Chapter 22: LAMPAS Hunter Exam (2)
After spotting Elwin, Gale repeatedly rubbed his eyes hard, blinking over and over.
But nothing changed.
“So many people aspiring to be Hunters~”
No matter how he looked at him, the kid was definitely the one he knew—but somehow, he now sported a ridiculous mustache that looked like something out of a circus.
His tone and demeanor were like that of a man several decades older.
Even the way he stood—shoulders hunched and slightly stooped—gave off the air of a seasoned elder.
“Hohoho!”
As magic holders often had their physical appearance frozen in their prime, Elwin now looked like an old man with a youthful face.
‘What the hell… Why is he so good at acting like a little brat too?’
Gale’s expression twisted into something almost indescribable, now more unsettled than ever.
“Hahaha. Such passionate young folks—wonderful~ just wonderful.”
“Let’s all enjoy a fair competition.”
“More importantly, how long do you intend to leave this old man standing? My poor back…”
Every time Elwin opened his mouth, his mustache twitched. Each time, Gale flinched in turn.
“Haha… I keep seeing hallucinations… Am I under some illusion magic again? Or did I accidentally eat a hallucinogenic mushroom this morning?”
No matter how hard he tried to deny it or rationalize it, the mustached blond boy didn’t vanish.
‘Is he real? Or a trick of my trauma? Does he truly exist here, or is he just a projection of my subconscious…?’
As Gale tormented himself over this Schrodinger’s Elwin, he finally arrived at a decisive conclusion.
“Of course not! No way!”
Why would a top-class Hunter feel the need to retake the exam?
That was the most logical explanation. Therefore, the conclusion was…
“I must still be dreaming! That’s no good. The exam’s about to start—I have to wake up…”
Smack, smack!
With a blank gaze, Gale began slapping himself in the face.
The way he moved—jerky and uncoordinated—was like a broken machine.
“What the… Is he crazy?”
“If a madman’s managed to pass the Hunter exam, he must be insanely powerful!”
“He’s someone to keep an eye on… We should be cautious.”
Some examinees who witnessed Gale’s bizarre behavior began quietly inching away.
As a bonus, he was now unintentionally branded a dangerous individual.
“Why won’t I wake up today… If I’m even a little late, that brat or the butler will kill me!”
Thus, Gale descended into utter confusion!
Meanwhile, the majority of the group remained focused on one man.
“……”
Calix Zahardt swept his deep blue eyes across the hall indifferently before walking to the edge.
Like a predator scanning for prey, the tension in the room thickened.
“……”
But he only leaned against the wall and closed his eyes.
As if the exam was the only thing that concerned him.
“Calix Zahardt…! Is he truly a direct descendant of the famed sword family Zahardt? The strongest sword in the Arad Kingdom!”
With excitement bubbling, the examinees began whispering, raising their voices competitively, as if they had forgotten all about their earlier wariness.
“One day, I hope to cross swords with him, even once!”
“That man… Is he the son of Sword Saint Zelyx Zahardt? No wonder he gives off such a powerful presence.”
“…So that rumor was false after all? Of course it was! No way the child of a dragon would turn out to be a mere mutt!”
Warriors often didn’t care for fame or gossip.
What mattered most to them was their own strength. Paying attention to irrelevant strangers was usually a waste of time.
But every so often, they would share a common curiosity—
“The witch’s curse cast upon a certain kingdom.”
“A legendary treasure buried beneath the sea.”
“The unprecedented youngest-ever top-ranked Hunter.”
And among those whispered legends…
Was the Zahardt family.
The Arad Kingdom, dominant force of the Eastern Continent.
Together with the Adalgarvis Empire of the Southern Continent, they divided the world’s hegemony. Arad, however, was renowned as the world’s greatest knightly nation.
—Also known as the Land of Swords and Knights.
It was a land where distinctive sword techniques and powerful swordsmen emerged like mushrooms after rain.
The home of prestigious swordsmanship families with lineages spanning centuries.
Among them, the Zahardt family stood unmatched.
“Zahardt, the family that has produced the world’s greatest swordsman without fail since the founding of Arad… Who would’ve thought I’d encounter one of them here at the Hunter Exam…”
A middle-aged examinee murmured, seemingly overwhelmed.
A younger man beside him asked,
“Now that I think about it, there’s never been a Zahardt Hunter. Do you know why that is, sir?”
“Well…”
“I’ll tell you!”
Before the older man could reply, another voice abruptly cut in.
It belonged to a man with a prominent scar running across one side of his face.
“I’m from the Arad Kingdom myself, so I know the story well.”
“…And you are?”
“Ah, my apologies for the delay. My name is Zares Helthurio. Just a humble swordsman.”
“Helthurio? Isn’t that a renowned swordsmanship family?! How can you call yourself humble? You’re being modest.”
