Hunters (2)
The most eye-catching part was the talk of the gospel of souls. They might have been obsessed with environmental protection, but they weren't the type to use such overtly religious language. A revival of primitive faith, perhaps... It wasn't something I hadn't considered, but confronting it in reality felt profoundly awkward all the same.
As a mage, I understood the soul as merely one component making up a living being. The only peculiarity was that current science couldn't observe it. That's why I'd hypothesized that mana essence and souls might be a form of dark matter—nothing more than a type of substance that interacted with the observable world only through limited pathways. Thus, there was no afterlife for humans. The soul simply decomposed and faded away with the death of the body. Every death I'd witnessed through my Golden Age's Eye had been like that. I'd never seen a soul ascending to heaven or descending to hell.
The real problem was the Round Table masters who'd arbitrarily slapped the concept of a 'soul' onto this unobservable human component. Lacking a better term, even I made do with it.
That said, I could intellectually grasp the changes in these self-proclaimed elves who loved arson—not emotionally, but rationally. 'The giant's presence is just so overwhelming.'
Typhoons, earthquakes, lightning, fire and volcanoes, the sun and moon, the countless celestial bodies glittering in the night sky, massive beasts, towering mountains, the great boulders and ancient trees atop them, and even plagues. The first things to receive religious worship from humanity were all elements of nature that inspired awe in the observer. And the root of that awe? The raw experience of being sensorily overwhelmed.
Even I had felt crushed by the forest's presence. For ordinary Awakened with meager abilities, it must have been utterly devastating. The colossal presence projected by the mist-shrouded white forest, stretching beyond the horizon, held more than enough power to force anyone to their knees.
"Their numbers are too vast to count?" I asked again, and Kyung-tae nodded.
"Tents and RVs clustered on the city's west and southwest sides—looks just like some Middle Eastern refugee camp plopped down here. I didn't check it myself, but they say there's another one two kilometers north, rivaling the size of a town, and Sand Ledges to the east is crawling with outsiders pitching camp too."
"All 'pilgrims'?"
"Nah. Plenty of hunters after pigs, militia types, folks purely here for research or observation, tourists, mystery groups you can't pin down, and on top of that, military, police, Citizen Corps volunteers, state disaster management crews—you name it, every damn sort's swarming the place. Hell, I even spotted Boy Scouts and Girl Scouts."
Kyung-tae pulled crinkling bags from his pocket.
"Since we're on the topic, wanna try some cookies? These kids with rosy cheeks begged me to buy just one, but I couldn't come back with only that, right?"
"......"
Cookies are good. I needed the calories before bed anyway. Tearing open a bag released a sweet, nutty aroma. Thick chunks of chocolate chips dotted the cookies generously. Biting into one, the crisp crunch gave way to an intense sweetness flooding my mouth. And I wasn't even one for overly sweet things...
"How are they?"
"Delicious."
"Haha, glad to hear it."
"You guys eat too."
At my words, Suyeon rose.
"I'll prepare something to drink."
She shot Hong Young-sik a cool glance. Follow me. Hong, looking like he'd seen it all in life, trailed after her. It felt a bit odd seeing an executive I'd personally carved circuits into reduced to that at over forty. Organizational hierarchy had nothing to do with age, of course.
Kyung-tae scratched his head.
"But seriously, seeing it firsthand, I get why they couldn't investigate one by one... Hong's having a rough go this time."
"......"
Glancing toward the kitchen, Suyeon was setting water to boil, pulling out pomegranate tea bags and cups while lecturing. Hong kept his head down the whole time, not daring to look up. If Earth Liberation Front hadn't been a former client of ours, the scolding would've been milder.
Moments later, with tea and snacks in hand, I examined the remaining pamphlets in order.
One was a straight-up advertisement flyer.
Hop in a chopper and hunt the pigs threatening America's food security!
Last year's crop damage from pigs: a whopping 1.5 billion dollars! And that's not counting the incalculable other losses!
Pigs, pigs, pigs! Filthy, greedy hordes overflowing everywhere! If we don't kill 2 million a year, their numbers just keep growing! Before it's too late, we must launch a total war on wild pigs!
