A series of spiral stairs led to the depth of the Soul hunt. They were old-fashioned, made of black crystal that could suck one's mana as they walked. Not Light's. She had the permit to be here, much like many of the assessing officers for this year's examination.

Down the stairs, the corridor split in two. Left went to where everyone watched the examinees suffering while eating popcorn. Right led to... well, a mundane place, but Light preferred not to go there.

Everything here glistened, also glaring and painful to the eyes. With a sigh, she took off her fake lenses. She didn't require them, but without them, every new examinee assumed her to be a nurse in charge while the doctors were away. Light didn't blame them. No one thought a 24-year-old doctor and a soul hunter could exist. Though, it didn't explain why someone would degrade her to a nurse. A soul hunter and a nurse were equally rare. The human mind was still one of the weirdest mysteries to Light. And she was fascinated by it.

If she had been raised a little differently by someone slightly more unhinged than her mother, she would have had a personal lab filled with open human skulls, some alive, some dead, and some half-dead, to see how each would react. But alas, she was raised right, as much as a soul hunter could be, so she wasted her time instead fixing up wounds and health issues of whoever came to her ward.

The door parted as Light approached. A room full of weirdos, wearing clothes and ornaments that would land a normal human in a lunatic cell if they dared to walk in public wearing these. Even among these, Clownman stood out like a sore thumb. Everyone else wore semi-decent darker colors to make them appear slightly hunter-like, but he wore red and white, white paint, and a big round nose, and his height almost made him a tree, almost as a tree might never reach his height. He lay on one side of the room, neck bent, or his head would break into the upper floor. If he sat without moving, someone might mistake him for a balloon for a B-grade horror movie.

She was not the only one amused by them. They were, too. Every pair of eyes left the screen and looked at her. Someone let out a whistle. He was, of course, Clownman. “What do we have here? The Light of the esteemed Blackfrost house, in here with us, the lowlife plebs, to watch our sick show?” He bellowed like a slimy little vermin. His voice scrabbed the inside of her brain.

Light let out a sigh and ignored him. As much as killing him would make everyone’s life easier, she was on a no-killing policy, and he was not worth breaking it for. One day, she might.

A few others greeted her, meeting her eyes and nodding. She stopped at the screens. There were hundreds of different locations, each displaying a different team. She was here for a specific one. One in which Gisella would be participating. Her eyes scanned through each one, a few familiar faces in not-so-safe spots. Light, with some regret, assumed them dead. Through the forest, old castle, grotesque creature’s stomach, and human flesh shrine, her eyes finally landed on the circus-themed location. And the four people. She hadn’t expected two of the familiar faces to appear at once.

She side-eyed Clownman and his perverse grin. Of course. She sighed. Nothing, I can do. “You should keep your red nose away from what I do, Clownman,” Light said, knowing full well it would not have any effect on him. Someone had informed him about the weapon she had left on Amaryllis’s name, so he had changed the team compositions. No way, Gisella and Amaryllis could be on the same team. After all, two people without a soul weapon were never assigned to the same team. That’s the same as signing a death warrant in their name.

“Whatever you mean, O’ Light of the Blackfrost.” His tone dripped with undiluted loathing.

Light raised her brow, somewhat amused. “What hurt your little vanity this time?”

“Nothing. But how does it feel? Amaryllis or Gisella, which one of them are you hoping to survive? Surely, even the Light of the Blackfrost isn’t arrogant enough to believe both will survive.”

Light looked back at the screen. “At least two of them will survive, or perhaps all four. It’s been a long time since we had one of those upsets, hasn’t it? And how the stars have aligned, for two of them to be in a team. Maybe you’ve done something good, Clownman, for a change and, of course, by mistake.”

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“Heh, are you trying to take the outcast into your house?” Clownman grinned. “Or are you trying to nurture her into something?”