“Well, that’s the reputation of my family, not me. Unlike a certain someone, I’d rather be recognized for my own ability—not because I carry my family’s name.”
As Zares responded casually, he shot a glance over his shoulder.
There stood Calix Zahardt, still with eyes closed.
“…Tch. That guy definitely heard me. And yet, not even a glance.”
Zares clicked his tongue, shaking his head in mock exasperation—then smiled.
But as they say, the eyes are the windows to the soul—
‘…Huh? His eyes…’
His hazel eyes were brimming with cold hostility.
The young examinee who had asked the question suddenly thought,
He looks like he’s just dying to pick a fight.
“The reason there’s never been a Zahardt Hunter is because the Zahardts are more than a sword family. They’re a knightly house that values chivalry.”
“Hm? How does that explain it? Even a member of the Helthurio family is taking the Hunter Exam, aren’t you?”
“The Zahardts and Helthurios are in completely different positions.”
Zares shrugged.
“Unlike us, the Zahardts are founding heroes of Arad—and they’re all strict to the point of rigidity. Total idealists.”
“Idealists?”
“Classic knights, if you will. Every member of the Zahardt family is utterly devoted to the Arad royal family. That’s why they’re called the Royal Sword. But…”
He turned and sneered, unmistakably mocking.
“A few years ago, something happened that made all of Arad gasp. A lunatic committed treason and tried to run away from home!”
“……”
“Unforgivable, no matter how you look at it.”
Zares Helthurio’s voice seethed, like flames bubbling from the depths of his soul.
No one knew exactly why—but it was clear he was furious.
“A disgrace to his bloodline. The Zahardt black sheep.”
The one targeted by those words slowly opened his eyes.
His serene teal gaze glimmered quietly.
“Calix Zahardt.”
“So you were here, after all… Zares Helthurio.”
Even faced with the insult, Calix’s expression didn’t change.
He looked like a fortress deep in the mountains—silent, immovable.
“But that’s one thing I can’t ignore. Treason?”
Calix Zahardt remained composed.
Watching him, one would picture a calm lake under moonlight.
But not now.
Now, a fierce edge entered his voice for the first time.
“Hah! What a laughable notion! That wasn’t treason. If anything… it was retribution.”
His calm eyes flashed coldly.
“A fair price that damn old man deserved.”
“Ha! Spare me the self-justification. I’ve had enough of your hypocrisy.”
The surrounding examinees watched nervously, but Zares simply smirked, as if enjoying himself.
“Then answer me—how is it not treason to raise your sword against your father, the head of the Zahardt family? Isn’t that your bloodline? Calix Zahardt.”
“Even if I explained it, would you understand? Actually, I’ve always wondered—why are you so obsessed with other people’s families? You’re not a Zahardt, so stay out of it. Zares Helthurio.”
“Haha… Calling me an outsider, are you?”
Sparks practically flew between the two.
And it wasn’t just metaphorical.
Their emotions were rising—and so was their mana!
“It’s been a while. How about a spar? Less talking, more swordplay.”
“Good. In Arad, we speak through the sword.”
Their mana intensified.
Tension peaked—they could draw their blades at any moment.
And then—!
“Who’s making noise in MY exam hall!?”
BANG!
Someone kicked open the door and strode in.
He had bright orange hair and an air of cocky swagger.
“Huh?!”
His square, pitch-black sunglasses clashed awkwardly with his flashy floral shirt under a suit.
He looked like a street punk. The kind who’d mug you in an alley.
The combination of all these elements brought only one word to mind:
“G-Gangster!? A gangster’s here for the Hunter Exam?!”
One of the startled examinees—Gale—shouted in disbelief.
“Who the hell are you calling a gangster, huh?!”
The man snapped, pushing up his sunglasses.
A sharp glare flashed briefly beneath them—then vanished.
“I’m the proctor overseeing this exam! Senior Hunter Arey Oswald! If you call me a gangster again, it’ll count as official disrespect toward the examiner, and I’ll disqualify you on the spot! …Especially YOU!”
Arey Oswald pointed straight at Gale, eyes fierce.
“Urgh… My apologies…”
“Remember this. There won’t be a second warning.”
Tick tock. DING!
He opened the lid of a pocket watch in his hand.
Despite his flashy appearance, his taste in accessories was oddly vintage.
“…12 o’clock sharp. Right on time. Then let’s begin the exam.”
He tucked the watch back into his coat.
“Ah, before that—one announcement.”
Then, as if pulling off a magic trick, he drew a long staff from mid-air.
It was like something straight out of a stage show.
“This time, the third session of the exam will not be a tournament! A momentous change to the format for the first time in decades!”
WHAM!
He slammed the staff into the ground.
“Alright! The theme of this year’s exam is… Survival!”