"Oh, the messenger didn't reach you with the warning? Maybe he got sick on the way and died." Mark raised his shoulders.
"You..!!" All the humiliation of the day was one thing, but this was another altogether. "Wonderful, Dolivar, truly wonderful! I hope you remember this well in the future! Let's go!" Prince William shouted, turning to leave. His expedition followed right behind him, and soon all the delegations of the Black Sun stormed out, their faces twisted with rage.
Caesar didn't understand. This reaction was almost identical to his uncle Billy's when the matter was mentioned before. But when he glanced around, he noticed that the other kingdoms' expeditions remained calm, as though they hadn't heard anything strange at all.
As they walked out of the hall, Caesar turned to Billy. "Uncle, what's going on? Why is everyone acting like this? What exactly is the hunting event?"
"...The Hunting Event takes place inside a vast land teeming with beasts, from the eighth to the twelfth level. These creatures are usually kept in captivity and starved beforehand. You can imagine how dangerous that place becomes..." Billy replied.
"And what's the problem with that? Why are we the only ones outraged?"
"The problem is that participants don't enter alone! Each one can bring five followers under the tenth level. Those followers could be friends, servants, slaves, or even soldiers. As long as they aren't nobles, they qualify."
"What?!" Caesar finally lost his calm. "Why would followers be allowed? Isn't this supposed to be a competition between geniuses?"
"Of course followers are allowed. Otherwise, what would you do if you met a level twelve beast on your own? At least those followers can sacrifice themselves for you. The Hunting Event isn't really about geniuses—it tests the readiness of kingdoms, the cooperation between nobles and followers, and even showcases talented commoners.
In fact, the main participants are sidelined in many ways. It becomes a contest between kingdoms, not just prodigies. This event was only held seven times in the last two thousand years, and every time the kingdoms were notified months in advance so they could gather followers and prepare. But this time? No warning at all!"
Caesar's expression froze. "...The Black Sun Kingdom sent the representatives of the nine duchies and the royal family along with us. That means… fifty-five followers in total, all at the tenth level or less. Where are we supposed to find that number on such short notice?"
"Now you understand why everyone is furious. The distance to the Black Sun Kingdom is too far to call for help. And the first stage always begins three days after the announcement. Come, let's hear what the prince has to say."
Outside the hall, all of Black Sun's expeditions gathered in tense circles, voices rising.
"We must withdraw immediately from this sham of a tournament!"
"I agree, no one will fault us for leaving now!"
"Yes, let's get out of this cursed place! We'll have our revenge later."
"His Majesty must be told of this insult!"
"Enough!" Prince William roared, silencing the crowd. "...The Hunting Event is a bad omen. Every kingdom that has hosted it has faced disaster afterward. We cannot withdraw and leave the stage to them."
"But we don't have suitable followers, Your Highness. Sending our youths inside without protection is suicide! You know how easy it is to die there. And after today's behavior, I fear for our geniuses even more…" Elders nodded in grim agreement—none intended to gamble with their family heirs.
"Go to the slave markets and buy every candidate you can. Hire assassins, mercenaries—anyone at the right level. Our goal isn't to win prestige this time, but to survive. I know what you're thinking, but we must remain. We need to see what Dolivar is planning, and above all—the Black Sun Kingdom never withdraws, no matter the circumstances!" Prince William's tone was final.
Everyone nodded with grave expressions. After more hurried discussions, the groups dispersed. The youths returned to their lodgings, while the elders rushed to scour the capital for candidates.
A day passed swiftly. Every Black Sun delegation spent the night combing through Dolivar's capital, desperate for suitable followers. No one rested—the city was turned upside down. Yet obstacles loomed everywhere.
Assassin guilds claimed to be busy, gangs refused to deal, and even mercenary bands rejected cooperation. By the end of the day, they had only managed to gather twenty-three candidates, all between levels eight and nine.
The Burton family fared the worst. After a full day, they managed to buy just one old slave at the eighth level.
"What do we do now? At this rate, we'll barely scrape together another follower or two in the next days…" one elder sighed during the nightly meeting.
"We should withdraw! Caesar is our hope to return as a Marquis family. We can't sacrifice him for the kingdom's face!"
"Yes, let the royal family and duchies fend for themselves. We're just an Earldom. No one will notice if we leave."
"Enough!" Billy slammed the table. "His Majesty himself nominated us, and the duchies agreed. They put their trust in us—how can we betray that trust by backing out?"
"Calm yourself, Billy. This happens every tournament. The kingdom usually nominates one or two outsiders besides the dukes and royals. It's not some grand exception."
"That's right. His Majesty heard of Caesar's strength and chose for the kingdom's sake. But we should think of our family's sake as well!"
Knock, knock!
"What is it?! Didn't I say no one should disturb us?!" Billy roared. His mood was already black as night.
"Saint Billy," came the muffled reply, "two young men are outside claiming to have been sent by Sir Robin Burton."