My next match was against a speedster—one just a fraction faster than Gerry, but faster nonetheless. She was formidable, no doubt about it. Without my Soul Marionette, I would have been pulverized.
The moment I saw her, a flicker of recognition crossed my mind. She was the same girl who outran Black and me during the seventh stage of the exam. I still remembered her smug taunts as she zipped past us, leaving nothing but dust and irritation. Now, she stood in front of me, ready to fight.
She was a Fighter-type with an impressive speed attribute. Her attacks didn't just rely on agility; they were precise and powerful. Every blow she landed on my doll reverberated with strength that could have left me bruised and broken had it been me taking those hits.
The fight played out like a relentless game of cat and mouse. She darted around the arena, striking with pinpoint accuracy, while my doll took the brunt of her attacks. My Marionette, sturdy and resilient, countered where it could, though it wasn't nearly quick enough to keep up with her raw speed.
It was a slugfest between her agility and my doll's durability. She'd hit, my doll would retaliate and miss; she'd weave around, and my doll would anticipate her movements, occasionally managing to land a glancing counter. Back and forth, the cycle continued.
Despite her overwhelming speed, my doll had two key advantages: its stamina and the subtle siphoning of her aura every time I commanded it. While she burned through her reserves in a desperate bid to overwhelm me, I kept replenishing mine. Slowly but surely, the balance began to shift.
In the end, her speed waned. Exhaustion crept into her movements—imperceptible to most, but clear as day to me. My doll's counters began to land more frequently, its durability outlasting her fraying endurance.
Finally, she crumpled under the weight of her own exertion, unable to keep up the relentless pace she'd set for herself. My Marionette stood victorious, its unwavering stamina and resilience carrying it through.
The third match arrived the following day, and with plenty of rest, I felt much more prepared. My opponent this time was a massive, bodybuilder-looking guy who exuded confidence—or maybe arrogance—in his defenses. He stood there like an immovable wall, letting my doll strike him repeatedly as if to prove his invincibility.
The tournament had whittled down to just 32 participants now, each giving it their all to come out on top. Even with my doll's persistence, it took a while to make him backpedal. At first, he absorbed the hits like they were nothing, his aura robust and his physique absurdly tough.
Initially, I pegged him as a Fighter. He had the physicality and resilience typical of one, but then he revealed his true nature. The first sign came when the damage he'd taken seemed to shift into something else—a sudden boost in power. That's when I realized he was a Dealer, his ability allowing him to accumulate damage and transform it into energy, enhancing his strength, speed, and durability.
As the fight reached its climax, he became a near-unstoppable force. His aura replenished almost endlessly, his wounds closed faster than I could inflict them, and his strikes carried overwhelming power. For a moment, it felt like I was at a stalemate—his healing and resilience were too much for my doll alone.
But I refused to give in.
The key was to leverage the synergy between me and my Soul Marionette. I turned the fight into a two-versus-one affair, forcing him to defend against an invisible attacker—me—while my doll pressed its relentless assault. Every time he retaliated against one of us, the other struck.
Then came the turning point. Using Soul Chains, I tethered him to a fixed aura value, equalizing it between him, my doll, and myself. His regenerative abilities were rendered less effective as the constant shifting of aura siphoned from him and distributed it to us. Combined with the unyielding resilience of my doll's strikes, he was forced onto the defensive.
From there, it didn't take long. His overconfidence faltered, his movements slowed, and with one last coordinated strike—a chain-enhanced blow from me and a devastating punch from the doll—he crumbled.
Victory was mine, but it hadn't come easily. This fight showed me just how crucial it was to adapt and exploit every edge my abilities could give me.
The realization hit me as I prepared for my fourth match: so far, I'd been cutting through my opponents with relative ease. Sure, they were challenging, but they were well within the range of my calculations. Every fight left little room for surprises, as if the odds had always been stacked slightly in my favor. That would change now.
The final 16 were a different beast. These were the strongest competitors left standing, and I couldn't afford to rely on simple tricks like hiding with invisibility while my doll did the heavy lifting. This round marked a turning point, where I'd have to adjust, adapt, and face them head-on.
