Journey Before the Storm

The train sped across plains still shrouded in morning mist, the rhythmic tremor of steel rails carrying into the carriage. Outside the window, high-rises gradually gave way to vast fields, distant mountain ranges hung low, and a chill unique to the eve of departure filled the space between heaven and earth.

Ryan leaned against the window seat, his expression calm, his gaze directed outside without truly focusing. His elbow lightly tapped the armrest in rhythm, his backpack resting steadily on his lap. A pouch containing a slingshot was quietly tied to the outermost strap—he never kept his real means of self-defense somewhere difficult to reach.

He knew his destination—Zaban City.

It was the gathering point for the Hunter Exam, and also the place where the main cast of his previous-life memories had first come together. A trial that would determine destinies would begin there. This journey was the silent prelude to the battlefield.

He did not hurry to rest with his eyes closed. Instead, he deliberately observed his surroundings.

Across from him, a young man flipped through a thick travel guide, yet his fingers kept returning to the same page. It looked absentminded, but he had clearly memorized the route long ago. By the window in the adjacent row, an ordinary-looking female student had left her backpack slightly open, revealing several packs of compressed rations, bandages, and a folded collapsible baton. Farther ahead, a middle-aged man kept his mask on at all times. He appeared drowsy, but his index finger occasionally tapped a rhythm against his knee.

These were not ordinary travelers.

Ryan withdrew his gaze. He could distinguish that subtle pressure emanating from them—restraint, vigilance, the air that only fighters could sense in one another when nearing a battlefield.

And he was the same.

By the time the train reached the transfer station, there were already many more passengers with wary expressions aboard. Ryan followed the crowd off the platform and transferred to a long-distance coach heading south. At the waiting area, he did not rush to board. Instead, he found a seat in a corner and casually unfolded a map from the side pocket of his backpack.

At that moment, a young man carrying a flat, long bag approached. He set down his luggage beside Ryan and smiled. "You're going to Zaban City too?"

Ryan paused slightly, his gaze passing over the old Association badge pinned to the man's chest—it was fake, though finely made. He nodded, his tone steady. "Yeah. I'm going to see if there are any opportunities."

The young man gave an unassuming smile. "The Hunter Exam, right? You too?"

The question was far too direct.

But Ryan merely answered blandly, "Probably."

The young man did not press him. He simply shrugged. "My name is Tereno. It's my first time taking it. I worked as a mercenary for a while before this, then I heard that if you passed the exam even once, the world would become completely different. So I came to try my luck."

"You're well prepared." Ryan's gaze fell on the laces around Tereno's boots—the way they were tied was meant for real combat, helping stabilize the ankles during rapid movement.

"Not really." Tereno smiled, then suddenly lowered his voice. "But seriously, did you know? In past exams... the elimination rate was supposedly terrifying. One year, dozens died in the first round alone. Some went insane on the spot, and others dropped dead right outside the exam site. And then there's that marsh labyrinth—once you go in, you never come out."

"A life-and-death exam?"

"Who knows. The Association never announces the causes of death."

Ryan did not reply. His eyes fell quiet for a moment before he folded the map again and slowly put it back into his backpack.

"You're not afraid?" Tereno asked.

"I am." Ryan's tone remained indifferent. "But I'm not afraid now, and I'm not afraid of other people."

"Then what are you afraid of?"

"Losing control of myself."

Tereno looked at him as if he understood and did not understand. He chuckled softly twice, then said nothing more.

The bus arrived, and everyone boarded one after another. Ryan chose a window seat in the back, pulled down the brim of his hat, and closed his eyes to rest.

From this moment onward, he would not speak carelessly, nor would he casually judge who was strong and who was weak. He knew the true selection had not yet begun, but with every footprint, every conversation, every drop of sweat, the competition had already started in silence.

His goal was not to defeat anyone, nor was it to show off anything.

It was this: to walk through the final gate alive—and walk back out alive.

