Chapter 104
Chapter 104
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Vine
Chapter: 104
Chapter Title: Chapter 7 Masked Ball (20)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
***
"Hunting, you see, is a culture that boasts a long history stretching back to the days when humanity was more beast than man."
At the innermost part of the Raptor formation, inside the commander's dedicated tank—reinforced with anti-tank shields and 240mm armor on top of its already heavy plating—Sol Amar spoke to his adjutant without taking his eyes off his binoculars.
"It's a culture worth commemorating. Doesn't it symbolize a species' vow to stand tall as predators rather than mere prey? That's why ancient peoples held hunting sacred. Artemis in Greek myth, Rudra in India, Skadi in Norse lore, the Masai in Papua New Guinea, and so on... I say, are you listening?"
It was a question from the Raptor expeditionary force's supreme commander and Pack Leader Sol Amar, but his adjutant gave no reply. He had stopped breathing about ten minutes earlier, after Sol had beaten him to a pulp with his spiked gauntlet in a fit of rage.
Of course, Sol couldn't care less about his adjutant's condition. He was simply irritated by the lack of response.
"What a precious event it is, hunting. And today, the glorious event we're part of isn't just any hunt—it's a grand hunt for the history books, led by five full legions of Raptors. So why,"
Thwack!
"Why!"
Thud!
"Why!!!"
Splat!
"Why are there damn rats scurrying around inside our formation at this moment when we're about to offer up those piles of scrap metal under the Raptor banner, you irreverent, incompetent trash!!"
Sol panted heavily after smashing his adjutant's head for a good while. He caught his breath. His personal physician had warned him about his blood pressure, after all. He needed to calm down. It was absurd for his lifespan to be shortened by these worthless fools. He had to live long. Until the day the Raptor's great earthly mission was fulfilled. How could he, Sol Amar, miss out on witnessing that glory?
He kicked aside the adjutant's corpse—slumped like melted ice cream on the tank floor—and glared at the Noise Pack soldiers fiddling with the instrument panels inside.
"I seem to recall hearing that armored vehicle would absolutely never move. Well, well. A false report, was it?"
"W-We’re doing our absolute best to investigate right now!"
"Do you not know the meaning of 'absolute'? I'm quite skeptical whether a soldier too dim to grasp even that word can fulfill the grave duties of the Raptors...."
"P-Please! Just one more chance!"
Sol sighed involuntarily at the terrified soldier's face. Terrified? Shouldn't the emotion he felt now be crushing shame? Begging for another chance? He already had the greatest opportunity of all—serving the Raptors—and he'd thrown it away like a rag, only to beg for it again?
With a heavy heart, Sol Amar raised his favorite, his Ruger. No matter how much they screened, these reactionaries kept popping up endlessly. The burden on his shoulders was too great.
"U-Uwaaaak!"
Just as he was about to pull the trigger,
"We found it! We've identified the cause!"
Another soldier, eyes bloodshot from staring at the screens and fiddling with controls, shot his hand up triumphantly.
"Oh, good. Even among the incompetent, there's always one who does their job. So, what broke that fool's so-called 'absolute'?"
"It.... There was a connection from the highest command authority."
"The highest... command authority?"
"Yes. A code with authority higher than the entire Noise Pack forcibly unlocked it and seized control of the armored vehicle."
"You'll have to take responsibility for those words, you know?"
"Yes?"
Click!
The gun barrel that had been aimed at the terrified soldier now swung toward fresh prey.
"The highest command authority you speak of refers to the Swarm Alphas—only four of whom exist in this vast Raptor Society. If what you say is true, one of them personally returned here, entered that vehicle crammed with brats without escorts or notice, and connected. No matter how I think about it, there's no reason they would. Do you have any explanation to fill this gap in my meager imagination?"
"I-It's true! Look, right here—the recognition code and connection log from the highest command authority...!"
Sol pressed the barrel to the trembling soldier's forehead and glanced at the screen he desperately pointed to. It was indeed written there. Admin code: access denied. Highest command authority request. Code....
"Ian... Desmond...."
In that instant, a silence so heavy it choked the breath from the command vehicle enveloped them. Sol was a man of vivid expressions. Yet every soldier inside struggled to name the emotion blooming on his face.
"Fuhuhuhu...."
But it felt ominous, chilling.
"Hahahahahahaha!!!"
Sol clutched his forehead with his free hand, laughing in gasping bursts like a man short of breath.
"Oh, what a day! Ashfield, back on the battlefield! I thought you were gone! Yes! There were always five Swarm Alphas! Hahahaha! Adjutant! Adjuuutant!!! Get my respirator! I'm dying of laughter!!!"
