Hunters (4)
As someone who could almost perfectly conceal my presence as a mage, my subordinates had clear limitations when it came to deploying and retracting their soul fields. They could reduce their presence, but there was no way to hide the fact that they were ability users at all.
That was why Kyung-tae had been hounded with recruitment offers from the militia right up until takeoff. When he finally refused, Jack—the most enthusiastic recruiter—looked like a retriever who'd had his snack stolen, utterly dejected. It seemed my most loyal hunting dog had really taken a shine to him.
"Takeoff imminent. All passengers, please confirm your safety harnesses are secured."
The pilot's voice came through the internal comms headset. Snow piled beneath the accelerating rotors scattered like mist, exposing the yellowed leaves of frozen weeds under the winter sun. As those leaves shook past their tipping point, a gap opened between the helicopter and its shadow. That gap soon became rising altitude.
The ground and people sank away rapidly beneath my dangling feet. Climbing at eight meters per second, the craft soon traced a semicircle skimming the canal before turning its nose eastward.
In that moment, I spotted a nun gazing up at the sky on the outskirts of the town.
"……!"
She shaded her eyes against the blinding sun, and her features eerily matched Grace's face from my mentor's memories. And there was that unnatural sense of wrongness, too.
My heart plummeted, my pulse surging hot through my veins. Without my obstacle-ignoring vision, I might have lunged out the door after her receding figure.
"What's wrong, hyungnim?"
Kyung-tae noticed my reaction and asked worriedly.
"……Nothing. Just thought I saw someone I know."
I forced a calm reply, mindful of those around us. But my gaze stayed locked on the rear.
"Someone you know……?" Kyung-tae muttered.
Meanwhile, the silhouette in the black-and-white habit shrank to a tiny, distant dot. Even when it became impossible to make out, my racing heartbeat refused to settle.
I wasn't ready to face her yet. The odds of it being a misidentification or just a lookalike were slim. Black-and-white habits were the kind of outfit a witch who loved mocking white men's gods would actually wear. In Utah, dominated by the Latter-day Saint Church's influence, it was hardly common attire.
Reflecting on the outfit, my head finally cooled enough to pinpoint that initial unease: opacity. My focus on her face had delayed it, but the headscarf and habit fluttering in the wind were nearly opaque even to the Golden Age's Eye.
Meaning that outfit was at least artefact-grade magical gear. With certainty settled, I reined myself in with slow breaths.
She can't recognize me anyway.
Her face, turned skyward, held no particular emotion—just the blank look of someone glancing at a loud noise without thinking. I could identify her, but she couldn't me. With my concealment skills and eyes that spotted enemies first, there was no reason for the prey to overreact. No reason to flee on the spot, either. I was just startled by the unexpected encounter. There were limits to coincidences.
"The village to your left is Glenwood, and the peak to your right is Bull Claim Hill. The drivers have spotted a pig herd. Two helicopters will drive them down the valley. Passengers, please prepare to fire at any moment."
Listening to the pilot over the wire, I pondered why the demonic nun had come here.
First, the Trembling Giant itself. She'd already dispatched a branch sect to turn the aspen forest into a man-eating labyrinth. She had ample motive to scout the woods and surroundings—like a criminal revisiting the scene or a schemer plotting her next move.
And as a mage outside the Round Table like me, Grace might seek magical wisdom from the Trembling Giant. Lacking my eyes, a master-level Round Table mage could still glean something through indirect observation. Results would vary with time and effort, of course.
Or perhaps proselytizing. The area crawled with humans prone to vague mysticism—prime recruits for her flock. In that vein, infiltrating existing groups with her worshippers was a solid strategy.
Finally, human hunting. Imperialist vanguard scouts were surely nearby. Bagging them would be deeply satisfying recreation for a demonic nun. My cursed mentor's name—now just a corpse—probably topped her list.
"Alright, passengers. Pigs incoming from dead ahead—your front, so no confusion."
With that, the pilot lowered altitude, hugging the ridgeline to minimize noise spread. The continental divide loomed like a border.
