Forsaken Hunter-Chapter 9: Who is Charles Verdant.???

The waiting room buzzed like a restless hive—nervous murmurs threading through the air, footsteps pacing uneven rhythms across the worn stone floor, whispers of desperate strategies clawing at the edges of silence.

The space was a cavern of tension—walls of chipped gray brick looming high, flickering torches casting jagged shadows that danced like specters.

Beno Mark sat tucked in the corner, legs crossed, a weathered book splayed open in his lap. His fingers traced the faded pages with a lazy rhythm, eyes half-lidded, a faint smirk curling his lips—too calm, a stillness that felt like defiance amid the chaos.

Across from him, Luna perched on a desk's edge, her fingers drumming a sharp, impatient beat against the splintered wood.

Her shining hair framed a face etched with focus, blue eyes glinting like twin blades, cutting through the dim light.

"Alright, Beno—listen up." Her voice sliced the din, firm, unyielding, a command wrapped in care. "Dungeons aren't a game. They're ranked by what's inside.

E-rank? Goblins, slimes—pathetic little pests you can crush under your boot. S-rank?" She paused, letting the weight settle.

"Beasts so vicious even veterans wake up screaming."

Beno nodded, flipping a page without lifting his gaze, voice low and casual. "Mhm. So, no sprinting into an S-rank unless I'm begging to die. Got it."

Luna's frown deepened, her glare pinning him like a spear. "Exactly. And it's not just raw power—monsters think. They strategize, talk, ambush. You can't just swing blind and hope."

He leaned back, the chair creaking under his weight, a cocky smirk flashing as he met her eyes. "Don't mess up.

Don't get reckless. Don't get killed. Anything else, oh wise teacher?"

Luna sighed, sharp and exasperated, rubbing her temples with a groan.

"I swear, Beno, if you bomb the written exam, I'll drag your sorry ass back to that hospital myself—and this time, I'll lock the door."

A crackling voice burst from the loudspeaker, shattering their rhythm like a thunderclap. "Attention, candidates! The entrance exam begins in five minutes.

Proceed to the exam hall—now. I repeat—five minutes."

Beno snapped the book shut with a flick, rising with a slow stretch—muscles flexing against the dull ache of yesterday's grind, a ripple of strength beneath his worn jacket. "Showtime,"

he said, grin widening, a glint of defiance sparking in his hazel eyes.

Luna's stern mask faltered—a flicker of concern softening her edges, her voice dropping low. "Just... be careful, Beno." She hesitated, breath catching. "Some guilds play dirty—real dirty."

He winked, already turning, boots scuffing the stone with purpose. "When do I ever play fair?"

Her head shook, exasperation chasing him as he strode off—a lone figure cutting through the crowd, the echo of his steps a quiet promise.

The exam hall was a colossus—a sprawling arena of cold marble and steel, its tiered seats rising like a coliseum, packed with guild officials and spectators peering down like vultures.

The air thrummed, thick with tension, a weight you could choke on. At the heart stood the Orabs, a crystalline obelisk pulsing faintly—its surface alive with an otherworldly glow, veins of light shimmering beneath the facets like a trapped storm.

Shadows stretched long across the polished floor, the hum of mana vibrating in the bones.

Franky loomed at the front—a scarred titan, arms crossed over a chest built like a fortress.

His deep, jagged scar slashed from cheek to jaw, catching the light with every shift—a brutal mark of battles won.

His smirk was predatory, eyes sweeping the sea of trembling candidates with dark amusement.

"Alright, weaklings—listen up!" His voice boomed—a thunderclap that made the timid flinch, rattling the steel rafters.

"You crawled here chasing hunter dreams. But this world doesn't give a damn about your little fantasies.

Power is everything—and we measure it right here." He slammed a hand against the Orabs—crack—the sound reverberating like a war drum. "The Mana Indicator.

Touch it. It ranks you. Fail to light it up..." He paused, grin sharpening. "...and you're done."

The crowd shifted—uneasy glances, breaths held tight. Franky's smirk stretched into a mocking laugh, rough and guttural. "Let's start. Candidate 1—step up!"

