When the ship's horn echoed across Grimm Island on the twelfth day, the surviving candidates gathered at the beach with a mixture of relief and exhaustion. Laurel and Nelson had made it through the ordeal, though not without close calls involving a particularly aggressive pack of wolves on day nine.
As the examiner with the eyepatch conducted the headcount, his expression grew increasingly puzzled.
"Thirty-nine survivors," he announced. "Eighteen too injured to continue with the examination process."
That left twenty-one candidates who could proceed—but something was wrong. Standing among the group were four people that most of the survivors swore they had never seen before: three identical young men with pale skin and dark hair, and a fourth candidate of Asian descent who seemed completely unremarkable except for the fact that no one could quite remember noticing him on the island.
"I'm telling you, I've never seen those guys before in my life," muttered a burly candidate named Rex, loud enough for others to hear.
"Same here," agreed a woman with short blonde hair. "Where did they even come from?"
The examiner frowned as he checked his roster. "All four names are on the original registration list," he said curtly. "They were all present at the initial departure."
But as Laurel looked around at the faces of his fellow survivors, he could see the confusion and doubt in their eyes. Somehow, these four had managed to survive twelve days on a predator-filled island while remaining completely unnoticed by everyone else.
"How is that even possible?" Nelson whispered to his brother as they boarded the ship.
Laurel shook his head. The same question that had been bothering him all week was now front and center: what exactly were these four capable of?
Back at the Adventurer's Guild branch in Blackwater Ridge, the atmosphere was markedly different from their first visit. The twenty-one remaining candidates were led to a large training hall behind the main building, where multiple combat rings had been set up.
The head examiner—an imposing man with graying hair and numerous battle scars—stepped forward to address the group.
"Congratulations on surviving the first stage," he said, his voice carrying the authority of someone accustomed to command. "The final stage is simple: one-on-one combat. Each of you will face an examiner of your choosing. That same examiner will score your performance. Choose wisely—each examiner can only fight once."
Laurel counted the lineup of potential opponents. Twenty-one examiners stood ready, ranging from a lean swordsman to a heavily muscled woman who looked like she could crush rocks with her bare hands. But his eyes kept returning to the head examiner himself—a man whose presence alone seemed to command respect from his colleagues.
When the selection process began, candidates stepped forward one by one to make their choices. Nelson selected a tall, lean man who carried himself with the fluid grace of a martial artist. Laurel, however, stepped forward and pointed directly at the head examiner.
"I choose him," Laurel announced.
A few candidates gasped, and the head examiner raised an eyebrow. "Bold choice, young man. I am Jude, and I should warn you—I'm not easily impressed."
The first match began immediately, with Nelson facing his chosen examiner in the central ring. The lean man introduced himself simply as Kane, offering no additional information about his background or specialties.
"Begin!" Jude called out.
Nelson immediately rushed forward, hoping to catch his opponent off-guard while Kane was still settling into his stance. It was a reasonable strategy—one that had worked during the tournament qualifiers.
Kane, however, was clearly experienced in real combat. With minimal effort, he sidestepped Nelson's aggressive opening punch, causing Nelson to overextend and lose his balance. Before Nelson could recover, Kane delivered a precise strike to his neck that sent him crashing to the ground.
The match seemed over, but Nelson's determination was far from broken. He pushed himself back to his feet and charged again, only to be knocked down by another effortless counter. This pattern repeated several times—Nelson attacking with everything he had, Kane deflecting and countering with surgical precision.
After the fifth knockdown, Kane looked genuinely bored. "Enough," he said, turning to leave the ring. "This is pointless."
As Kane walked toward the exit, he paused for just a moment and glanced back.
"You really are his son," Kane muttered under his breath, barely audible.
Nelson, still dazed from the repeated impacts, wasn't sure he had heard correctly. "What did you say?"
But Kane had already left the training hall, offering no explanation.
Several matches passed, each showcasing different fighting styles and abilities. Some candidates performed admirably, others were thoroughly outclassed. The mysterious four candidates had yet to fight, and Laurel found himself watching them carefully.
Finally, it was time for the second-to-last match. The Asian candidate—the one called Itachi—stepped into the ring opposite an agile-looking examiner who introduced himself as a master swordsman.
"This should be interesting," the swordsman said, drawing his blade. "I specialize in dealing with evasive opponents."
When the match began, both fighters seemed content to study each other. They circled slowly, neither making the first move. The examiner, growing impatient with the standoff, finally decided to press the attack.
The moment he began closing the distance, something strange happened. Itachi moved backward at exactly the same speed, maintaining a constant gap between them. The examiner pushed harder, his confidence growing as he seemed to be driving his opponent toward the edge of the arena.
"Got you cornered now," the examiner muttered, raising his sword to deliver what he expected to be a finishing blow.
That's when Itachi moved.
In an instant, the mysterious candidate burst forward, covering the distance between them faster than the eye could follow. His strike connected before the examiner could even begin to react, sending the veteran adventurer staggering backward.
The examiner's pride was wounded more than his body. "Lucky shot!" he snarled, regaining his composure. "That won't happen again!"
But as he prepared to retaliate, something impossible occurred. The examiner suddenly lurched forward, as if something had grabbed him and pulled him toward Itachi against his will. Off-balance and confused, he found himself face-to-face with his opponent just as Itachi produced a simple playing card from his pocket.
The card, somehow sharp enough to cut, sliced through the examiner's guard and drew blood across his chest.
"What the—" the examiner began, but Itachi was already moving for what looked like a finishing strike.
That's when all the other examiners jumped into the ring simultaneously.
"Match over!" Jude declared, though his eyes remained fixed on Itachi with obvious concern.
As the wounded examiner was helped away, Jude muttered to himself, "I know he's not the strongest, but not weak enough to be beaten by a candidate like this..."
**Narrator:** What the spectators didn't realize was that they had just witnessed something extraordinary. Itachi had carefully studied his opponent's movements and confidence level, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. When the examiner became overconfident and dropped his guard, Itachi seized the opportunity. But the real technique that decided the match was invisible to everyone watching. During the initial circling phase, Itachi had used his vital energy to create an incredibly thin, strong thread—so fine and with so little energy that it was nearly impossible to detect. When he pulled the examiner forward at the crucial moment, no one could see what had caused the sudden movement. As for the playing card that cut through skin like a blade, Itachi had poured concentrated vital energy into it, temporarily transforming an ordinary piece of paper into a weapon sharp enough to draw blood.