was still something that left a mark.
Gon, for all his bravery, was still just a boy. His face was pale, his fists clenched.
Osren placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder—a silent gesture of comfort.
No words were needed.
This world was built upon life and death intertwined. Here, life was both the most precious and the most disposable thing.
And anyone who aspired to become a Hunter… would have to learn to live with that truth.
Gon nodded quietly under Osren's steady hand.
For once, the boy's boundless energy had dimmed — his eyes still distant, his expression faintly shaken. After all, he was only twelve.
In the modern world, he'd still be a carefree elementary schooler.
But here, in the world of Hunters, innocence was a luxury — and death was an ever-present companion.
Killua, however, didn't fully understand the weight of what Gon and Osren were feeling.
Born into a family of assassins, he'd handled knives before he'd learned to properly hold a fork.
To him, corpses were just… part of life.
Kurapika, too, had long been numb to death. After witnessing the massacre of his clan — mountains of bodies, rivers of blood — a single fallen enemy was nothing new.
Satotz's calm voice broke through the silence.
"In this swamp," he said, "you either eat… or get eaten. That's the law of the Milsy Wetlands."
Gon and Osren both nodded, their expressions solemn but grateful. Satotz's warning was harsh — but it came from a place of concern.
"Alright," Satotz said, glancing over the mist-shrouded expanse of green hills and glimmering water ahead. "Time to move out. The second testing site awaits."
Without waiting for a reply, he started running again — his long strides light and effortless, his pace as fluid as before.
It was almost elegant… infuriatingly so.
Behind him, however, the examinees' mood was anything but graceful.
Some were still catching their breath, some sipping water, others squatting to rest — but the moment Satotz moved, panic rippled through the crowd.
Flasks dropped. Snacks hit the ground.
Everyone broke into a frantic sprint, chasing after the examiner as if their lives depended on it.
And perhaps, in a sense, they did.
After all, the rules were clear: fall behind, and you're out.
One wrong step, one moment too slow — and your journey ended at the gates of the swamp.
"Osren, let's go!" Gon called out, his voice finally regaining its energy. Though he hadn't fully recovered from the earlier shock, Satotz's words had rekindled his focus.
Becoming a Hunter came first — everything else could wait.
"Coming," Osren replied, glancing back at the others. "Kurapika, Leorio, Killua — move out!"
Each gave a quick nod and followed, feet splashing into the soft, murky ground.
Thud… thud… thud…
Their steps echoed across the wetlands as the group surged forward behind Satotz.
But this terrain was no simple road — the ground sucked at their feet, every stride heavier than the last.
The swamp's uneven surface turned even running into a battle of endurance.
Leorio groaned aloud, nearly tripping as his shoe sank into the mud.
"Don't tell me we're doing another marathon! I swear, every damn test is just running! What's next — swimming through quicksand?!"
Splatter!
A glob of wet mud, kicked up by Kurapika's foot, smacked squarely against Leorio's face.
"Watch where you're—!" Leorio sputtered.
"Running in terrain like this drains stamina faster. Save your breath," he advised.
Ever the rational analyst, Kurapika's tone remained calm — though his legs, too, were starting to feel the burn.
Within minutes, their formation naturally split.
Killua and Gon led the charge at the front, Osren followed in the middle, and Kurapika and Leorio kept the rear — close enough to see each other, but already stretched by distance.
Under normal circumstances, this formation would've been fine.
But Osren knew better.
He remembered what came next in the story.
The fog.
The Wetlands were about to change.
"Gon, Killua, Kurapika, Leorio," Osren called over the rhythmic pounding of feet, "this area's full of dangers. I suspect it'll get foggy soon. If we get separated, stay alert. Help each other if you can — but if not, prioritize your own safety. Don't worry about me. I'll scout around for materials."
His tone was light, but the message was serious.
"Need any help?" came four voices at once.
Osren blinked — even Killua had spoken up.
For someone who usually played it cool, it was rare to see him so openly offer assistance. It seemed he was, at last, beginning to see himself as part of the group.
Not far behind, Tonpa observed quietly, eyes narrowing.
Having taken this exam countless times, he knew all too well — the Milsy Wetlands would turn into a fog-laden labyrinth soon.
He studied Osren carefully. Sharp kid, he thought. "Not just clever — he's got instincts like a veteran."
And for the first time, Tonpa wasn't sure whether that made him feel impressed… or uneasy.