A Bonfire for the Moths
"First time here, I see. Pardon the imposition, but might I trouble you for your membership card?"
"Oh — I was told showing this would be enough."
"Ah, a guest under personal invitation, then. And whom might the invitation be from?"
"A man called Tae Siyoung. Is he here today as well?"
"One moment, please. ...I'm told he is absent today."
"Ah, we must have just missed each other, then. Well, no matter — I can always meet him some other time."
"Then, please do enjoy your evening."
To cut straight to the conclusion, the infiltration had been easy.
Every ounce of suffering I'd endured since broad daylight, dress code and all, had been worth it in the end.
With that thought, I loosened the tie that had been strangling me a few notches looser.
So who exactly was this Tae Siyoung, anyway?
The narrow-eyed gunman I'd been told about.
Hmph. A short sniff through the nose.
The sound came from Tiamat, standing one step behind me.
The same goddess who had been glued to my side until moments ago was now trailing along at a strangely awkward distance.
Well, we had succeeded in slipping into the salon itself, so there was no longer any need to worry about that "couples admitted" business...
"Ugh, gross."
I popped the cap off the glass vial and scattered its contents across the floor.
Not that I'd suddenly developed an urge to dirty the salon floor.
Rather, I took control of what spilled out — the mana within the potion — and lightly soaked my right arm beneath the suit with it.
Be fitting of the words top-grade potion, the arm healed in an instant.
I flexed my right hand a few times, then nodded once the sensation reached my fingertips.
I tucked the empty vial away into my jacket.
At the same time — a faint clink of glass.
The empties I'd stashed separately had knocked against one another.
It couldn't be helped.
Three bottles already.
Ironically, given the name and performance of a "top-grade potion," I had burned through three of them just getting into this salon.
The first: I'd bitten my tongue bloody — nearly severed it — fighting down the urge to deck the attendant who cooed at us, "You two look wonderful together."
The second: I'd gone to wash off the hand I'd held for the lovers act and very nearly tore my own wrist clean off.
The third: I'd crossed my arms right before entering and squeezed so hard the muscle was on the verge of necrosis.
"Insane. Absolutely insane. Figures — this is that organization's little gathering, after all."
And Tiamat watched all of it from one step behind with a distinctly unimpressed look on her face.
The reason she'd been so cheerfully hovering around me at first, and the reason she'd gone quiet now, were one and the same.
To be fair, she had been genuinely shaken when I spat my tongue out.
"...It was not by my own will, you know."
"I know."
Shoulders sagging, somewhere between gloomy and put-upon — that was how she said it.
And she was right. This time, I was the one who'd dragged her here.
No way was I going to blame her for something like this.
Okay, that was a lie. I wanted to blame her a lot.
I took slow, deep breaths, one after another.
Under normal circumstances, I'd have knocked out every mouthy bastard in that lobby and forced the plan through anyway.
Maybe the moment Tiamat was the only one left at my side, I'd have abandoned stealth entirely and simply stormed the place.
At the very least, I'd have put on a hazmat suit first.
But.
I am a hunter now.
One hunter among many. One monster among many.
I had not come all this way to scrap with a single individual.
What I'd come here to hunt were the traitors of humanity — the ones scheming to sell this very country down the river.
You can't land big game if you let every petty little thing like this throw you off balance.
Like a hunter who soaks in the mud and tastes the dung of beasts.
Now was the time to endure.
Of course, in practice, I had not endured at all.
"Ghhk — damn it. This is killing me."
Still, thanks to all that rehearsal, one thing had at least become familiar.
Applying potions.
These days I could spread a potion across my skin without wetting a single thread of my clothing.
A truly useless party trick, even by my own assessment.
And meanwhile, I had adapted to the actual objective — the monsters' presence — not one bit.
Well, if it were that easy to adapt, I wouldn't have spent three years whining about it, would I.
I kept practicing just in case, but honestly? I figured it was probably impossible for as long as I lived.
God, what a pain in the ass.
Irritated for no particular reason, I found myself fiddling with the cuff of my brand-new suit when a sigh slipped out of me.
It was a bespoke luxury piece, so at least it didn't feel uncomfortable to wear.
Price-wise it was cheaper than the gear I normally strapped on, so there was no reason to be intimidated by it either.
Well — it was hunter-grade equipment, so that much was obvious.
If anything, a single piece sold on the open market would buy this entire salon and then some.
Simply put—
That fact only made the discomfort hit all the harder.
This awkwardness I was feeling — the sensation of wearing clothes that didn't fit — was, in the end, not about the clothes. It was about my state of mind.
Standing alone, weaponless and unarmored, in the very heart of enemy territory — that is not a feeling you grow accustomed to easily.
So what was I going to do about it, going forward?
For now — stall. Just kill time.
"Hmm. So — care to dance, then?"
"Hey."
