16 Hours ago in the forest where the admission exam was taking place...
The night cloaked the forest in a shroud of unsettling shadows, faintly illuminated by the pale moonlight filtering through barren branches. The crunch of dry leaves underfoot broke the silence as a group of hooded men moved swiftly and stealthily. These were no ordinary men—they were hunters. At their forefront stood their leader, Number 12, whose imposing presence seemed to absorb the very darkness around him. His gaze meticulously scanned the terrain, searching for something—or someone.
Suddenly, a sharp gesture from Number 13 halted the group.
"Stop!" he whispered urgently, his words cutting through the stillness.
The others froze in unison, their heads turning toward the hooded figure who had moved a few meters ahead.
"I've found something. Come quickly."
Obediently, they gathered around him. What they discovered was unsettling: a young man, apparently asleep. His clothes were torn, his skin marked with burns and fresh wounds. Although he seemed defenseless, there was something strange about him—a faint, pulsing dark energy surrounding him.
Number 14 tilted his head.
"Is this what we were looking for?"
The leader, Number 12, did not immediately respond. He simply observed the young man with a piercing, calculating stare. Suddenly, the youth stirred awake and began preparing to leave. Without hesitation, he took off running, skillfully dodging the monsters that inhabited the forest. The hooded men followed closely, moving like his shadow.
"Doesn't he ever stop running? Do you think he noticed us?" muttered Number 15, a mix of surprise and unease in his voice.
Luther, the young man, continued running as if escaping something. His steps were unsteady at first, but soon he gained speed, impressing the hooded figures who had assumed he was weak and injured when they found him asleep.
It all came to a sudden halt when Luther stopped in a clearing. His breathing was heavy, but his stance was alert. Slowly, he turned his head toward the darkness surrounding him.
"I know you're there," he said, his voice sharp as a blade. "Come out."
Number 14 took a step back, bewildered.
"How did he detect us?" he asked, incredulity in his tone.
"And now what do we do?" added Number 15, clutching his weapon tightly.
The leader, Number 12, raised a hand, commanding silence. His gaze never left Luther.
"He's not talking to us," he replied calmly.
The air grew thick as another figure emerged from the shadows: Marcus. His appearance was wretched, his face pale, and his movements clumsy, as if even walking took all the effort he could muster.
The hooded men remained at a distance, silently observing the unfolding events without interfering. They watched intently as the two exchanged words, and then, as Luther lost control, the dark mana overtook him, plunging the clearing into an oppressive darkness.
"I see," murmured Number 12, his interest piqued by the phenomenon. "So this is why we were sent to follow these children."
Despite their training, the hooded men couldn't hide their discomfort. Some took cautious steps backward, while others exchanged furtive glances, envy and fear flickering in their eyes as they watched the scene unfold.
Luther screamed, a gut-wrenching sound that echoed through the forest. The air turned heavy, suffocating. He began channeling his energy into a dark sphere forming between his hands. The orb expanded rapidly, emitting a deafening hum.
"Boss, we should step in," said Number 13, his voice taut with tension.
Number 12 didn't respond. Instead, he raised a hand, signaling them to wait. His eyes remained fixed on Luther, analyzing his every move.
The energy within the sphere reached its peak. Exhausted, Luther let his hands drop, and the sphere plummeted to the ground like a meteor, detonating on impact. The explosion ripped through the forest, splitting trees in half and cracking the earth. A cloud of dust engulfed the clearing.
As the dust settled, Luther collapsed to his knees, unconscious. Silence returned, interrupted only by the creaking of broken branches.
Number 12 scanned his group, his expression unreadable. Finally, he gave a single nod. The others responded in kind, vanishing into the shadows without a word, leaving the clearing as if they had never been there.
The forest, still shrouded in the dense mist of the explosion, resembled a scene from a nightmare. Amid the smoldering ruins, Marcus lay trembling on the ground, his eyes fixated on the spot where Luther had unleashed that dark power. Paralyzed with fear, he couldn't hold himself together, and a warm, wet sensation spread down his legs. The humiliation of his loss of control was insignificant compared to the terror consuming him.
He tried to crawl away, inching backward, but his retreat was cut short when he bumped into something solid. Turning slowly, he came face to face with an imposing figure. Number 15 loomed over him, a sinister smile on his face.
Before Marcus could scream, a gloved hand clamped over his mouth, smothering any sound.
"Don't make a noise, boy," the hooded figure whispered, tightening his grip on Marcus's throat as a dry, humorless laugh escaped his lips.
Numbers 14 and 13 approached, their laughter echoing ominously. Marcus struggled, but his body was too weak. Blow after blow rained down on him, the men's jeers blending with the forest's eerie quiet.
"Resilient for a brat," sneered Number 14, wiping his bloody hand on his black cloak. He looked at Marcus, who could barely breathe through his sobs. "Maybe we can train him to replace useless Number 16, now that he's dead."
Number 13 snapped his head toward his companion and smacked him across the back of the head.
"Don't say that again," he warned, his tone grave. "Unless you want trouble."
A few meters away, Number 12 knelt beside Luther's unconscious body. His movements were precise as he checked the young man's pulse and examined him carefully, though from the distance, it was impossible to discern what he was doing.
Finally, Number 12 stood.
"This will suffice," he declared, as if concluding his task. His deep voice silenced the others' laughter. "Let's go."
Number 14 gestured toward Marcus, who lay curled up on the ground, crying and trembling.
"And what about this one?"
Number 12's expression remained emotionless as he replied:
"Kill him. We can't leave witnesses."