The great wooden mansion of the Demon Hunter Order for Trails loomed like an ancient shrine swallowed by the forest.. The fog that lingered over the mountains was thinning, yet the air inside the hall was thick with tension.
Dozens of young men and women sat in neat rows across the tatami floor. Each had a low writing desk before them, a rolled parchment, a brush, and a bowl of ink. Paper lanterns swayed gently from the ceiling beams, the golden glow casting long, shifting shadows across their faces.
An instructor stood at the front, his presence commanding though he spoke little. Behind him, a blackboard displayed seven bold white questions written in steady brushstrokes.
"Written Examination — The First Trial."
Below it, seven questions were written clearly in calligraphy — not questions of knowledge, but of heart and conviction:
1. What does it mean to protect humanity?
2. If demons were to beg for mercy, what would you do?
3. What drives you to fight?
4. What is fear to you?
5. Would you sacrifice yourself for others?
6. What defines a demon?
7. What defines a human?
Whispers rippled among the candidates. Some frowned, others smirked or sighed. These were not tests of strength or memorization — they were windows into their souls.
Haruto sat quietly in the third row. His brush hovered over the parchment, his eyes tracing the questions one by one. Around him, tension coiled like smoke.
He breathed slowly, steadying his heartbeat.
"So this is how they test us first… Not by our swords, but by our hearts."
Across from him, Raiden leaned lazily against his desk, his blond hair falling across his eyes. "Heh, they're not wasting time," he muttered under his breath, twirling the brush between his fingers. "Guess they want to see who's got a brain before a blade."
Haruto gave a faint smile, his eyes scanning the room. "Maybe they want to see what kind of heart holds the blade."
Raiden chuckled quietly, "Poetic. You sound like you've been reading scrolls all week."
Haruto smiled faintly but didn't reply. Instead, he dipped his brush into the ink and began writing, his strokes sure but calm.
Question 1: What does it mean to protect humanity?
He wrote slowly:
"To protect humanity is to stand even when hope has fallen. To fight not for glory, but because no one else will. It means carrying fear, loss, and pain — and still stepping forward."
His handwriting was neat, the kind that reflected discipline. He could almost hear his father's voice reminding him, 'A warrior's strength is nothing without a heart that understands why he fights.'
He moved to the next question.
Question 2: If demons were to beg for mercy, what would you do?
"I would stop and listen. Because mercy does not belong to demons or humans alone. It belongs to the will to choose — and to see what lies beneath the darkness."
He paused again, his gaze unfocused. His mother's gentle smile flickered in his mind, then his father's burning eyes on the battlefield.
Around him, quills scratched and brushes moved. The sound was rhythmic, tense, like rain hitting wood.
Raiden sat cross-legged, leaning over the parchment, the corners of his mouth twitching into a grin.
"Seven questions, huh…" he muttered under his breath. "They really want to make me sound like a philosopher."
But he still wrote. His answers were blunt, sharp — like strikes rather than sentences.
"A protector doesn't ask if the people are worth saving. He just saves them. Because hesitation kills faster than any demon."
"If a demon begs for mercy, I'd look at its eyes. Some creatures can lie without speaking."
A candidate a few seats ahead grumbled, "Tch… what kind of nonsense is this? I came here to fight, not to write poems."
Another one laughed softly beside him. "What, words too hard for your brain?"
The first boy slammed his hand on the desk. "Say that again."
The wooden floor creaked as both stood, anger flaring.
Several heads turned — even Raiden stopped writing. The instructors at the front didn't move, their sharp eyes observing silently, as if waiting to see how the candidates would handle it themselves.
The first boy's voice rose. "You think you're better than me?"
"I know I am."
They lunged. Both fists drew back — rage blinding them.
But before their blows met, a shadow flickered between them.
Haruto's hands caught their wrists mid-swing — one left, one right — stopping both punches inches before they connected. The movement was fluid, precise, unforced.
Gasps spread through the hall.
Before either could react, Haruto twisted slightly, pulling them off balance. Both boys hit the tatami in near-silence, wind knocked out of them.
A brief silence followed, broken only by their groans.
Haruto stood straight, brushing dust from his sleeve. "If you waste your strength on each other now," he said evenly, "how will you stand when a real demon's in front of you?"
His words hung heavy in the air.
Raiden grinned from his seat, a low chuckle escaping him. "Well said."
At the back of the hall, a girl with long pale-blue hair — Yuki Tsunemori, the Ice Art user — observed quietly. Her cold eyes softened slightly. Efficient and controlled. He didn't hurt them, just stopped them.