"'Twas a jest, of course."
Tiamat burst into light laughter, thoroughly pleased with herself.
Following the point of her finger, I could indeed make out a crowd on the dance floor.
Not that "dancing" here meant any club-style revelry.
Low-slung jazz music drifted through the hall, with a floor laid out beneath it suited to a light turn.
More like a ballroom, really.
Though even the people dancing only swapped a step or two before breaking apart, so perhaps even that was a stretch.
The antique-styled interior was so refined it clashed with the story of the place being founded during the First Great Cataclysm.
And threaded through it all, something hollow and ostentatious.
For all the talk of high society packing the joint, the whole arrangement carried an oddly nouveau-riche stink.
"Well then, I shall content myself with whiling away the hours, as promised. It would hardly do to torment you any further, after all."
"Huh? What's gotten into you today? Why are you being so agreeable all of a sudden?"
"Fufu. Have you fallen for me all over again?"
"...?"
"How shy."
What the hell is that supposed to mean.
It was not an atmosphere in which I could actually say that out loud.
Maybe it was because she was a Mesopotamian goddess who practically worshipped alcohol — beer, of all things. Perhaps she'd already gotten tipsy on the ambience.
"Fine. Then let's split up."
"Mm. We need only regroup just before we depart, no?"
"Right."
"Very well."
Despite her words, Tiamat glided lightly over to my side.
A shiver ran through me — recalling what had happened just before, every hair on my body stood on end.
But.
The goddess who passed by my side came to a stop directly in front of me — and twirled once in place.
The hem of her dress bloomed elegantly, like a flower opening.
"Well? How do I look?"
"What now?"
"Parting ways is all well and good, but surely you ought to leave a review at the very least. Surely you do not mean to leave a goddess stood up?"
I don't know about standing you up, but I'd love to put a blade in you.
Still, she wasn't technically wrong.
If someone asked why we were suddenly operating separately, I'd better have an answer ready.
What any of that had to do with reviewing her dress, I had no idea.
But I had been asked, so I turned my gaze sideways with a degree of reluctance.
A gorgeous evening dress.
The back cut down to nearly the tailbone, the neckline plunging nearly to her stomach.
Frankly, every time I remembered that I had very nearly put my students in this, a chill ran down my spine.
The fabric was black.
Cloth flowing from the nape of her neck, spilling over her chest, then blooming out at the waist to drape shallowly over her legs.
The silhouette of her body glimpsed faintly through the thin fabric.
Milky-white skin standing in stark contrast to the black.
Dangerously sleek curves poking their heads out from every corner of the dress — frankly speaking, it was dangerous.
Was it clothing, or a scrap of cloth?
The fact that an outfit inviting such judgments could not be dismissed as vulgar was entirely thanks to the hanger wearing it.
Outerwear and bare skin, set against one another.
And spilling over it all, crimson hair.
Against the snow-white skin, it glowed like drops of blood coursing along her body; against the jet-black fabric, it burned like embers atop a bed of ash.
The vivid color seemed almost to flicker, like living flame.
And topping it off, a smile all the more bewitching for it.
As if fully aware of her own allure, the corners of her mouth drew a confident, graceful bow.
And in truth, she had every right to it.
Beyond the modern-styled sunglasses, vertically slit violet eyes glinted.
A serpentine gaze that would normally have felt eerie at best — tonight, anyone would read it as exotic charm.
Unlike the cheap metaphors habitually thrown at runway models, she was a goddess, literal and true.
She carried, with effortless naturalness, the dignity that only a goddess who once reigned at the apex of an entire mythology could wear.
"The dress makes the woman."
"How frigid you are."
"Well, I figured something generic like that would roughly pass."
To me, it looked like nothing more than army-ration vinyl rice with premium caviar dumped carelessly on top.
"Strange, truly. Examining it piece by piece, I can roughly admit that each element is objectively lovely — and yet, to my own eyes, it simply does not appear so."
Take each component apart on its own and, honestly, there was a cockroach-like beauty that felt almost too good for me.
A genuinely indescribable sensation.
"Ah, I see — I understand well enough. Then I shall let the others know that you found fault with my attire."
"No — if you go telling them that, I'll never hear the end of it..."
While I groaned, more than a little sheepish, she skipped off lightly with a pleased little hum, for all the world delighted with herself.
I tore my eyes away from her retreating figure as quickly as I could manage.
I did feel a bit sorry that I couldn't offer a proper review — but separately from that, I didn't care to keep looking.
Only—
Looks like she understands her role just fine.
Flame.
She looked, for all the world, like a leaping bonfire.
That was the impression Tiamat had left on me, moments ago.
And in fact, that was precisely the job Tiamat had to do in this place.
A bonfire to draw in the moths.
The genuine article, descending like a dance upon this nouveau-riche salon.
Everyone would take an interest and come swarming.