Adding to the challenge, the matches from this point forward would be broadcasted—on the dark net, the hunter net, and even to select mundane viewers. It was a bold move by the Association, a way to cement their influence and bolster their image both within the hunter community and outside it. A spectacle, a show, and, perhaps, a test of how hunters might handle the spotlight.
Before the match, I ran into Selena.
"Still in the fight?" I asked.
"Yep, pretty much on it," she replied with a small shrug. "And so is Black."
I raised an eyebrow. "The two of you are getting close, huh?"
Selena's face scrunched up slightly in mock disgust. "He isn't my type, just saying. Anyway, who's your opponent?"
I glanced at the tournament brackets reflected on the card I've been provided. Unlike the earlier rounds, the pairings for the fourth match and forwards would allow the contestants foreknowledge of who they would be fighting.
It was a move by the organizers to heighten the stakes.
My eyes landed on a name, and my jaw tightened.
"That bastard, Geoffrey," I muttered.
Selena smirked knowingly. "Figures. Mine's Black."
"Think you can take him?" I asked.
She folded her arms and considered it. "It'll be tough, but I've got my golden pass secured, so I'm not stressing too much. The chairman said the top 16 would all get one, remember?"
I nodded. The golden pass was an undeniable safety net, granting us privileges far beyond most hunters. But like Selena, I wasn't content with just a spot in the top 16.
"I still want to shoot for number one," Selena added, her tone more determined. "And word is, the top three will be getting some kind of special rewards. It's something new, and if it's what I think it is, it's worth going all in."
I smirked at her confidence. "Looks like you're as much of a gambler as ever."
"Call it ambition," she shot back with a wink.
A blinding flash of light consumed my vision. When it faded, I found myself standing atop a mountain. Jagged peaks stretched in every direction, their stark silhouettes cutting sharply against a pale blue sky. Thin air brushed my face, cool and crisp, carrying the faint whistle of a high-altitude wind. The terrain beneath my boots was rough, uneven stone, and the space was wide enough to offer room for a brutal battle.
My match had come before Selena's, it seemed.
Before I could process my surroundings further, another burst of light flared in front of me. As the brightness dimmed, the figure of Geoffrey emerged—his ragged appearance as disheveled as ever. He looked every bit the vagrant he was, his wild grin stretched across his face in an expression of absolute delight.
"It looks like we meet again!" he hollered, his voice echoing off the surrounding cliffs.
I tried to move, instinctively preparing to activate my doll despite it not being here, but I couldn't. My body was locked in place, my limbs stiff as if bound by invisible chains. I quickly realized what was happening: an aura held me captive, an oppressive weight pressing against my entire body.
A booming voice rang through the air, cutting through the tension.
"You get a commentator for the final 16! Isn't that great?" It was Chairman Bob, his jovial tone as infuriating as ever. "Anyways, you're still inside the tower, so don't be scared of taking risks. You won't exactly die! But hey, everything around you is real enough to hurt. So, what are you waiting for? Fight!"
As his voice faded, the aura trapping me dissipated. Simultaneously, my doll appeared in front of me, materializing out of thin air. The mechanics of the tournament had kicked in—my doll couldn't be summoned until the fight was officially declared. A safeguard, no doubt, to keep matches "fair" in the eyes of the Association.
Geoffrey stood there, radiating smugness, his grin growing wider. He looked utterly unconcerned, his posture as relaxed as if this were a casual spar rather than a fight for dominance.
"Come on," he called, his voice dripping with arrogance. "I'll give you the first move."
Arrogant prick.
I wasn't about to fall for Geoffrey's mind games. His grin wasn't just for show; it was part of his strategy. I knew the bastard too well to fall into his trap.
Geoffrey's most devastating ability was as cunning as it was simple: he could survive the first attack of any fight without retaliation. Once he endured, he could strike back instantaneously with the same attack—magnified tenfold. It was the kind of power that made him dangerous, especially to anyone brash or overconfident enough to go all in at the start.
A Dealer-type like me, Geoffrey had always thrived on risks, gambling with his life in ways that made even hardened hunters uneasy. But where he relied on boldness and an almost supernatural confidence in his defense, I preferred calculated strategy. I didn't have the luxury of staking my life every time, nor the absurd faith he seemed to have in his abilities.
So, I played it safe.
