The Hunt (3)

The forward operating camp in the Commercial District was a temporary installation, hastily thrown together for the joint operation between the Knights and the Defense Forces. Denver stood there now, observing as the Crisis Management Team Leader directed the operation.

Even with a Prime Capital present, the atmosphere inside the camp wasn't bad. Denver was not only the head of Prime Capital Edgerton but also a war hero who had fought in numerous campaigns. He knew the military well, and so he did his utmost to avoid any behavior that might rub the Defense Forces the wrong way. The soldiers, grateful for that consideration, had treated him with warmth in return.

But the cordial mood didn't last long. It was broken by a new arrival — one Lyla had brought with her.

"Haha, it's been a while, Lord Denver."

"Ahem. Wei Zhao."

The man who had just entered the camp was an East Asian male with hair dyed a vivid blue. His name was Wei Zhao, head of the Prime Capital Zhao family — the clan that had contested with House Edgerton for dominion over Mars for centuries. Denver's expression soured as he watched the man calmly produce a cigar indoors.

"...What brings you here?"

Denver was courteous to nearly everyone, but with the Zhao family, he could not afford to be. The two houses had vied for centuries to become the sole masters of Mars, and the blood spilled in their feuds was hardly a matter of one or two incidents. Even now, an invisible shadow war raged between them back on Mars, where both their ancestral seats lay. It was only natural that things were icy between them.

Facing Denver's open hostility, Wei replied with an easy smile. "Well, I heard something interesting was happening. I may not look it, but I'm a man of the press — when a new story breaks, I have to cover it, don't I?"

Denver turned his gaze to Lyla, who had accompanied Wei. Her expression was frigid beyond description. One look was enough to tell that this visit had been forced on her against her will.

Of all the times...

The Zhao family owned Daily Mars, the largest media outlet in MegaCorp. News of an incident erupting in the Special Trade Hub on the eve of the Board meeting would have reached them long ago.

"Everything is under control. There is nothing here to warrant your attention, Wei — or so it would seem."

"Haha. Don't be so cold. I came because of the vote, after all. I could hardly pass up such an excellent opportunity to judge for myself whether the man I'm ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠voting for is legitimate or not."

"......"

Wei Zhao supported Akira Yujin's re-election. As Denver understood it, the Zhao family was split between those who backed Akira and those who did not. Which meant that, for Wei right now, exposing just how incompetent Akira's rival Saddam Chamberlain truly was mattered above all else. Do that, and he could unify the family's factions under a single banner.

...I'd better pray Vickers performs well.

What if things went wrong here, with the head of MegaCorp's most influential yellow press standing in the room? Saddam and Denver's plans would collapse entirely, and the next Board meeting would have to wait. As for Lyla, she might well be forced to take responsibility and step down as General Manager altogether.

"In any case, this is my concern, so keep your nose out of it, Lord Denver. Hm? Hey — what is that camera there?"

Having silenced Denver, Wei turned with his cigar clamped between his teeth and asked the Crisis Management Team Leader.

"Personal cameras issued to each squad leader among the Defense Force squads participating in the operation. They let us monitor the operation's progress conveniently from here as well—"

Mid-answer, the entire camp shuddered violently.

"An—an earthquake?!"

"Everyone, brace yourselves!"

The tremor — violent enough to shake the computers, the equipment, and every person in the camp together — was over almost as soon as it began. But everyone present wore the same dumbfounded expression. An earthquake, aboard a structure floating in space.

The first to collect herself was Lyla, the city's ruler. "Contact the Dome Management Team Leader immediately and confirm whether this was caused by a meteorite impact."

"Understood."

Her secretary dashed out of the camp in a hurry. Wei, who had been knocked off his feet and lost face in front of everyone, rose stiffly to his feet, his face frozen hard.

"...I heard T&C was renowned for its colonial development. Does this happen often?"

"No. This is the first time."

"I'll believe that when I see it."

"What did you just say?"

"Lady Lyla, Wei — both of you, calm yourselves. This tremor seems to have come from below. Tell me, Crisis Management Team Leader — can we raise ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the units that went down?"

At Denver's request, the Crisis Management Team Leader glanced at the communications officer. The soldier hurriedly transmitted to the underground teams.