“Neither,” Light replied. “Neither, actually. I am just fascinated by Amaryllis. For someone who dropped out in the first year of the Academy, she controls her mana with an absurd proficiency. Might I say, she can be like me?”

The academy in question was the one controlled by the Soul Hunt association. Not everyone who became a soul hunter came from there, nor did everyone who attended it need to become a soul hunter. But it existed, and most people invited to take the soul hunt licensing examination came from that place.

“Like you? But she is six years older than you were in the assessments,” Henneth questioned. She was a doctor like her. But unlike her, Henneth probably had a group of living humans with their brains popped out for experimentation. Her eyes glimmered with excitement. Light frowned. Henneth taking interest in someone usually ended with someone going insane. Since Henneth sat here, she was not the one going insane most of the time.

“I meant in another way.” Light diverted. If she makes it out alive, I may have created a new problem for her.

“Blackfrost….” Sanguine whispered, lowering his smartphone.

“No,” Light’s tone hardened. “I’m only talking about having control over mana.” She clarified, perhaps a little too quickly.

“It is blackfrost,” Clownman grinned. His soul flared, but Light might have cared more if the wind blew, as that could ruin her hair. He was of no consequence. “No way the youngest Hunter in history will take interest in an outcast. Now, it makes sense. Oh, so much sense. She can… control blackfrost, can’t she?”

“I don’t know,” Light answered. “You can ask my mother directly, only she can answer your question.” Light watched the steel gate open. She couldn’t hear their words, but they were working as a unit, which was a relief.

“The Light of the Blackfrost… I have a surprise for you.” He snapped his fingers.

Light’s eyes widened. She stared at the thing that would present itself as the challenger to Gisella and Amaryllis. “That’s… not allowed.”

“What do you mean?” Clownman asked, his voice smooth and innocuous.

“Real Serans are not allowed in these tests. It should be fake,” or half Seran mutated from the dead body of a human or monster. A real Seran was an embodiment of a concept. More than a living being. A twisted idea to ruin whatever living thing found joy in. In this case, a circus.

“Whatever you mean by that. He’s half. Incomplete,” Clownman grinned. “At least at the time of my assessment, he was. Right now? He might have grown.”

His words turned everyone in the room's face to him. He laughed unconcerned. Clownman lived for the theatrics of absurdity, something akin to a Seran itself.

The room froze. Everyone's expression shifted uncomfortably. Light turned. Her each step echoed in the deadly silent room. The Soul Hunters skidded away from her path, rolling in the chair. Even in this situation, they found time for their own display. Clownman’s grin no longer existed.

“Light, stop…” Sanguine suggested, but he didn’t dare to intervene.

“Sanguine, you idiot, open the camera. I left my phone in the lab.” Henneth grinned. “We should record the last moments of Clownman. As abhorrent as he is, he is our comrade. We should immortalize his death.”

Sanguine said nothing.

“Clownman…” Light’s half face was white, covered in a thick layer of ice. She breathed white. “Listen well. I am taking this to the top. And I’ll make sure you get everything for this. Everything.” At that word, everyone felt a weight on their soul. “Or you can accept a duel to death right now.”

Clownman said nothing. He had not expected Light to react this threateningly. “Who is it for? Gisella or Amaryllis,” Finally, he found something entertaining. “What makes Light desire for violence?”

“My patience runs thin, Clownman, Trial or Duel?” Light asked. Duel would allow her to kill him without consequence or impact on reputation.

“Trial, of course,” clownman chuckled. “Let’s see which one of us has more influence in the court.”

“Pray that they do something to you,” LIght patted his leg, which was as tall as her. It turned white. Mist glowing out of it. His expression froze. “If they don’t, I certainly will.”

The light turned and walked out. She couldn’t watch what they were about to face. Stopping at the door, she turned to Henneth. “Henneth, let me know the results.” Sanguine wasn’t the man for this, she knew he would leave sometime before the assessment reached its climax.

“Sure!” A cheery reply came.