My doll lunged forward, delivering a basic jab. It wasn't the kind of attack Geoffrey would want—it lacked the power needed to trigger his ability. At the same moment, I activated my cloak and vanished, blending seamlessly into the mountain air.
Geoffrey moved with fluidity, dodging the doll's strike effortlessly. His grin widened, his body language practically goading the doll to come at him with something stronger.
But I wasn't about to take the bait.
The doll pursued him relentlessly, its attacks calculated but intentionally restrained. It jabbed, swiped, and feinted, keeping the pressure on without giving Geoffrey the opportunity to exploit my moves.
Geoffrey danced out of reach, his movements light and teasing, his grin unwavering. He wanted me to grow impatient, to lash out with everything I had.
But if there was one thing I'd learned in this life, it was patience.
I reappeared behind Geoffrey, my hand landing firmly on his shoulder. The Soul Mark embedded itself before he even had a chance to react—or so I thought. His reflexes were monstrous. In a blur, he grabbed my wrist, twisted it with bone-crushing strength, and slammed me into the rocky ground. The earth beneath me cracked under the force, sending tremors through the terrain as my invisibility shattered like glass.
The good news? His instantaneous magnified counterattack was now off the table. The bad news? Geoffrey wasn't the type to fold just because his ace was out of play.
As I struggled to rise, my doll launched a ferocious assault, dual Soul Chains materializing in its hands like spectral weapons. The chains gleamed with an eerie light, their presence a clear indicator that the doll's disguise had fully dropped. The chains lashed out, spiraling toward Geoffrey with precision, only to pass through an afterimage.
He was fast—so fast that tracking his movements felt futile.
I barely had time to breathe before I felt a pull on my cloak. Geoffrey had somehow closed the gap, yanking me back and slamming me into the earth again. Pain radiated through my body as the rough terrain bit into my skin. Before I could react, his boot came crashing down toward my skull, aiming to crush it like a melon.
Instinct took over. I rolled, narrowly avoiding the stomp, and as I did, I left Soul Marks on every patch of earth my hands grazed.
Geoffrey wasn't letting up. He followed with relentless aggression, moving with such ferocity it felt like fighting a storm. I summoned Soul Chains in rapid succession from the Soul Marks I've left on the ground, trying to slow him down. The chains snaked toward him, but each time, his form shimmered and dissolved into another afterimage.
I struggled to read his movements. Whatever he was doing wasn't simple speed—it felt like teleportation, a disorienting blend of skill and ability.
When he was upon me again, his hand outstretched as if to grab me, I used Soul Castling, switching places with my doll in the blink of an eye. The doll lashed its chains in a wide arc, their whip-like strikes carving through the air. But Geoffrey vanished again, his afterimages taunting me.
It was a brutal game of cat and mouse, with me dodging, him pursuing, and my doll trying to land a decisive blow. The fight dragged on, each moment heavier than the last. My stamina burned like fire, and the intensity only escalated with every passing second.
For hours, we danced this deadly dance, neither of us willing to yield.
I thought back to Geoffrey as I dodged another strike, narrowly avoiding the hand that sought to pin me down. The fight was brutal, but my thoughts drifted to the past—specifically, the version of Geoffrey I had created when writing Hunterworks. He was supposed to be a minor character, an "extra" who existed to serve as a one-time villain.
Back then, his skills were strong but never fully showcased. He died far too quickly at the hands of the protagonist, meant only to highlight the hero's overwhelming power. But the truth was… Geoffrey was an unfinished character. I had left his backstory vague, his motivations unclear, and most importantly, I had no real understanding of the full extent of his abilities.
Now, as I faced him in the flesh, it was painfully clear just how incomplete my grasp of him had been.
In this world, every Hunter's special abilities were bound by a unifying theme known as their [Passion]—an intrinsic drive or obsession that shaped and defined the scope of their power. For Geoffrey, I couldn't pinpoint what that Passion might be.
Teleportation, afterimages, and an instantaneous counterattack that could magnify and return damage tenfold—these abilities felt disjointed on the surface, but there had to be a binding logic. Something must link them together, a core that unified his seemingly chaotic powers into a cohesive whole.
As I deflected his next attack, forcing him to engage with my doll instead, I couldn't help but wonder: What is Geoffrey's Passion? What drives him to possess abilities that defy conventional strategy?