Government-subsidized low prices! Just $800 per hour to become a patriot! Hunt for fun, protect locals, secure food supply—one stone, three birds!
By executive order: On-site temp hunting permits for a quick $60!
Bonus! Bag a monster T-hog and claim federal EPA & state bounties! Base 50¢ per pound! If it's a Rare Beast... Lord have mercy, up to $3 per pound!
We, the "Pioneer Hunter Brigade", are a legal militia with vast high-threat hunting experience. Our expert Tau-Runners guarantee your safety, provide full video records, and assist with rare animal certification. Don't hesitate—call now!
Patriotic hunters await your call.
A few unfamiliar terms, but not hard to parse. Contextually, Rare Beasts meant Awakened wildlife, high-threat hunting their pursuit. I looked up at Kyung-tae.
"Why'd you bring this?"
"Not for the reasons they claim, but it seemed like a real one-stone-three-birds deal. Undeniable wide-area recon, observing those strong pigs' codes, and a mood booster for you, hyungnim."
He ticked off the reasons on his fingers—valid ones.
"Looked like solid courses. Book a two-hour slot, talk 'em right, and we could zip around the poplar forest. Extra fee gets us a hot spring soak south after."
"......Hot springs?"
"Yeah. After hunting in the chill wind, dipping in a steaming open-air bath? Perfect capper, right? Haha!"
Not bad. I nodded, and Kyung-tae asked, "Book for tomorrow?"
"Can you?"
"Should be. Supply outstrips demand."
"Do it."
"Yep!"
I'd planned snowmobiles, but aerial recon first would safely ID any risks. Ground approach could wait—or skip if unnecessary.
I eyed the pig-smashed wall anew. 1.5 billion dollars... Last year, pre-Awakened wildlife variables. In won, over 1.8 trillion in damage. This year's losses? Easily double. Simple math: pouring that into prevention wasn't a loss. Smart officials would allocate more to eradicate the root. Budgeting was another political beast.
Anyway, in this field, civilian Awakened outshone public authority. 'High-threat hunting' would boom as a livelihood for ability users. Even Korea, with our foundations, wouldn't differ—nutria bounties proved it.
I'd once predicted Immortal Cancer fear would stifle ability users. In hindsight, I'd gravely underestimated public stupidity.
'The first half of the year, COVID already showed the answer.'
During the China-spawned pneumonia pandemic: mask-haters, churchgoers cramming services, clubbers grinding all night. Those idiots shrugged off warnings that overusing Awakened powers spiked cancer odds. "Some get it, some don't—that's cancer."
Recognizing risk required intellect. Humanity's average didn't measure up. Especially in a public-ed shattered place like America.
Intangible dangers sank into apathy and oblivion. For me, more forests to hide trees in—welcome news.
Next morning, true to word, Kyung-tae snagged an early flight. County office lot, 10 a.m., hunter chopper squadron takeoff.
I said, half-amused, "Good timing for this hour."
Current time: 7:30 a.m. He'd volunteered for breakfast run and bagged a hunter deal—surreal. Pamphlet inquiries started at 9.
Kyung-tae beamed, unloading takeout bags with his subordinate.
"They gotta eat too, right? Spotted guys in snow camo with weapons at a breakfast cafe—bingo! Not National Guard. Chatted 'em up, instant OK. Universe helping my desperate wish to aid hyungnim."
"Good work."
"Haha!"
His grin widened at light praise. Looked premeditated from the start. Classic American breakfast: Brits' morning meal, deadlier edition. My paper box: four bacon strips, four sausages, three eggs, gravy-drenched hash browns and biscuits. Table groaned under honey-cream pancakes, French toast, cheese-loaded fries, sirloin steak.
"This spot's a local legend, they say. Kurt Russell, Stephen King, Robert Wagner all hit it. Oh, steaks pricey for U.S.—beef prices rising steady, they explained—"
I tuned out Kyung-tae's chatter, one ear in, one out, packing calories efficiently. Hunter or hunted, solid meals were step one to readiness.