CHAPTER 95: THE HIGH WALL OF NEN × RAT OR JERRY?
The world isn't inherently a class society, yet classes have always existed.
It uses privileges as demarcations, dividing people into countless tiers. In the Hunter world, the Hunter Exam represents this perfectly.
Anyone who passes and obtains a Hunter License gains access to 90% of countries that normally forbid entry. Access to 75% of restricted zones. The ability to use the license as collateral for massive loans. Free access to 95% of public facilities worldwide until death.
Even the ability to sell the license itself. The proceeds can support seven generations of descendants in complete comfort.
Therefore, to obtain these privileges, the Hunter Exam attracts elites from across the continents every year. Some have fought through brutal competitions—even deadly battles—within their own countries or tribes just to secure a precious spot. And now to be blocked at the door and humiliated like this? Even clay has three parts fire!
The waiting hall fell silent. Angry Aura painted it crimson. The man in bandages, the snake charmer, the muscular giant, the bald ninja—every single Hunter Exam candidate glared daggers at Pariston.
The blonde boy? Far from intimidated, he was ecstatic. His very soul trembled with excitement. "Yes, just like this. Those eyes wishing they could kill me... absolutely exquisite..." Pariston reveled in it, lost in bliss.
He hugged himself with pure happiness, seemingly oblivious to the crowd surging toward him.
Within moments, he was surrounded. The bare-chested muscleman reached out, his movement powerful and lightning-quick. "Kid, let Grandpa play with you. Donovan doesn't accept being called trash!"
"Donovan! It's the mighty Donovan!"
Someone shouted his name. "The mighty Donovan won the World Powerlifting Cup sixteen consecutive times. His bench press record is thirty-six tons!"
"With him here, we—"
SMACK!
A crisp sound erupted. Before Donovan's hand could even touch Pariston, the fat bodyguard beside him struck. Donovan was reduced to meat paste in an instant.
Hiss. The acrid stench of blood flooded the hall. Gruesome remains splattered across the floor. Gasps echoed through the crowd, then terrified screams!
Chaos erupted. The surrounding crowd retreated in perfect unison, as if rehearsed. Many clutched chairs and vomited. Some collapsed, legs giving out, soiling themselves. The pristine waiting hall transformed into a purgatory of panic.
"Young Master, that fat one is likely an Enhancer," Gotoh observed, utilizing Gyo to see clearly. A Nen-reinforced slap was like a hammer—anyone struck would die. It wasn't that Donovan was weak; it was simple dimensional superiority. Nen users versus ordinary people were a matchup with vastly different power tiers.
Roy showed no reaction, but he did glance at the Kurta girl sitting diagonally across from him. Her face had paled for only an instant before returning to normal. Remarkably composed.
"Alright, I've made my case. Who agrees, who objects?" With Donovan as a concrete example, Pariston smiled, surveying the room. Countless potential little Donovans surrounded him.
The crowd fell silent. Someone shouted, "Just change flights! We might still make it! No point dying for this psycho!"
A few began leaving. Then a small group. Then a larger crowd. After five minutes, the vast waiting hall was nearly empty. Only about a dozen remained.
The man in bandages. The snake charmer. The boy with the bow. The ninja. The Kurta girl. Gotoh. And Roy.
Clap clap clap. Pariston applauded. "Looks like you all have confidence in yourselves."
"Good. Very good." His gaze swept across each of them, lingering on Roy for a moment. His smile widened. He pulled up a chair, sat, and rested his chin on his hand. "As I said, I asked for your cooperation. Since you refused, then..."
Pariston looked at them with amusement. "Either I kill all of you, or you all get killed by me. Your choice."
Ring ring ring. Ring ring ring.
"Attention passengers on Flight L8975. Boarding now at Gate L6. Please proceed for boarding..."
Ring ring ring. The airport announcement echoed—the flight to the Saherta Republic was boarding. The atmosphere froze solid.
The blonde boy watched quietly. The snake charmer and the boy with the bow exchanged glances, snorted coldly, and turned to leave. Pride had kept them here, but Donovan's fate couldn't be ignored. They had to admit they couldn't beat that fat bodyguard.
"Hehehehe... the wise know when to yield. Safe travels, gentlemen. Don't let me detain you," Pariston waved goodbye, then turned his gaze to the man in bandages. The man tensed, quietly clenching his fists. After a cautious look at Pariston—instinct telling him this boy was likely even stronger than the bodyguard—he too chose to leave, opting for the next flight. Hopefully, he could still make it.
"Oh my, everyone's leaving?" The ninja rubbed his bald head, glanced at Roy and Gotoh, and sighed with regret. "I thought we had three against four—advantage us. But now that one's gone... a ninja doesn't stand beneath a crumbling wall. I'm out." His form flickered, and he followed the man in bandages out of the waiting hall to change tickets.
Soon, only Roy, Gotoh, and the Kurta girl remained.
The girl pushed up her glasses, closed her travel journal, stood without a word, and walked toward the gate. As she passed Roy, she gave a polite nod.
Roy smiled back.
Across the empty rows of seats, only two figures sat. One cross-legged, one with hands in pockets. From beginning to end, they remained quiet, showing no intention to leave.
Whoosh. A cold draft swept through the glass windows.
Pariston whistled, his smile radiant as if he had anticipated this all along. He spread his arms wide in praise. "The world's number one assassination family certainly knows how to make an entrance."
He had exposed Roy's identity with a single sentence. Behind him, both bodyguards looked over, their expressions caught between surprise and uncertainty.
"Hey, hey, hey—playing is one thing, messing around is another, little Hill. Protecting you is fine, but asking me to kill a Zoldyck? Count me out!" The fat bodyguard said flatly, stuffing his hands definitively into his pockets. The thin bodyguard shot him a sharp glare, frowned deeply, but also remained silent.
Pariston shrugged. "See? Even my own men won't open their mouths. Roy Zoldyck, how about we play a game? If you lose, the exit is just to the left. If you win... I'll bow you out personally without a single word. What do you say?"
"Young Master..." Gotoh looked at Roy.
The boy closed his notebook, clasped his hands under his chin, and smiled back at Pariston. "I think killing you would be better."