Adventurers' exam (2)

The vast dome of the exam hall thrummed with the collective anticipation of ten thousand applicants. Shakespeare's powerful voice, declaring the start of the 369th Adventurer's Exam, still echoed in the immense space. Now, the stage belonged to Nietzsche, his intense gaze sweeping over the eager, nervous faces.

Nietzsche, a man of precise movements and an almost predatory stillness, stepped forward. He held no data-slate, no holographic projector. His voice, though not as booming as Shakespeare's, was sharp and commanding, cutting through the murmurs of the crowd.

"Applicants," Nietzsche began, his voice devoid of warmth, "the first challenge of the Adventurer's Exam is the Hunt. It tests your observational skills, your tracking abilities, your teamwork, and your capacity for strategic engagement."

He paused, letting his words sink in. "For this exam, you must group yourselves into teams of three. No more, no less. Choose your companions wisely. This is not a test of individual glory, but of collective efficiency."

A ripple went through the vast crowd as applicants immediately began to murmur, seeking out potential teammates. The hall, moments ago silent, erupted into a cacophony of hurried conversations, whispered alliances, and wary assessments.

Nietzsche raised a hand, and the volume immediately subsided. "Your target," he announced, his voice carrying a subtle edge of challenge, "is the Rare Azron Boar. These creatures are native to the Azron Woods, a sprawling, dense forest just outside Namil City. They are notoriously fast, elusive, and incredibly hard to capture."

A collective gasp, then a renewed buzz of worried chatter, swept through the hall. Rare boars were legendary for their cunning.

"Your objective is not to kill them," Nietzsche continued, his eyes gleaming with a hint of amusement, "but to capture one alive and unharmed. You will be provided with a standard capture net and tranquilizer darts. Any boar brought back deceased, or with severe, life-threatening injuries, will result in immediate disqualification for your entire team. You have precisely 24 hours from the moment the gates open."

He then gestured to a series of large, reinforced gates that lined the base of the arena walls. "Once you have formed your teams, proceed to any open gate. The Azron Woods await. May the hunt begin."

As the thousands of applicants scrambled, forming impromptu groups and rushing towards the gates, Adam and his companions gravitated together, a small, battle-hardened island in a sea of frantic movement.

"Alright," Adam said, looking at the familiar faces of Julian, Astrid, Panchenko, Tom, and Edward. "Teams of three. We need to split ourselves strategically."

"Obvious choices first," Julian stated calmly. "Edward and I are the primary combatants. Astrid and Panchenko are highly agile and adaptable. Tom is our strategist and tech expert. Adam, you're… adaptable, a leader, and now you have two energy pistols."

"The goal is capture, not kill," Edward rumbled, his crimson eyes already calculating. "That requires precision, speed, and coordinated movement to corner such an elusive creature. Brute force alone will not suffice."

"My concern," Tom interjected, tapping a finger on his chin, "is optimizing our chances. We have six. Two teams. How do we maximize our collective success?"

"Edward needs someone who can keep up with him, someone who understands complex maneuvers without words," Adam mused. "And someone who can deal with the boars if they get too close. Julian would be ideal there. They're both exceptional at close-quarters combat."

"But if Edward and Julian are together, who provides the heavy hitting for the other team?" Panchenko pointed out. "And who protects Tom, our brains?"

"Precisely my thought," Adam agreed. "Tom needs protection, and someone who can follow complex instructions under pressure. And I need someone who can follow up on my ranged attacks."

A moment of quiet thought passed between them. The Azron Boar, elusive and fast, sounded like a creature that would require different approaches.

"I have an idea," Adam finally said. "Edward, you're the fastest, the most powerful. You can cut off escape routes, drive the boar. And Tom, you're the sharpest mind. You can track, analyze patterns, and direct Edward with precision. Your combined speed and intellect would make for an uncatchable duo."

Tom's eyes lit up. "That's… not a bad idea. My tracking skills are excellent, and Edward's speed would allow us to cover vast ground quickly. We could herd the boar into a trap."

Edward considered this, his crimson eyes thoughtful. "A hunter and his guide. Acceptable. It will test our ability to synchronize."

"So, Adam, Edward, and Tom group themselves," Adam confirmed. "My guns can lay down suppressing fire or herd them. Edward's speed is unmatched for pursuit and cutting off escape. And Tom is our brain, our tracker, our strategist."

"Which leaves Julian, Astrid, and me," Panchenko said, raising an eyebrow. "We're the brawn, the agility, and the… other brawn."