"The comms are unstable. Send additional support to Squad 2, and have them attempt to re-establish contact with Squad 3."

"Yes, sir. This is Operations HQ—"

As the communications officer relayed the Crisis Management Team Leader's orders, Denver betrayed nothing outwardly — but inwardly, he was considerably rattled.

The one from Squad 3 who went down into the sewer can only be Tennessee.

Denver's knights were currently supporting the Defense Forces' operation in the capacity of auxiliary troops. They had been split into three detachments to match the squad-structured Defense Forces, each detachment supporting one squad's operation. All three detachments had set up a joint camp on the surface alongside the Defense Forces, and Vickers and Jacob of the first and second detachments were directing their men from above ground.

Only Tennessee, burning with vengeance, had gone down into the sewers himself — volunteering, no less, for the duty of managing the bait.

Denver excused himself briefly, saying he had business to attend to, and stepped out of the camp. Once he confirmed no one nearby was paying him any mind, he sent a transmission to Vickers.

Until that moment, Denver had not been overly worried. The sewer's collapse was an unforeseen consequence of the quake — but still, everything was under control. Or so he believed.

The city's veins, cast with metallurgical techniques of the highest order — metal conduits that would never corrode, no matter what filth flowed into them. That magnificent sewer now lay severed in two.

That was far more powerful than I expected?

Psychic Breath had mercilessly annihilated everything in its path. The interior of the conduit was, naturally, scorched flat, and the beam had punched clean through walls packed solid with metal and concrete. I'd anticipated it would grow stronger under the Type effect, but I hadn't imagined this.

It didn't just gut the conduit — the ground around it seems to have given way too.

With Psychic Breath hollowing out the underground so violently, the bedrock above could no longer hold. The ground sagged into the cavity, and the buildings standing on it collapsed in a cascading chain reaction, magnifying the scale of destruction far beyond what I'd intended. A good fifth of the Commercial District I was in was probably rubble by now.

Are the kids okay?

I sent a pulse to Number 26.

[Zzzt-zzt zzztzt (Are you all right over there?)]

「Big Baby, there was a big boom just now! Are you hurt?」

[Zzzt zzztzt zzt (I'm fine. You?)]

「Little Baby sensed the boom coming and warned us, so we dodged it.」

What a relief. He was a mutant, but he was still very much a Blue Galagon — and Galagons are acutely sensitive to the flow of psychic power. He must have sensed the surge and moved the others somewhere safe.

[Zzztzt zzzt-zz (Stay hidden for now)]

「Okay.」

Having confirmed the kids were safe, I rose to my feet. The narrow conduit where I had been was now a wide-open cavern, and thanks to the collapsed ground above, slivers of light were leaking down through the gaps in the ceiling.

This complicates things.

If the enemy learned that I was a monster capable of collapsing an entire city, they might come at me with reckless abandon.

The odds are low, but they could resort to orbital bombardment.

If throwing troops into the sewer failed to deal with me, they'd have no other option left. Honestly, it would be like burning down the whole village to catch a single bedbug — but you never know. Humans aren't animals that rational.

Let's secure the remaining Genetic Essences first.

Worrying over hypotheticals accomplished nothing. Dealing with what was in front of me was far more profitable.

Two of the knights who had been chasing me remained, and they weren't far off. I slipped out of the cavern that had once been a conduit.

With the sewer collapsed, that side will be in chaos too. Ambushing them shouldn't be hard — the problem is my escape route.

As ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I walked along, thinking, I felt a ripple of current flowing from the opposite passage. The knights I was hunting were coming this way.

Deal with them first, then.

Hiding here would be difficult — there wasn't enough water left. The purple heat haze had vaporized the sewage, and with holes punched through the walls here and there, the water level itself had dropped.

No — I don't need to hide.

My auxiliary organs detected one figure supporting the other in a half-carry. Catherine's paralysis must not have worn off, so the other one was propping her up. Which meant the enemy's combat strength was worth less than half a man. There was no need to hold anything back.

I pressed close against the wall so the current wouldn't betray me to them, and moved toward their position. A knight's voice drifted from beyond the passage.

"Squad Leader Yanek! Squad Leader Vickers! Damn it, comms are completely dead!"

"Ugh... uhhh..."

