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Hunter x Hunter: The Sun Breathing Zoldyck - 116
🕑 Added 2025-11-14 19:03:20 +0000 UTCChapter 116: A Mad Hunter Exam × Giyu Tomioka Awaits Tomorrow
Ghosts are not like demons. They have no bodies to bear them.
Mastery of Breathing Styles can sharpen the senses, even let one catch a demon’s scent, but it cannot feel a ghost.
Perhaps only at the moment a demon dies, in that brief flicker of life on the lantern reel, can a fragment of its soul be seen.
That was why, all these years, Sakonji Urokodaki could never sense Sabito, Makomo, or the others. In the original story, it was only when Tanjiro split the fox mask the fox‑faced boy wore that the old Water Hashira paused for a heartbeat and faintly sensed the truth.
Giyu Tomioka could hardly believe it.
He turned his head toward the boy asleep on the corner of the heated bed. Under the fringe of vivid red hair, that face had quietly taken on a veil of mystery.
This was not in any letter.
Urokodaki patted his back. “Sleep.”
Giyu dipped his head, looked at Roy once more, then lay down without even removing his clothes, Nichirin Blade tucked in his arms.
“I’ll take the light,” Shinsuke whooshed.
A cool draft curled in and blew out the oil lamp.
Darkness rose as the warm glow vanished. Giyu stared at the ceiling, emotions restless and unsteady. He held the joy of reunion with Sabito and all his junior siblings, looked forward to seeing them again, and forced his eyes shut.
Sleep took him not long after.
[Notice: Nen “Property Transmutation” +20]
Hunter world.
The storm passed. The sea calmed. Now and then, a wave slapped the hull, but it was nothing to a three-masted ship like the Sea God.
Roy lifted his branch and hooked up a flying fish. Behind him, buckets serving as a makeshift livewell were full of seawater and wriggling catches. Every so often, a tail flipped a fish onto the deck—only for Rika to rap it with a stick and thump it back in.
The Kurta girl had a keen sense of the moment. She took up the butler’s posture and handled small chores without being asked. Roy let her. Gotoh chose not to even look her way—eyes off, heart at peace—as he focused on guarding the young master.
“Flying fish, huh. Not an easy catch,” Captain Mark Seam said around his pipe, wandering over to take a look at the branch in Roy’s hand.
Hookless fishing. Only this outrageous boy could make such a ridiculous thing work.
It made him think of Ging. That year had been quiet. Nothing like this one.
“Captain, how long to Dolley Island?” Rika asked, catching her breath and setting the stick aside.
“Three days at most. If we’re lucky, two and a half.” The old captain glanced at her. “And congratulations. You made the cut in the points round.”
After a day and night, through Pariston’s trial, the storm, and more, Mark Seam’s phase had reached its end.
Rika had taken the tenth slot. Above her were familiar faces: the bald ninja Yusuke, the bandaged man, the snake handler, the bow-backed boy, Kite, the freak, Gotoh, and Roy.
“You flatter me,” Rika said honestly, stealing a look at Roy’s not-so-tall back. “You saw it yourself. I had help from our young master.”
She swept her hair back behind one ear. A chill touched her neck. She didn’t need to look to know who it was.
“Young lady, allow me to remind you. You have not passed the butler’s test. Do not call yourself a butler.”
As soon as we dock, she’s dismissed. When did the young master become hers?
Gotoh’s stare was flat, and his warning stern.
Rika smiled and pretended not to hear. She sat cross-legged, opened a travel diary, and read with interest. If another fish flopped free, she’d pick up the stick and give it another thump—whether she was hitting fish or someone else was anyone’s guess.
“Gulululu…” Mark Seam chuckled and walked on, hands clasped behind his back, as if he had caught a private show.
Let the boys and girls enjoy this last bit of peace and quiet.”
“When we reach Dolley Island, that’s when the real trial begins.”
He tipped his head to the sky. The higher-ups had clearly tightened the rules. They didn’t want people to pass easily.
Dragon’s Play in Ink!
Aboard a dirigible printed with a giant Hunter Association logo and bound for the official exam venue—
A scent of tea filled the air. Zeno’s white hair lifted as he battled a boar-headed, human-bodied monster.
“Boarheads. A tribe your father and I ran into together on the Dark Continent,” he said. “They live in clans, call themselves the children of ‘God,’ and often style themselves barbarians. V5 rates them a C.”
“Hoho. Thick hide, hard to handle,” Netero laughed, splitting another boarhead with a palm. The floor shuddered. More poured in—some in heavy armor, some hefting giant axes, some swinging flails. Aside from their heads, they were armed no differently than human troops.
Every last one is an Enhancer.
Just as Netero said, their hides were so tough they might as well be stone.
Zeno shaped his aura into a dragon, snatched a boarhead up, and slammed a claw down to pin it. A bite took the head clean off.
Blood jetted from the stump.
Zeno took a breath and shot Netero a look. “I can copy my father’s memories for you if you want. But using them to test candidates is going too far.”
Botobai standing guard wasn’t enough? Only a total wipeout would please him?
This level of boarhead was far beyond what normal Nen users could handle. Most candidates didn’t even know Nen existed. Thrown into this, Zeno saw no road to survival—only a road to death.
He understood what Netero was after. The last few cycles had been too soft, and the world had begun to take the Hunter Exam lightly. So this time, he would go hard and claw back the exam’s authority.
Nothing wrong with the aim. It was the force of the “correction” that had gone too far.
“Bah. It’s only a memory,” Netero said with a sweep of his hand.
The mirage vanished. No more boarheads, axes, or flails.
The bright practice hall was empty again but for him and Zeno, standing steady before the floor-to-ceiling windows. In Netero’s hands were a strip of tape and a bottle of green sap.
The tape was a memory segment Zeno had copied and brought from home. The sap had been distilled from the “Bewitching Cedar,” a resin that “hallucinates” and “bewilders the mind.”
In the original story, Leorio lost consciousness after being tricked by Tonpa thanks to sap from the Bewitching Cedar.
Netero’s eyes drifted to the view. The ground flowed by below. “This old man isn’t a villain,” he said softly. “If the brats can last one minute in the mirage, they pass.”
No more chaff.
The “Clown Hijacking Incident” not long ago had sharpened his point.
He half-closed his eyes, pain banked into resolve, and deep within them a shard of cold gleamed.