The question gnawed at me, but I had no time for answers. His moves were relentless, his attacks designed to keep me guessing. Whatever his Passion was, it was dangerous.
I took a moment to review what I knew about Geoffrey. He was a washed-up hunter, a man living on the fringes, saddled with debts but clinging to one redeeming piece of his life—his daughter. That fact alone painted a picture of a man who had once been different, perhaps even hopeful. But what kind of man had he been in his youth? Before his life spiraled into its current state?
He was a single father, which suggested the absence of his wife. That absence could mean one of two things: either she had left them, or she had died. If she left, it might have bred resentment in Geoffrey, or perhaps he was still a blind fool hopelessly in love, chasing after someone who had long since moved on. If she had died, he might have sought revenge—or he could have made peace with her passing and focused on raising his daughter.
There were too many permutations, too many paths his life could have taken. The possibilities buzzed in my mind, each one plausible but none definitive.
I shook my head. It didn't matter. Was his [Passion] truly relevant to me at this moment? No. This wasn't a time for hypotheticals or trying to piece together the fragments of Geoffrey's story. The battlefield didn't care about his past, and neither could I.
I reminded myself of what mattered: take things at surface level. Observe. Adapt. Transform.
With a steadying breath, I activated the invisibility function of my cloak and melted into the shadows once again. My heartbeat slowed as I quieted my mind, retreating into the safety of obscurity. Geoffrey stood there, his frustration evident as he made an annoyed huff. His attention shifted entirely to my doll, his intent clear—he planned to obliterate it now that I'd vanished.
Good. Let him. I crouched in silence from a safe vantage point, watching, waiting, and preparing to strike. The game wasn't over yet.
If this was a story told from my selfish perspective, I'd undoubtedly cast myself as the protagonist and Geoffrey as the antagonist. It was simple, really—a clash of roles where one had to rise, and the other had to fall.
With that in mind, I focused on Geoffrey's movements, piecing together the patterns he'd unknowingly revealed. His so-called teleportation? It wasn't merely a movement skill. It was strictly following the entire concpet of a counterattack. The afterimages he left behind weren't part of some sophisticated technique—they were just artifacts of his incredible speed.
I still didn't know what kind of [Passion] had given rise to his abilities, but the unifying theme was now clear: counters. His fighting style revolved entirely around reacting rather than acting, forcing his opponents to overcommit. His teleportation-like movement was simply an extension of that principle—a mechanism to punish aggression.
I smiled to myself. Understanding was power. This would be easier to deal with than I'd first imagined.
Dropping my invisibility, I stood in plain sight. My doll shifted into a defensive stance, chains glinting in its hands.
"Hey, Geoffrey," I called out, my voice cutting through the tense air. "Let's finish this!"
Geoffrey ignored me at first, intent on my doll. I saw the faintest flicker of irritation cross his face as I whipped a Soul Chain from under my wrist, lashing it toward him with precision.
He vanished before it connected, reappearing at my flank in a blur.
"What are you playing at, you fool?" he sneered, his aura-charged fist barreling toward me.
But his attack never landed. Instead, he was wrenched sideways, his momentum abruptly arrested and redirected ninety degrees. He staggered mid-motion, his expression a mix of shock and confusion.
The trick? A Vector Path I'd hastily cobbled together, imbued with a Homing attribute. Spot A was the space around me, and Spot B was my doll. It wasn't elegant, and I doubted I'd replicate it cleanly, but it worked.
Geoffrey blurred in motion, trying to recover. My doll was ready. Its hands wrapped in shimmering chains, it lashed out with a brutal one-two—a punishing blow to the kidney followed by a crushing strike to his face. Blood spattered across the rocky terrain, and Geoffrey staggered.
He hadn't expected to be struck mid-counter. Dealer-types like us had strict rules governing our abilities, rules we couldn't bend without consequence. Geoffrey had gambled and lost.
Chairman Bob's booming voice filled the air as Geoffrey collapsed to his knees, struggling to catch his breath.
"We have our first winner from the Final 16! Give a round of applause for Reynard Bright!"
The mountain echoed with the sound of clapping and cheers, but I didn't bask in the glory. My mind was already moving ahead, analyzing, strategizing. There were more fights to come, and I couldn't afford to lose focus now.