The coach sped along the highway, and the scenery outside shifted from fields to hills, then to yellow-brown land carved by wind erosion. The uneven road occasionally jolted the vehicle. The driver wore an old-fashioned headset and hummed along to a country tune playing on the radio, clearly familiar with this route.

There were no announcements in the cabin, and no one spoke. Only the curtains fluttered softly in the wind, accompanied by the steady roar of the engine.

Ryan opened his eyes slightly and swept his gaze around the bus.

There were a little over twenty people aboard, but only five truly fell within his range of alertness. Aside from the young man calling himself Tereno, there was a middle-aged man in casual clothes seated toward the front left. He looked relaxed, but his posture had not shifted in the slightest. The angle of his feet turned outward was minimal, revealing precise control over the space around him. His left hand rested lightly on his bag, his fingers pressing exactly where the clasp was located.

The one who drew Ryan's attention most was a girl seated in the opposite corner of the rear rows.

She wore sunglasses and kept a low profile, speaking to no one throughout the journey. But when she boarded, she had stood beside an accompanying guard, and after that guard spoke with the driver, the route's priority had immediately changed.

Unless something unexpected happened, she was the child of a family with influence.

The fluctuation of her Nen aura was extremely faint, enough to conclude that she had not awakened it. But that was precisely what made her unusual—if she were merely an ordinary person, why would someone be assigned to escort her to the Hunter Exam?

Perhaps it was an "escort-type test," or perhaps her participation carried some political meaning.

Whether these people would become real opponents remained unclear, but their presence was enough to remind Ryan of one thing:

There were quite a few strong people in this year's exam.

"What do you think?" Tereno spoke again beside him, this time in a very soft voice.

Ryan glanced at him.

"That girl with the sunglasses." Tereno tilted his chin toward her. "Do you think she's just a tourist?"

"If she isn't deliberately pretending, then her disguise is better than either yours or mine."

"That makes sense." Tereno rubbed his chin, then added, "I heard... sometimes the Association deliberately arranges eliminations along the way. Fake stations, fake guides, even examiners in disguise."

Ryan gave a quiet "Mm."

"There was another time, supposedly, when they planted false clues in a transfer town. More than a hundred candidates went the wrong way, and only twelve arrived on time." Tereno spoke with great interest. "I heard the chief examiner that year was especially cold. He didn't explain a single word."

"It was Satotz," Ryan said calmly.

"Huh? You've heard of him too?"

"I know a little." He did not elaborate.

In truth, he remembered it with absolute clarity.

That year's exam had never been designed for everyone from the very start. Those fake platforms, fake inns, and fake notices were the Association's first test of "information discernment." Anyone gullible, impatient, or reliant on others had no right to stand upon the true testing grounds.

This was the path he intended to take—

Do not ask others. Do not rely on luck.

Every step would be taken by his own feet.

When the bus briefly stopped at a small station, two new passengers got on. One was a slightly hunched man in a cloak, while the other carried a heavy metal case and had two obvious joint bandages on his hand. They did not speak to each other, but judging by where they chose to sit, they had deliberately separated as part of a coordinated arrangement.

They looked like candidates suited for team combat.

Ryan did not greet them. He merely noted one sentence in his mind: Do not approach. Do not clash.

This was not cowardice, but his choice: when there was no need to act, he would not reveal any information.

The sky outside gradually darkened.

As the bus reached the edge of a valley, the announcement finally sounded. The driver said in a somewhat unclear voice, "We are expected to arrive at the southern checkpoint of Zaban City in two hours. This will be the final stop. Passengers must transfer to the subway or walk into the city on their own."

Ryan heard faint murmurs from several corners of the bus. Some people began organizing their equipment, some lightly patted their bags to confirm their supplies, and some took off their hats to check whether the seats beside them were loose.

Tension, restlessness, vigilance... emotions began to drift through the air.

Ryan merely lowered his head, took out a notebook, and wrote a line beneath a blank space on one page:

"If I fight to the death, it will not be for fame; if I return alive, I will not speak of hardship."

The handwriting was small, but exceptionally clear. He closed the notebook and shut his eyes.

He had not come to risk his life.

He had come to pass.