Chapter 1: The Drifter in Orange.
The heat in Zaban City was not merely a temperature; it was a physical weight. It pressed down on the bustling market streets, carrying the scent of roasted cumin, dry earth, and the sweat of a thousand travelers.
Ace stood at the edge of the main thoroughfare, shielding his eyes from the glaring sun. He adjusted the brim of his orange hat, the shadow falling over his freckled face. He wore a loose, open-collared yellow shirt that fluttered slightly in the warm breeze, paired with dark knee-length shorts and sturdy boots that had seen better days. His backpack, heavy with essentials, slumped against his shoulder.
Beside him, the guide—a short, gruff man who had led him from the coast—spat onto the dusty ground.
"This is as far as I go," the man grunted, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "The Exam site is somewhere in this city. If you can't find it from here, you have no business taking the test."
Ace blinked, looking at the chaotic maze of stalls, stone buildings, and shouting merchants ahead. He looked back at the man. "Wait. That's it?"
The man was already turning around, waving a dismissive hand. "Good luck, kid. You'll need it."
"Hey! What do you mean by that?" Ace called out, taking a step forward. "Seriously? Where do I go?"
The man didn't answer. He simply melted into the crowd of arriving tourists and hopefuls, leaving Ace standing alone on the street corner.
Ace let out a long sigh, scratching the back of his neck. "Well," he muttered to himself. "That's helpful."
He wasn't particularly worried. Anxiety wasn't in his nature. He adjusted his backpack straps and stepped into the flow of the crowd. If he was going to be lost, he might as well be lost on a full stomach. The long journey here had burned through his energy reserves, and his body was demanding fuel.
The market of Zaban was a assault on the senses. Merchants shouted prices for colorful rugs, strange fruits, and mechanical parts. Ace navigated through them with a practiced ease, his body moving fluidly to avoid colliding with shoulders and carts. He didn't look like a warrior or a hunter; he looked like a traveler, just another face in the sea of people.
He found a small, open-air tavern tucked between a carpet shop and a smithy. It was crowded, noisy, and smelled of grilled meat and heavy spices. Perfect.
Ace found a singular empty stool at the far end of the wooden counter. He sat down, the wood creaking under his weight. When the server—a large woman with a stained apron—approached, Ace flashed a polite grin.
"I'll take whatever is biggest," Ace said, his voice cheerful. "And water. A lot of water."
While he waited, he rested his chin in his hand, observing the room. This was his habit. He liked to watch people. He watched a group of men gambling with dice in the corner, the tension in their shoulders rising with every roll. He watched a merchant counting coins with trembling fingers. It was the ordinary rhythm of life, the small details that made a place feel real.
His food arrived—a massive plate of spiced rice topped with a roasted bird leg the size of his forearm. Ace didn't hesitate. He ate with a terrifying efficiency, yet he savored it. He tasted the turmeric, the char on the meat, the salt. He wasn't just fueling his body; he was enjoying the moment. To him, freedom was the ability to sit in a strange city and eat a good meal without looking over his shoulder.
Midway through his third glass of water, a voice cut through the ambient noise of the tavern.
"We can't just wander around guessing! We need to ask someone who actually knows something!"
It was a sharp, composed voice. Ace paused, a forkful of rice hovering near his mouth. He glanced to his left.
Two tables away sat an odd pair. One was a tall man in a dark blue business suit, carrying a briefcase, looking entirely out of place in this dusty market. He wore small, round sunglasses and was currently waving a spoon in the air aggressively.
The other was shorter, dressed in a blue tabard with gold hems, possessing delicate features and blonde hair. This one sat with perfect posture, sipping tea with an air of calm frustration.
"Leorio," the blonde one said, his voice level. "We cannot simply ask random pedestrians about the Hunter Exam. It requires discretion."
Hunter Exam.
Ace's ears perked up. He swallowed his food and wiped his mouth with a napkin, his movements slowing down. That was the keyword.
"Discretion?" The man in the suit—Leorio—scoffed. "We've been walking in circles for two hours! If we don't find the navigator soon, the deadline will pass. I didn't come all this way to fail because we were too proud to ask for directions."
"And I didn't come this way to be led into a trap by your impatience," the blonde retorted.
Ace watched them for a moment longer. They seemed... different. Most people in the tavern were locals or merchants. These two had a specific energy. The tall one was loud and brash, but his aura felt honest. The blonde one was guarded, sharp as a knife, and clearly intelligent.
Ace threw enough currency on the counter to cover the meal and a generous tip. He grabbed his backpack and stood up, the legs of his stool scraping against the floor.
As he walked past their table, he didn't stop, but he kept his pace slow, listening.
"Fine!" Leorio stood up, adjusting his tie. "I'm going to ask that shopkeeper over there. You can stay here and sip your tea."
"I am coming with you," the blonde sighed, standing up gracefully.
Ace stepped out into the blinding sunlight of the street. He adjusted his orange hat again, a small smirk playing on his lips. The guide had abandoned him, and he had no map. But he had good instincts.
Those two represent my best chance, he thought.
He didn't approach them. He didn't introduce himself. Instead, he leaned against a stone pillar across the street, pretending to inspect a display of daggers. He waited until Leorio and his companion exited the tavern and began walking down the alleyway.
With a silent, rhythmic stride, Ace pushed off the wall and followed. He kept his distance, blending into the shadows of the awnings, a silent observer drifting in their wake. The test had already begun, and he wasn't planning on being left behind.