‘Assessment Zone #15: Carnival’ had taken the entire screen. The rest, however, were forgotten. Not because they showed any less drama than the one in the carnival, but the fact that Light Blackfrost had paid attention to it made this zone the one for drama, one on the screen and one outside. It was the betting scene. Many hunters had placed bets, which ranged from how many people would make it out alive to how many tasks they would complete, and, of course, the highest bidding set on how long until their death. The people who had placed on the last one were gloating. They won big.

The screen showed a white-haired mess who barely looked like what she once was, her black veins bulging from her body, making her a nightmare in and of itself.

Gisella Yriel barely held on to her consciousness, but she was the pointless existence of all since she had exhausted all her mana, and even the villain had ignored her.

Then, there was Mire. Having killed Puppeteer, she had received its soul. She stacked rewards for the final spell. But they were useless since a room filled with the most experienced hunters in this building couldn’t see a way out without a miracle.

And the fourth one—Huan Hein. He had already done his best, exhausted and barely alive.

The despair in their eyes was a cherry on top—a perfect dessert after a five-star meal. Even through the screen, they could feel the anguish they were feeling. Smell it, for they were hunters. Felt the thrill.

Tears trickled down Huan’s eyes.

“Aww…” Miss Mira cooed. She was a soft-spoken woman, who looked gentle and graceful whenever she spoke, but, in reality, she was a sadistic bitch. Henneth knew her very well. She had passed more than a few unlucky ones to Miss Mira’s way for a favor.

Henneth knew the crybaby boy had found a patron in her. Was it a good thing? Yes, if it were anyone else. Henneth had no intention of warning that boy, of course. If he accepted, he was an idiot, but that all depended on if he survived. And, if’s significance couldn’t be said enough. It may even rival her biggest blunder. She had once turned her face inside out for five weeks. Don’t ask how she looked. She had erased that memory. Not the pain, for nothing in the world held the key to erasing that agony.

She saved herself without anyone’s help, all because of her unrivaled genius. Okay, she might have taken a little help from a certain teal-haired doctor. But her contributions were insignificant. She kept that incident a secret, one very close to her heart, since that day. And we had drifted off the commentary.

Anyhow, let’s focus on the topic at hand. The four creatures—a seal, a clown, a magician, and a ventriloquist—deserved all the credit for the despair.

The puppeteer was a side character—a side act. Now, the heroes of our story were witnessing the true villains. And all they could do was stare. Hopelessness oozing from their soul could have taken a physical form.

“Shit…” the boy muttered.

“Shit indeed,” the messed-up girl whispered in humor. She had lost it. “Whatever shall we do?”

“Don’t ask me, you’re supposed to be the brain.”

“I’m the stupidest one here.”

Clownman chuckled.

Everyone else didn’t feel as much humor. Some people here were human. Henneth didn’t believe her to be one of them. Her mind lingered on two things. How they killed the puppeteer was fascinating. Uncoordinated, yet somehow in sync with each other. They all fulfilled a role. A role only they could perform. They made the plan non-verbally and, perhaps, unintentionally.

The boy and the girl hogged the puppeteer’s attention. And they did it masterfully. The non-communicated trust between Gisella and Mire. They all poured as much mana as they could to cast one spell. Perfectly timed. The puppeteers still had found a way out. But the boy’s last-minute entrance was anything if not some action film-level shit.

Light had been right. They pulled off the upset, perhaps the biggest one they could have. You just have to look at the task completion without any death wager, and the blank slate should give you an idea of how unlikely these soul hunters considered that victory to be.

They were one of three teams to have completed the key task without losing a single member. Various factors played a role in this upset. But only results mattered, and as per the result, they won. But of course, there was a problem.

The soul hunt had leader candidates and lesser candidates. Each team had one leader candidate, and the rest were lesser candidates. A simple but not absolute rule was that one with ability was a leader candidate, and those without ability but mana blessed were called lesser. It made perfect sense. Any ability was a league above the mana wielder. Amaryllis was the odd one out.

The conversation that took place during her bout with the puppeteer:

“That girl… she managed to wound the puppeteer with just mana enhancement.” Furen, the Half Crown, had uttered when Amaryllis’s blade cut the puppeteer, leaving a blackening wound on his pale skin.

“So what? It’s nothing impressive. That blade cannot even harm the puppeteer.” Ruin replied. He was never a man of understanding. Or rather, he never realized how abundantly blessed he was for his ability.

Henneth had to sigh, “The most mana blessed should be able to do, under normal circumstances, is simple: run faster and swing harder than a normal adult human. That speed was not anywhere near a normal human speed.” Henneth stopped. If he still failed to understand, she would rather waste her time on something else. “Her base strength should be two at max. But looking at her bony hands, it might just be one. So would be her speed.” But her magnanimous heart thought to clarify even further, one that a dumb Ruin could fathom.

“Base speed… is one,” His eyes widened a little, but he maintained his expression quickly. “That’s anywhere from 6-9 speed and strength plus Level 3 Mana enhancement.”