"Julian's precision and speed, Astrid's agility and silent movement for flanking, and Panchenko's sheer tenacity and strength for netting," Adam outlined. "That team sounds balanced. You can corner and net the boar once it's driven towards you, or chase it through dense terrain where my guns might be less effective."

Julian nodded. "It makes sense. We can move through the undergrowth effectively, and our combined efforts should be sufficient for capture."

Astrid agreed. "We're good at flushing out targets and working in tight spaces. Perfect for a forest hunt."

"So, it's settled then," Adam declared. "Team One: Adam, Edward, Tom. Team Two: Julian, Astrid, Panchenko."

They shook hands, a silent pact formed. The vast exam hall, filled with thousands of other, less-organized teams, seemed a blur around them. Their small group, forged in the fires of Kazakhar, now faced their first challenge of freedom.

--Azron woods--

They picked separate gates, merging into the torrent of applicants pouring into the Azron Woods. The forest was dense, ancient, with towering trees that blocked out much of the sunlight, creating an ethereal, dappled gloom. The ground was covered in thick undergrowth, making movement difficult and silent tracking nearly impossible.

Adam and his team—Edward a silent, powerful presence beside him, Tom already focused on his data-pad and scanning the environment—began their search. They moved swiftly, Edward leading, his senses alert, Tom guiding them with subtle hand gestures and whispered directions based on faint tracks and ecological indicators. Adam, his dual energy pistols ready, kept a lookout for any threats or the elusive boars.

But the Rare Azron Boars lived up to their reputation. They were ghosts in the woods. Their hooves left almost no trace on the soft earth. Their movements were silent, their scent incredibly faint. The forest seemed to swallow them whole.

Hours passed. The black sun climbed, then began its slow descent. The sounds of other teams, crashing through the undergrowth, shouting, cursing, or occasionally the muffled thud of a tranquilizer dart hitting something, but never the triumphant cry of a capture, echoed through the vast woods.

Adam's team, despite Edward's enhanced senses and Tom's tracking prowess, found nothing. They saw faint signs – a disturbed patch of moss here, a barely discernible scratch on a tree trunk there – but never the creature itself.

"These things are impossible," Adam muttered, wiping sweat from his brow. His new guns felt heavy, useless.

"They are indeed masters of evasion," Edward agreed, his crimson eyes scanning the dense foliage. "They sense presence from miles away. They move only when they are certain of safety."

Tom consulted his data-pad, a frustrated frown on his face. "Their movement patterns are highly irregular. No predictable migratory routes. They seem to phase through the environment. It's like chasing a phantom."

Meanwhile, Julian, Astrid, and Panchenko were facing similar frustrations. They moved with stealth and precision, their experience in covert operations serving them well, but the boars remained elusive.

"I heard a rustle!" Astrid whispered, her daggers drawn, poised for a strike. They froze, listening. Nothing. Just the wind through the leaves.

Panchenko grunted, peering into a thicket. "My ancestors would have found this beast by now. Probably eaten it too."

Julian, his patience tested, observed, "Their evasive instincts are phenomenal. Every time we get close, they simply… vanish. It's as if the forest itself aids their escape."

As eight hours passed, the vast Azron Woods remained empty of captured boars. The sounds of other teams grew more desperate, more frustrated. Shouts turned into exasperated cries. The silence of the forest, punctuated by the occasional distant groan of a defeated applicant, felt mocking.

Adam's team regrouped with Julian's team at a pre-designated rendezvous point, their faces etched with the same frustration.

"Anything?" Adam asked, his voice flat.

Julian shook his head. "Nothing. We've covered a significant area. We've seen other teams, but no boars."

Panchenko threw his spear into the ground in exasperation. "This is madness! How can something be so… un-findable?!"

"This is why it's the first exam," Tom stated, his voice grim. "It's designed to be incredibly difficult. It's not about brute force. It's about cunning. About understanding the prey."

A frustrated voice, belonging to an applicant from another team, drifted through the trees. "Is it even possible to capture these things?!"

Another voice, weary but resigned, responded. "That's why there are so few applicants who pass every year to become an adventurer, mate. This ain't no walk in the park."

Adam looked at Edward, whose crimson eyes were narrowed in thought. The raw power that had torn through demons in Kazakhar felt almost useless against an enemy that simply refused to be found.

The hunt for the Rare Azron Boar was proving to be a challenge far more subtle, and perhaps more frustrating, than any demon battle they had faced. The 24-hour clock was ticking, and they were no closer to victory.