My job was to sift out the suspicious ones among them and pursue them separately afterward.
Love her or hate her, the woman's face was at least passably attractive.
"Uh — probably?"
"Honestly, I can't tell one way or the other, but Choi Seungjun signed off on the plan, so it should be fine."
Anyway.
In that sense, whatever my personal gripes, having Tiamat join us for this was actually a stroke of fortune.
Namely: among our faction, the one whose face was least well-known was Tiamat herself.
Granted, considering the nature of that organization, a few of their number would surely recognize the goddess seated at the very summit of the Association.
But.
Even so, the list of people who could actually come face to face with Tiamat was vanishingly small.
And Tiamat had already memorized that list herself.
Even if someone looked at her and acted strangely, she could handle it well enough.
Better yet — even those who did know Tiamat would hardly react so jumpy.
Picture it: someone who looks exactly like the goddess who habitually resides at the top of the Hunter Association shows up at a banquet, hanging off a man's arm?
Who on earth would look at that and conclude, the goddess sent an avatar?
They'd just assume it was some lookalike and think nothing more of it.
Besides, considering what she'd often told me, her avatar was very likely an Authority she hadn't breathed a word of even to her own people.
In which case, Tiamat's alibi assembled itself, free of charge.
And so—
I waited, holding my breath with a mildly leisurely air.
In a certain sense, this was nothing more than fishing.
But I was certain.
The nibble would come.
If there wasn't a single tendril of that organization in this room tonight, fine. But if there was, it would bite — without fail.
Why?
Because they were a cell organization.
By now, word of my clash with Tae Siyoung must have spread far and wide through their ranks.
With that in mind, I had laid down a few pieces of groundwork.
Partly to shield the old man — but I had deliberately invoked Tae Siyoung's name to get this far.
Given that a man with his arm severed in two had no earthly reason to attend a party, someone was bound to find that suspicious.
On top of that, this time I had left the gas mask entirely behind.
And there might be someone here who recognized my face.
Which meant someone was bound to take the bait.
That is the limit of a cell structure.
Hard to stamp out the tail — but fine-grained control goes straight to hell.
Besides, their ultimate goal was the outbreak of the Third Great Cataclysm.
A goal with neither grand cause nor conviction behind it.
In other words, they possessed no binding force stronger than profit.
Which means—
Offer a sufficient lure, and drawing some of them out — or sowing discord among them — becomes remarkably easy.
It holds true even if the organization has issued a formal no-contact order after my exchange with Tae Siyoung.
Under these conditions, someone would be itching to unmask themselves.
A rank-and-file member, sniffing around with doubts about the name Tae Siyoung.
A battle maniac hoping to burnish his own legend off the back of Tae Siyoung's defeat.
Or, conversely, a moderate unnerved by that very defeat.
Either way, they would be more than welcome.
I hadn't come here for a hobby this time.
I came to win.
So — I would use everything usable on my end, too.
That's the resolve I came with.
In that sense, perhaps "bonfire" was a rather apt metaphor after all.
Call her a goddess even when rotten, I suppose.
Unlike the tendrils of that organization, there would be plenty of perfectly ordinary guests sidling up simply hoping to strike up a conversation with her.
Watching that spectacle, even the most paranoid man's vigilance would fray at the edges.
An utterly suspicious situation.
And the man at her side was the Butcher himself.
Before all the poor bastards twisting themselves in knots over how to handle it, the Butcher's partner appears.
What on earth could their relationship be — and a beauty no one has ever laid eyes on before?
Purely conjecture, of course.
But regardless — someone might look at that woman and remember the goddess dwelling at the Association's summit.
And then, presently, they would dismiss the thought from their own heads.
Because at this very moment, the goddess was in residence at the Association's summit.
Moreover — wasn't the Butcher that rogue who'd cut off the goddess's horn and fled?
Someone else, maybe. But the goddess herself reaching out a helping hand to the Butcher? Never.
Under the banner of reasonable judgment, the conclusion settles neatly: merely a third party who happens to resemble the goddess.
And in that moment — a sweet fragrance stabs at the tip of the nose, one that wasn't there before.
Clashing with the Butcher directly was, all things considered, rather too much to bear.
But what about the partner?
As it happened, thanks to her beauty, a crowd was already milling about in a human tide, hoping to score even a single word with the partner.
They belonged to the same salon, yes — but fools who couldn't even begin to guess what was unfolding in this corner of the club.
Naturally, a light touch of intellectual vanity kindles.
Well, surely it's fine.
Those fools will serve as a shield for one such as myself — one of the chosen.
And so then—
Really lightly. Casually, in passing.
Slipping in among them and tossing out a question or two — surely there's no harm in that?
...Once the thought reached that point, the rest was simple.
Sinking one's fangs into the napes of people who believed themselves superior — above the rest — was, truly, the easiest thing in the world.