The moment we crossed it, the massive hybrid pigs veered wildly at the sudden new helicopter.
"Now!"
Muzzle flashes stuttered in sequence. Red blood sprayed across the snow-blanketed mountainside. Dead and panicked pigs tumbled down the slope. But since they rolled toward their pursuers, the startled ones became corpses before recovering.
More blood burst from belly shots than before.
"Excellent!"
The militiaman assigned to me beamed. A shooter's speed and accuracy directly determined the drive hunt's pace.
I kept up steady fire, unmoved. No standout specimens. Some had pierced circuits befitting their mass, but none bore codes worth collecting.
"No specials in that bunch, right?"
"Nah."
Kyung-tae confirmed with me, shrugged, and resumed precise shots. The herd of about twenty dwindled fast. For a four-legged animal, a downward slope was a tricky escape—hard to keep balance fore and aft. The pigs' desperate tumbles made for tragic comedy.
I upgraded my assessment of the militia.
Damn good at herding prey……
The three helicopters adjusted speed and position fluidly to the herd's moves. Impressively, no orders from "Brigade Leader" Nielsen each time. Plenty for me and my crew to learn from their tactics.
Human hunting and beast hunting weren't identical techniques, after all. An unexpected boon.
Sharing the thought, Kyung-tae—who'd been eyeing the maneuvers between shots—asked over the intercom after the herd's annihilation.
"No recovery on the dead pigs?"
Nielsen replied from the copilot seat.
"No. Sent coords to the nearest ground team—they'll handle it."
"Whoa! Separate ground crew?"
"Yes. It's our edge over other outfits—and why we charge more. Landing to hoist corpses each time? Massive waste. Slows the choppers too."
"Ah."
"Mr. Kim pays so readily, no need to explain. Long-term, we aim for true air-ground joint hunts over vast areas."
Kyung-tae pressed on.
"'Brigade' in the name 'cause you're that big?"
A brigade in regular army terms was the smallest independent unit—usually over a thousand combat troops, varying by nation.
Nielsen laughed heartily.
"Hardly. Active tau-runners number around thirty, armed members under a hundred total. We call it a brigade counting general member residents as family."
"Members vs. troops?"
"Members are basically clients. Folks donating monthly for community safety. We provide enhanced patrols for their areas. Night emergencies? We dispatch helos—extra for maintenance and fuel."
"So that's another business line?"
"Pretty much. Still building the system."
"Could be a division or corps someday."
"Hahaha! Wouldn't that be grand? Even if all locals joined, population density's too low for corps size."
Part private security firm, too. In backwoods where cops took an hour minimum, demand seemed solid. Model case of ability users monetizing skills.
…….
Damn. I shook off the groundless worry about Grace resurfacing.
Good call booking the hot springs.
The post-hunt onsen was about ten miles south of our Richfield safehouse. I'd contact the team there to check surroundings. No signal now, out of cell range. Satellite phone useless mid-flight.
The pilot's voice crackled.
"Next herd incoming. Spotters say a nasty one's mixed in—both of you, get ready."
Two sleek helos drove a new herd from afar. Originally separate groups, now forcibly merged into one charging mass. The house-wild hybrids boasted freakish bulk. The lead boar was especially massive—at least a thousand pounds visually.
Strength and speed matched, like a snowplow at full tilt. Kicked-up snow blinded normal sight beyond the front.
"Whoa, that lead one's T-Hog tier, right?"
Jack chimed in with Kyung-tae.
"Lucky break! That power guarantees rare beast status—bounty starts at three grand. We gotta bag it! O'Neil! Recording right?!"
"You bet!"
As the militiamen hyped up, I closely watched the tank-like pig's charge. Mane whipping, its code focused on basic body reinforcement. Nothing novel or impressive, but its mana handling offered slight inspiration. Worth filing away for later.
"Huh?"
The pilot sounded startled. A new helo barreled in at max speed, cutting in aggressively. We had to yield to avoid collision.
The intruders opened fire on the lead pig immediately—snatching our held prey.
Nielsen bellowed in fury.
"Damn it! Those shameless bastards!"