Swinging his fist at the air like an actor on stage, slapping his knee in mirth, Sol suddenly lunged at the soldier who'd found the log—still trembling before him—and threw an arm around his shoulders.
"Congratulations! You're promoted!"
"Y-Yes? Yes?"
"You've performed a great service! From today, you're my adjutant! So instead of fiddling with those machines, hurry and prepare!"
"Prepare... what, sir?"
"Have you ever seen such a dimwit!"
Bang!
Sol, beaming with joy, shot the soldier who'd posed the question—as if he were the world's greatest fool—then grabbed his new adjutant's collar.
"Naturally, a hero's welcome! The Raptor's founder, the God of the Hunt, has returned—how could we greet him like this! Ian Desmond, Ashfield has returned!"
In the depths of his madness-swirling eyes churned a storm of rage, hatred, and twisted affection.
***
Beep-
[Admin code. Access denied.]
Beep-
[Admin code. Access denied.]
Beep-
[Admin code. Communication request from R-01.]
`R-01? From the command vehicle? Quick reaction.`
Ian read the message about the incoming comm request from the opponent he'd been battling to access the armored vehicle. He knew instantly—they'd figured out who he was.
`Thanks to Vex stirring things up inside, their tank battalion can't focus on shelling. Normally, it takes time to sort out traffic without someone higher up barking orders... If I can keep their commander tied up in this situation, it might help with the escape.`
The old soldier must have finished preparations; rumbling echoed from the tank ahead. Ready to roll out anytime. The problem was breaking through the formation would expose their rear.
Of course, he had one ace up his sleeve.
`Dome's guys aren't complete idiots. I caught a glimpse passing by earlier—they're huddled up conserving battery, preparing something. Probably crouched because the indiscriminate barrage left no openings....`
Openings would come. The moment they slipped out of the cannon's blind spot, plenty of tanks would target them.
`Gotta make good use of that brief window. Can those guys pull it off?`
Ian frowned, picturing Ezel's dopey face, but in this pinch, he'd take any chaos he could sow.
Static-
A burst of static ended, followed by upbeat music over the comm.
[Bam! Bampabam! Bam-bam-pababam! Bapam!]
"What the... a marching band?"
A bit clumsy, but unmistakable—the Raptor anthem that played at special events. Why was it coming from the enemy command vehicle? And live?
[Dugudugudugudu- Chaaang!]
The anthem wrapped with drums and cymbals, then a voice thick with gravelly emphasis followed.
[Present... arms!]
[Click! Click!]
"What the hell is all this...."
[Hahaha! You must be flustered! I understand completely! For lowly performers like us to play before receiving a Swarm Alpha of the Raptors! How could you not feel utter dismay! Argh! You incompetent fools! Defiling Ashfield's ears!]
Bang! Bang! Bang!
An excited voice, followed by three sharp shots.
Ian recognized it instantly. That clownish, comical tone, the voice so phlegm-choked it grew stifling the longer you heard it.
"Sol Amar."
At Ian's growling voice, the other's cursing abruptly brightened into effusive praise.
[No way! You remember me?! What an honor! N-No, this isn't the time. Adjutant! Adjuuutant! Log it now! Ian Desmond, unseen for 3 years and 7 months, still remembers my name, Sol Amar, after all this time!]
Crunch!
How could he forget? That clown would dive into a pit of fire at his command. In that same bright, cheerful voice, he'd told him he'd killed his wife and daughter with his own hands.
"...You've grown a lot. Pack Leader of the expeditionary force, no less. You look thrilled—does sitting in a position beyond your station make you feel like you're flying?"
[Hahaha. It only reminds me of my heavy responsibilities. You've not changed since that day, Ashfield. Ah, well, you've changed in other ways. Forgive me for not recognizing you at first—your looks have shifted so much. That man who crossed the Triceratops line... that was you, Ashfield, right? Quite the... manly transformation.You've changed a lot.]
"People change noticeably when they change their mindset. Unlike some, I've turned over a new leaf."
`So he saw everything.`
That pig had a compulsion to scrutinize every corner of the battlefield, always rolling his binoculars like a stalker since the old days. If he'd spotted him, connecting the access log to Ian was easy. Only him, Vex, and the kids inside—and Vex's build was totally different.
[Ah, that cynical edge. I missed it so. Ashfield. If not for that damned whore, you'd still be with the Raptors, scorching battlefields and etching your name across the world.]
Ian chewed on his rage as he savored the other's wistful tone. No sarcasm. The bastard truly believed his wife had corrupted him.
"Your throat's so clogged with phlegm your brain's pickled in grease too, huh? No need to squeal—just sit back and watch. I'll carve it out personally and get you back to a healthy weight."