“Dumb idiot,” Furen scoffed and turned to the screen. “What’s her mana enhancement level… or rather, Concept Stat for this absurd base multiplier.” Henneth’s whole body shivered when he muttered those words in awed voice.

Well, that should inform you of the impressiveness of her feat. Of course, that did overload her body to the point that she was but a cripple if Henneth herself didn’t step in to fix her. But Light was here, so she may step in to help. While young, she was the only one close to Henneth herself, or so Doctor Henneth believed. Take her beliefs with a grain of salt.

Now, you may have noticed the problem, hopefully. There were three ability users in the carnival zone. Gisella, Mire, Huan. I.e. three leader candidates in one team. But that was not all. The rules were not absolute. For reasons unbeknownst to Henneth, Amaryllis was also filed as a leader candidate.

Sometimes, the mana blessed happened to get the leader candidate title, but they always lost their position fast. Some, of course, manage to pull the upset. Henneth didn’t care. She had no interest in underdog heroes unless… a certain someone that we would meet soon. One underdog she had handcrafted herself — Subject-001: Violet.

Back to the scenery, everyone waited for the next move—either from our main cast or the villain—with bated breath. The villains were the ones to go first. The soul hunters gasped as if this was a movie and their favorite character was about to die.

A scream echoed. A choked sob. Our main heroine whispered something. Was this the end? Did the underdog die? Of course, that was a given, but for the sake of drama, everyone waited for the miracle. And after Light’s appearance. They waited for the Frost. The awakening. A tragedy. Or all three at once. Would their painful and depressing ending bring out tears from these soulless husks? What about sacrifice—

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A chair creaked, disturbing the breathless narration as one of the individuals couldn’t watch anymore. He had given in, just as Light had expected, and rose from his seat. The man was Sanguine. His red hair looked damp. His searing red eyes, filled with unfiltered rage, sent a shiver down Henneth’s spine.

“Soft heart bitch,” someone muttered. Henneth knew exactly who: the Grevor, a man twice the size of average, wearing antlers covered in fire on his head. He was as weird as you imagined him in your head or cool if that was your fancy. Henneth wasn’t one to judge anyone. Oh, but she was sure to cut open someone tonight. He would appear tomorrow morning without his antlers, with pink flames. You’d have to read till tomorrow to know which one.

Sanguine couldn’t care less about anyone’s words. Except for one time, Henneth hadn’t seen Sanguine lose his composure, and goddammit, she wanted him to lose it. Unlike this placid-looking wimpy old fart, that one could keep her awake and sweaty at night. Not that this one failed, but he was gentle. Far too gentle, if Henneth had to say. It made him charming in another way.

Hold your horses, goddammit.

Henneth shook her head. Had she been losing her focus on the weirdest of things today? Yes, she had. And she didn’t know why. As if she had been used as a weird narrator for someone’s story, and she wasn’t having it. None of it. Why the fuck was she even thinking that? She thought. And she realized she had thought of that. Why? Don’t think about it. She said. She was a narrator, and, for once, she would rather be over the job than think deeply about it. But she better get a good bonus for this, or someone was going to pay for it. And pay would be agonizing.

Henneth shifted her attention to the clownman. The bastard of the room. And you know how hateable he must be if a bunch of weirdos—with open human minds in their basement and things far worse than that—were calling someone a bastard, either he was worst of the bunch, or others hadn’t realized their own bastardness. But Henneth was self-aware. Or so she told herself. But was she really? Hey! Henneth was the smartest one in the room, probably, in the inside Soul Hunt HQ.

Alright, that was a bit of a stretch, but you got the idea. Henneth was aware of how sane she was compared to the bunch. Dare she say, she was insane and kind, with kind being the kind that never hurt an innocent and sometimes helped them. But of course, open human minds were her fascination. She wouldn’t judge yours, and you shouldn’t judge hers.

Anyways. Before we drift too far off the topic. Clownman was a bastard. He did something the Soul Hunt frowned upon—squashing a leader candidate’s potential. There was a reason, a very important one, that leaders and followers were distinguished.

The reason was something you should learn with Amaryllis, as that was the only appropriate way. Of course, feel free to theorize what it might be.

So, Clownman placed four leader candidates in one team. There was a positive. Only because the team had all leader candidates they survived this long against a seran, and their skills and bond worked out well. But, it didn’t change the fact that this weird combination had utterly crippled, if not killed, four real Soul hunters of the future.

Even now, most people in the room were glaring at him. They were not right or wrong people. They just liked to think of leader candidates as superior. And a supporter of the Yriel family who fumed and ground their teeth, craving to tear into the carnival scene and save their princess. But if that possibility existed, Light would’ve already done that.

Light had no control over this assessment or any other. She had one role—the final assessment of the soul hunters.