A scrawny young man stumbled forward, sweat beading on his brow, hands trembling as he approached. The room stilled—silent, suffocating—as his palm pressed the Orabs.

Nothing. The crystal stayed dim, lifeless as stone.

Franky's laugh roared, a cruel bellow. "A joke! Not a spark of mana? Pathetic!"

The candidate's face crumpled, voice quaking as he clutched his hand. "P-Please, sir! There's a mistake—I trained so hard—"

Franky cut him off, eyes glinting like steel. "Wanna talk fairness?" He spread his arms wide, a dare to the crowd. "Fine.

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Here's your shot—challenge me. Land one hit, and I'll bump your rank myself. Who's got the guts?"

Whispers rippled—fearful, sharp:

"He's a high-ranker—no chance!" "He's just humiliating us..." "No one's that stupid, right?"

The candidate's fists clenched, pride warring with despair—eyes darting, breath hitching. Then his shoulders sagged, defeated. "...I accept my weakness," he whispered, voice breaking as he retreated into the shadows.

Franky scoffed, a dismissive grunt. "Next!"

"Candidate 2—Charles Verdant!"

A tall figure carved through the crowd—wild red hair blazing like a wildfire, amber eyes sharp with unshakable confidence. Whispers trailed him like smoke:

"That hair—crazy!" "He's got a vibe..." "Kinda hot, huh?"

Franky raised an eyebrow, sizing him up. "A shiny brat, eh? Show me what you've got—or get lost."

Charles didn't flinch—silent, stepping to the Orabs with a predator's grace, boots clicking against the marble. His hand pressed down—firm, unflinching.

A heartbeat of stillness—then—BOOM. A brilliant red glow erupted, the crystal flaring like a supernova, bathing the hall in crimson light. The air vibrated, a low hum shaking the floor, mana pulsing wild and free.

The official choked, voice trembling. "C-rank potential!"

The hall detonated—chaos unleashed:

"WHAT?!" "C-rank right off the bat?!" "The Orabs is busted, right?!"

Franky's smirk flickered—then settled into a grinning approval, eyes narrowing with interest. "Not bad, kid. Finally... someone worth a damn."

Charles turned, expression cold, unfazed by the storm he'd ignited—red hair catching the light like blood on fire. In the crowd, Beno snapped his book shut with a quiet snap, eyes narrowing as he rose—slow, deliberate, a spark flickering in his gaze.

The hall turned into a graveyard of dreams. One by one, candidates faced the Orabs—most fell:

"E-rank!" "Failed!" "E-rank!" "Failed!"

The official's voice cut like a blade, each call a heavier blow, disappointment carving hollows into hopeful faces. The air thickened—stifling, heavy with broken ambition—sweat and despair mingling in the torchlight.

Then—

"Next! Candidate 79—Beno Mark!"

Beno froze—his name a punch to the gut, heavier than it should've been. Why today? Why now? His breath snagged, chest tightening as whispers erupted:

"Mark? Like Renzo Mark?" "The legend's kin?" "No way..."

From the front, Charles's lips curled—a smirk, sharp and venomous. His voice sliced through, loud and deliberate. "Oh, you heard right. He's Renzo Mark's older brother."

The crowd exploded—a wildfire of shock:

"Renzo had a brother?!" "Why's he a nobody then?" "He's gotta be a monster, right?"

Beno's jaw clenched, fingers twitching—anger simmering, a quiet storm. He hated this—hated the shadow Renzo cast.

Not because he despised his brother—Renzo was his heart, his light—but because Beno was just... ordinary. A flicker next to a blazing sun.

Charles's amber eyes gleamed, catching Beno's flinch—a predator sensing weakness. Perfect, he thought, a dark chuckle rumbling in his chest. Let's see you squirm.

He leaned toward a nearby candidate, voice carrying like a taunt. "Oh, by the way—Beno Mark? Cleared a Cursed Dungeon solo. Killed a C-rank boss—all by himself."

The hall ignited—awe crashing over doubt:

"Alone?!" "No awakening, and he did that?!" "Impossible!"