Beside her, Airi Hanabira, the Flower Art user, whispered to her friend, "He's strong… but kind."
The Water Art user, Kaede Mizuno, sitting cross-legged with calm composure, gave a faint approving nod. "He handled it very good."
The instructors finally stepped forward. "Enough distractions," one of them announced. "Anyone who disrupts again will be disqualified."
The two troublemakers mumbled apologies and returned to their seats, heads lowered.
Haruto walked back to his spot. Raiden leaned toward him, whispering with a grin, "You sure know how to make an entrance."
Haruto replied softly, "I'd rather not."
Raiden chuckled. "Too late for that."
They continued writing. The air seemed calmer now, steadier — even the flickering lanterns burned more evenly.
Kaede Mizuno's brush glided across parchment in steady rhythm. At twenty, his movements had a quiet maturity, deliberate and composed.
He read the questions twice before writing anything. His handwriting was elegant, his expression unreadable.
These questions aren't for children… they're looking for conviction.
He looked up momentarily, watching the others — Raiden's energy, Haruto's focus, and the silence heavy enough to choke a lesser man.
He smiled faintly and continued writing.
Airi Hanabira's hand hovered above her parchment for a long moment, the tip of her brush trembling slightly. She hadn't realized she'd stopped breathing until her chest ached.
Her eyes drifted toward Haruto. He sat as though nothing had happened, brush gliding again in smooth, deliberate strokes. No boast. No glare. Just focus.
His moments are fluid, she thought. No hesitation… no anger. Just control.
It reminded her of petals falling in the wind — soft, but guided by unseen strength.
She glanced toward the two boys Haruto had stopped. They sat stiffly now, faces pale, avoiding each other's eyes. The tension in their shoulders hadn't vanished, but their rage had burned out — smothered by something heavier. Respect, perhaps. Or fear.
Airi's brush touched ink again. Her reflection rippled in the bowl — small, uncertain.
Could I have done that? she wondered. Stopped violence without more violence?
The thought lingered like the scent of ink.
She wrote her next line quietly.
"Courage is not loud. It is quiet enough to act when no one else dares."
Yuki Tsunemori, seated besides her hadn't looked away once since the scuffle ended.
Her pale eyes traced Haruto's movements — calm, steady, almost detached.
He didn't even draw his sword, she realized.
The thought gnawed at her. She'd seen boys twice his size break bones just to prove strength. But this boy… stopped a fight without spilling a drop of pride or blood.
She rested her chin on her hand, gaze narrowing slightly.
He's not ordinary. He doesn't fight to win — he fights to end things.
Yuki's brush dipped back into the ink, her strokes firmer now.
"To protect humanity is not to swing the blade hardest, but to know when not to draw it."
A faint smile ghosted across her lips. "Interesting…" she murmured under her breath.
Airi tilted her head slightly, noticing her companion's expression. "You're smiling," she whispered.
Yuki's gaze didn't waver. "Just thinking," she replied softly. "About what kind of person we're really being tested to become."
The faint sound of the wind pressed against the paper screens. Outside, the cicadas cried again.
Inside, ink whispered, brushes moved — and something unspoken settled between them.
Not admiration. Not curiosity. Something quieter.
The first hint of respect.
As the time drew to a close, the head instructor, a man with silver hair tied neatly behind his back, stood at the podium. "Time's up. Brushes down."
Dozens of parchments rustled as candidates laid their brushes aside. The instructors began collecting the scrolls, their expressions unreadable.
The hall remained silent — save for the crackle of a nearby brazier. Outside, the wind picked up, rustling through the paper walls.
"Those who have passed this first round will be tested further," the silver-haired man said, his tone cold and deliberate. "For the next trial is not one of words — but of will."
The doors at the far end of the hall opened with a heavy creak. Beyond them, a wide training ground stretched under the dimming sky — old wooden posts, training dummies, and weapon racks scattered under trees swaying in the breeze.
A faint rumble of thunder echoed somewhere distant.
Raiden smirked. "Looks like my kind of place."
Haruto's eyes fixed on the open field, the faint smell of damp earth reaching him. His fingers brushed the hilt of his sword instinctively.
The instructor raised his voice once more:
"Prepare yourselves. The Physical Trial begins now."
The wind swept through the hall, scattering embers from the lanterns — and for a moment, it felt as though the forest itself was holding its breath.
To be continued...