Henneth felt her mind spasm as she remembered the assessment conducted by Light last year. Sometimes, she wondered if anything worse than taking Light’s assessment could happen to an assessee, and she thought of this as she gazed at four circus concepts Seran whose existence twisted the idea of circus to its worst possible inversion. If henneth had to guess, it was shattering human life in the worst way, just as the puppeteer did with Mire, Huan, and Amaryllis.

He could have killed them, but that was never the goal. He didn’t care about killing them. His goal was to plunge them into the deepest depths of a nightmare they could never imagine. And to show the true despair to his audience. And he had succeeded in both upon his death. The brief glow of hope from his death, and then they saw the true villain, four more creatures just as cruel as him. The despair of having that small flickering light crushed caused the greatest misery he could achieve without their family and close ones at hand.

Despite all of that, Henneth still believed Light’s assessment, which lasted for the shortest duration, was the worst.

‘Hypocrite’ The word sat on the tip of her tongue when she saw Light march down and confront Clownman. Either of them were not innocent.

Alright, back to the scene.

“You will be paying dearly for this, my dear Clownman.” Miss Mire said in a whole lot of amusement. If she had any say, she would have taken up the job herself.

“I fail to follow whatever you mean, Miss Mire. I am but a man trying his best to do his job.” He grinned. “We shall immortalize their last moment, should we not?” He pulled out his phone and pointed the camera at the screen.

“Yriel family will have their revenge.” Someone said in monotony, Lord Hans. And Henneth agreed, but there was a catch. Clownman was a powerful man in the upper echelon where the politics reigned supreme.

“Why did you even do this? Certainly not for the puppeteer’s soul.” Henneth asked. She was curious and didn’t know all the weird things that went inside this clown’s brain. But one day, she would find a pattern that could replicate normal human thought for each individual. Then, she would know what he thought. Or Light. Or Sanguine. Well, not Sanguine. She would be hurt if she found something not to her liking. Focus.

“I am just curious. Much like you, Dr. Henneth. I eagerly crave to know how well four-leader candidates can do against something a real soul hunter is supposed to handle. But I am sorely disappointed. They fell for the trap. They are in despair. It was all but a show. We are the audience. And the puppeteer showed us the true despair. And very easily. They should’ve thought about the puppeteer’s goal. Deception? Trickery? Bunch of bullshit. Is that what they learned at the academy?” Then he grinned, “But the question stands. Will we see… something more?”

“We won’t,” Henneth replied. She didn’t believe the girl could control Blackfrost even if she was afflicted with it.

The blackfrost spread through a seed. A cold frigid seed inside a person’s heart, where the Sin pulse was situated, and once it bloomed, the person became afflicted with Blackfrost. It might bear its fangs soon.

Henneth’s perception of mana was sharp enough to feel the throbbing chunk of plague waiting to bloom at the right moment. Almost everyone in this room knew. They could feel it. A total of four tragedies in this building had that budding seed, bearing an intensity that scraped against their skins.

Controlling Blackfrost was impossible as of now. No one did it. Nor would anyone. That element was an abomination that the current world’s magic and technology couldn’t dare to fathom. She was working on it. So were hundreds of other scientists to understand it. One day, they would find a way to do something about it. Right now, making things that would not instantly turn into black ice was all they achieved.

“Hey! Sanguine,” Clownman called. Sanguine stopped at the door and looked at Clownman. His eyes glowed in fury. Henneth fought hard to keep herself from squealing like a high school girl being asked to go out by her princely crush. Tonight would be fun!

“What?” he asked calmly. His manly voice reverberated in the silent room. It did something to Henneth’s heart. Goddammit, this is an action-fantasy, not romance. There isn’t even a romance tag. Calm down, Henneth.

“The girl’s reaction to her past was interesting,” he pressed on that word interesting, “You have her profile, right? I need to see it. Or you can tell me, what is it, the blank face?”

Henneth was curious herself about the blank face. It seemed like a great topic over tea.

Sanguine turned and left, not even acknowledging his question. And Henneth felt the need to go behind him. Pull him into her laboratory, but she held back. This place was interesting. She would see something. What did that girl have that made her so much attention?

"Oh... Holy shit..." Someone muttered. There was a collective gasp from everyone. Henneth looked at the screen.

Her mouth gaped. "This is..."

"A glorious last stand of a hero," Clownman sniggered. "But..."

"This is real life... there are no heroic last stands... only cruel deaths and soul sacrifices."

"Indeed."

"Shit!" Henneth uttered in panic. Everyone glared at her. In a blink, they turned back and stared at the screen like literal robots. "That's..." Her voice was filled with horror.

"Inversion of frost," Clownman's eyes gleamed, "Holy shit, indeed. I just wanted the Heir of Yriel dead…” But no one paid any heed to his voice, they were shocked to something else entirely, “But this surprise is indeed appreciated. I will be her patron, if she survives, that is."

Like hell, I am letting you have her! She’s mine.

Henneth pulled out her phone and focused on the call. "Hello. Light... you goddamned bitch! Get down here this fucking instant. I am taking that girl as my apprentice."