Beno's head snapped toward Charles, locking onto that mocking grin. A trap—bait laid with precision. But why? His pulse quickened, suspicion coiling tight.

The weight of thousands of eyes pinned him—whispers clawing at his ears:

"Renzo's brother? No way he's that good." "Cursed Dungeon? Total liar." "Fraud."

His chest tightened—pulse hammering, the room spinning for a heartbeat. He could run—bolt before the laughter broke him.

I'm not enough... not for this... Doubt gnawed, cold and sharp, threatening to swallow him whole.

Then—a warmth. His gaze flicked upward—to the observation deck, a glass fortress gleaming above the chaos.

Luna stood there, blonde hair glowing under the lights, blue eyes locked on him—steady, unshakable. She grinned—wide, fearless—and flashed a thumbs-up. "Go get 'em, Beno!"

The fog shattered. He wasn't here for them—for their whispers, their judgment. He was here for Renzo. His brother. His reason.

Beno straightened—shoulders squaring, spine steeling. "I'm ready," he declared, voice cutting through the noise, steady as stone.

The hall hushed—breathless, taut. Franky's piercing gaze had tracked it all—Beno's doubt, his resolve.

A grin split his scarred face, wild and fierce. "SHUT THE FUCK UP, WEAKLINGS!" His roar shook the walls, silencing the crowd in an instant—torches flickering, marble trembling. "You got breath to yap, you got breath to fight. Sit your asses down and watch!"

He nodded at Beno, smirk sharpening—a challenge glinting in his eyes. "Brat... show 'em. Prove us wrong."

Beno met his stare—a spark igniting, fierce and raw. He stepped to the Orabs, boots echoing like war drums.

His hand pressed the crystal—a beat of nothing, the air still, expectant.

Then—BOOM. A blinding pillar of golden light erupted—shooting skyward, rattling the glass ceiling. Gasps ripped through the hall:

"Holy—!" "That's insane!"

Officials scrambled, voices frantic. "Above B-rank! Maybe higher—!"

But then—the light flickered. A darkness bled in—inky tendrils swallowing the gold, spreading like a stain.

The air turned cold, heavy—unnatural, pressing down like a storm's edge. The Orabs groaned, trembling, a low rumble shaking its core.

BOOM! The light vanished.

Silence—deafening.

The screen flashed—E-Rank.

The crowd detonated—a wave of scorn:

"E-RANK?!" "After THAT? Total fraud!" "What a letdown!"

Laughter and sneers drowned the air—sharp, cutting. Charles's smirk widened, amber eyes glinting with malice.

Nothing but a fake, he thought, venom coiling tight. I'll bury you.

Beno stood rooted—fists clenched, nails biting into his palms, drawing faint lines of pain. His head dipped, chest aching—shame crashing, a tide pulling him under.

All that pain... all that fight... for this? His eyes burned, vision blurring, the jeers echoing like blades in his skull.

"Beno! Congratulations!"

The jeers stopped—sharp, sudden. His head snapped up, searching through the haze.

Luna waved from the deck—her smile a beacon, blue eyes alight with unshakable faith, cutting through the dark. "You passed!"

The weight lifted—doubt melting, a slow warmth spreading through his chest. He wasn't here for their cheers, their approval. He was here for Renzo. For himself.

Beno straightened—wiping his eyes with a shaky hand, a grin breaking free.

He raised a fist, voice ringing—raw, triumphant. "Yes! I passed!"

The crowd faltered—confusion rippling:

"He's... happy?" "E-Rank, and he's grinning?"

Franky barked a laugh—loud, rough, echoing off the walls. "Kid, you're a damn surprise. Got guts!"

Charles's face darkened—teeth grinding, a faint red haze leaking from him, thick with rage. Why's he smiling?

His hands shook, nails digging into his palms—drawing blood, a quiet promise.

He turned away, hissing under his breath—low, venomous. "I'll make you pay, Beno Mark. I swear it."

The hall buzzed on—oblivious to the seed of hatred taking root, its shadow stretching long and dark.

[End of Chapter 9]