[Oh? Getting angry, are you? Ian Desmond, angry? Ahh, how far you've fallen. Didn't you teach me that, Ashfield? The moment you discard irrational criteria like emotions, the battlefield reveals itself. I'll never forget that lesson—but look at you now, so emotional! Pity. Killing that bitch wasn't enough to reclaim your old self, was it? My poor hero.]
Grind!
Ian's teeth-gnashing echoed viciously through the armored vehicle's cockpit.
[Hmm. If that other guy was Ashfield, is the short one your acquaintance? Oh my! I fired carelessly without knowing—had I realized, I'd have captured him somehow! Sorry about that! Just some recreational hunting, but the target was so small I missed. It was fun watching him squirm on the ground, though.]
"You son of a bitch...."
[So why do you keep! Creating these pointless emotional obstacles! Filling your head with such useless thoughts!]
Boom!
[You're just crawling right into the kill zone like an idiot!]
The armored vehicle shook like an earthquake. Nearby shelling—meaning they'd escaped the blind spot and entered firing range.
`He crawled in on purpose, you pig bastard.`
Fleeing made it awkward. Advancing exposed them to crossfire from the tanks.
`But we're not alone here, right?`
The T-7 tank and armored vehicle broke from the tight formation. A hole in the steel wall, and the barrage on Dome's exosuit unit swung this way.
"...Even if Dome's boys are premature about breakthroughs, a solid hit from them will end it!"
Clank! Clank!
As if answering Ian's hope, exosuits rose from defensive formation and charged the gaping hole in the Raptor's tank line—the one they'd escaped through.
Ian veered the armored vehicle toward one at the rear, scrambling to catch up.
"Ezel! Ezel Leyden!!!"
Boom!
Assuming he couldn't hear amid the din, Ian rammed him. Ezel staggered briefly, then leveled a man-sized exosuit pulse rifle at them.
Clang!
"It's me, you bastard!"
[You... Metal, right?]
"Yeah! Come here and pick up the wounded!"
[Static- EZ-07! Hurry and link up! If we don't flip this now, Dome's done for!]
"I fight a hundred times better than you, so take these kids and Vex somewhere safe!"
While Ezel hesitated, Ian unfastened Vex from the armored vehicle and dragged him out the hatch. At the grave sight, Ezel stopped dithering, maneuvering his suit's arms to cradle him gently. Meanwhile, the kids inside piled out and latched onto the exosuit's empty spots one by one.
[W-Woah! What's with these kids? Not just one or two?]
"Consumable pilots!"
[Consumable... what?]
"They exist! Anyway, take the kids and Vex to the hospital! Tell them: left abdominal rupture from large-caliber round! Kidneys and intestines partially shredded, bleeding stanched with spray, revival kit administered!"
[That's basically dead alrea—]
"Save him no matter what! I trust you!"
One old man and three kids on the lead tank. Eight clinging to Ezel's exosuit now. Vex in its arms.
The people he'd risked his life for—and him too—handed off to someone trustworthy.
"Quest complete, Vex."
Rumble-crunch!
Under Ian's control, the armored vehicle wheeled around and headed back the way it came. The panel showed comms still on standby.
He hit the button. Gunshots and furious curses flooded the receiver.
[You morons! Block them! Block it, I said! Turn the tanks to scrap and push the line forward—it'll seal the gap!]
[Intruder chaos has left us short on tank crews!]
[Six enemy suits half-destroyed! Two fully! Remaining 18 crossing the line!]
[Recall the minishooters from the flank! Kill those guys and it's over! Over, I tell you!]
Static-
"Sol Amar. Your loyalty to the Raptors and talent for terrorizing subordinates are exemplary, but I've always rated your actual combat skills lacking."
[Gasp!]
He heard the bastard gulp. Always the same—first to crush the weak, first to tuck tail when his own hide was at risk.
[Y-You're... back, Ashfield?]
Screech!
Boom!
Beyond the Raptor tank line, exosuits that had breached vented on the rear-exposed T-7.
`No friendly fire....`
He'd hung Vex's makeshift white flag from a shirt on the back, braced for a few Dome pulse shots in the chaos. Guess Ezel radioed something.
`Back, huh....`
It felt that way, sort of. Smoking Raptor cigars, riding their tanks, bantering over their comms—it stirred old feelings. But....
Static-
"Back? In your dreams. Ian Desmond died three years ago. The one killing you today isn't Psycho Ian Desmond—it's Metal Joe, wasteland spice merchant! You pig fuck!"
Ian's cold face twisted into his usual eerie grin as he floored the pedal.
Crunch!
The armored vehicle plowed through minishooters blazing large-caliber gatlings, crushing them alive as its engine roared.
The situation devolved into a melee, hurtling toward its climax.
***
```