"Aw, hell. Catherine, are you okay?"

"Uuh! Uu!"

"What the—?"

The knight had been too preoccupied with the paralyzed woman to notice me. It was only when she reacted to my presence first that he raised his head. I leapt down from the ceiling, straight at him. I bore the knight to the ground, and the three of us went tumbling across the sewer floor.

"Eek!"

The knight scrambled to draw his Blade Claws and fight back. But the distance between us was far too close for him to swing his arms. I seized both of his arms with my combat limbs, then clamped my jaws down on his helmet.

"Wh—what—!"

My Bite Force–reinforced jaw crushed his helmet. The reinforced glass forming the visor shattered and poured inward.

"Gah, aaagh!"

As the helmet crumpled and squeezed his skull, as shards of glass buried themselves in his eyes, the knight shrieked. His legs, dangling helplessly in my grip, went limp a moment later.

Confirming the knight was dead, I released his helmet from my jaws. It was compressed so thoroughly that it had shrunk to a third of its original size.

"Uu! Uuuuh!"

The paralyzed knight, forced to watch her comrade die at arm's length, let out a moan. I moved to drop the corpse I was holding — and in that instant, I spotted a piece of equipment no other knight had carried.

A Plasma Launcher?

The knight had been wearing a Plasma Launcher strapped to his back. I unclipped it and took it in hand.

Well, well. Someone came thoroughly prepared, didn't they?

Whatever else, this thing was dangerous. Even using the Avatar of the Hunt, two consecutive hits to the head would put me at genuine risk. That was how much firepower it packed.

It makes sense for the Defense Forces to carry launchers — but why the Knights?

The Defense Forces belonged to the Defense Fleet — regular military, so of course they fielded Plasma Launchers. As I recalled, it was one of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the standard-issue weapons distributed at the platoon level. The Edgerton Knights, by contrast, didn't use them. Their mainstay was the Plasma Bolter — it lacked the launcher's raw power, but made up for it with far superior versatility.

That said, that was game lore. This was reality, so things might differ here. He was wearing powered armor, so an individual firing a launcher was entirely plausible.

I'll be keeping this one, then.

I tucked the launcher away and turned back to the paralyzed knight.

From what they were saying earlier, their communications are down.

A massive discharge of psychic power can disrupt radio waves. Not permanently, of course — recovery takes roughly ten minutes.

I should deal with everything I can before then and get out.

The ground collapsing across the Commercial District would have created plenty of ruined buildings. I'd have to consider turning one of them into a temporary den.

And what should I do with this knight?

With communications scrambled, using her as bait would be awkward.

I'll save her for the kids later.

Who knew how much longer they'd have to starve? Thinking of how they'd barely filled their bellies with Corpse Catfish, it was only right to feed them something delicious at this point.

Come to think of it, I've eaten almost all the knights myself, haven't I?

Making myself stronger with Genetic Essences was priority one, but growing the kids mattered too. The knights were all packed with nutrients, after all. If the kids ate and grew stronger than before, that benefited me. They were excellent fighters with outstanding potential.

Leaving the paralyzed knight where she lay, I began with her dead comrade. I peeled away the thick armor and tore into the dense muscle beneath. The moment I chewed, I felt the springy texture woven from fine muscle fibers.

This one tastes like pork?

Pork neck, to be precise. Neck cuts usually taste rich but a little heavy, but the knight's meat had such a good texture that it actually beat the real thing.

Space Survival doesn't have pigs, though. Funny.

In the game's lore, Earth had been reduced to barren wasteland by the nuclear war between the seven corporations and the world's governments. Pigs went completely extinct, and chickens became an endangered species that only those of Prime Capital rank or higher could ever taste.

A miserable dystopia where fried chicken and pork belly no longer exist.

Idling on such thoughts, I made quick work of the knight's flesh.

Tsk. Already finished?

The last thing left was the knight's wrist. It had that familiar taste, and I'd been enjoying it — a shame.

Waste not, want not.

Leaving it half-chewed would only leave me wanting more, so I swallowed the wrist whole in one gulp. And the moment it slid down my throat—

Oh?

Maybe it was because I'd had a good meal for the first time in a while. The translucent notification box that had materialized to guide me somehow felt more welcoming than usual.