Hunters (8)
Practical investment matters fell under Suyeon's domain. Even though this decision had come out of nowhere, she handled it with the same calm efficiency as any pre-scheduled task. Any oversights on my part would be ironed out in the nuts-and-bolts process. While Suyeon dealt with Nielsen, Kyung-tae wrapped up several calls with the safehouse.
Satellite phones couldn't be used on the move, took at least a minute to lock onto a signal, and only worked outdoors—but without that lifeline as backup, I'd have been pacing with anxiety by now. That was why I shelled out around $1.9 million a year to equip the entire organization with three hundred of them.
Kyung-tae reported back. "Told 'em to beef up perimeter patrols and recon, hyungnim. No sign of anyone matching that description you gave, though."
I nodded. "Figured as much."
Whatever that witch Grace's intentions were in coming here, her black-and-white nun's habit was far too conspicuous. Anyone who knew her would spot that unmistakable signature from a mile away.
Maybe it was a sight only I could see.
I'd been rattled at the time, not observing her closely. Even if she'd cloaked herself with some incantation, that wouldn't be surprising. I had no idea if magic made that feasible, but as a mage who'd spent far longer on the run than I had, it was wise to keep that possibility in mind.
I checked the time. An hour and forty-seven minutes had passed since spotting Grace. If she'd taken the bait and sprung whatever trap she had in mind—using me as lure—something would've blown up by now. Whatever her goal, it didn't seem to involve causing a scene.
"We stay vigilant, but no need to scrap the schedule."
"You think?"
"Odds are low she's gunning for me specifically."
I mulled over thoughts I'd had recently before continuing. "For starters, it's questionable if she even knows about that bastard mentor's betrayal of the Round Table. And even if she does, her and the Heptagonal Knights' biggest enemy is still the Round Table. If she's plotting something, she's more likely targeting London than some traitor 'Lord Crowhurst' whose whereabouts she doesn't even know."
"And if we cross paths again?"
"Feels like I've said something similar before... A guy fighting a war can't just stick to safe spots. I'm not ready for a full confrontation yet, so I won't go hunting her—but I won't dodge her and waste my opportunity cost either."
If we did meet again, I'd probably spot her first. Assuming no other pressing threats, tailing her to dig up intel wouldn't be a bad play. Even if we didn't cross paths, I'd circle the Richfield area one more time before leaving.
In whatever knowledge of the Round Table Grace possessed, the Golden Age's Eye wouldn't be a relic worn in place of eyes like mine. It was just a magical tool that temporarily unlocked transcendent vision through a set ritual. My existence—soul and mana circuit fused inseparably with the artifact—was the product of that mentor bastard's unique inspiration, persistence, intellect, and madness.
Thus, I lurked in a blind spot she likely hadn't considered. That alone would give me at least a fifty-fifty edge, even in the worst case.
Moments later, the remaining flight resumed. The hunting tour had gone to hell, but before heading back, Nielsen happily obliged my request to loop back over the Trembling Giant from the air. We had plenty of fuel left for it, the fee stayed the same, and I'd promised investment on excellent terms as an investor. Plus, he'd perked up considerably.
That $3 million wired to the corporate account upon signing the contract would resolve a ton of his interpersonal headaches as leader in one fell swoop. Money was authority, after all.
Nielsen had just one concern during his chat with Suyeon: whether my funds really weren't from China. Midway through the practical coordination, her interim report quoted him saying, "Patriots shouldn't get anywhere near China. They're the enemies of freedom."
A typical slice of the anti-China sentiment—or outright Sinophobia—sweeping the country like wildfire since early this year.
"There's the famous Trembling Giant in that fog down there. Even in this world of bizarre phenomena stacking up one after another, it's still hailed as the top mystery: a clonal colony of poplars."
Nielsen, assuming it was my first time, explained like a tour guide.
"That's why so many people flock here, but usually they just see fog like this and head home disappointed. On mild, clear days, the fog level drops below the canopy around noon—too bad that's not today."
With yesterday's snow and today's overcast sky, the fog blanketing one entire mountainside revealed only the faint outline of the white-branched forest. The mist flowing downhill along the ground was a spectacle in itself, though some might find the hazy woods underwhelming.
That was just with normal vision, anyway. I was plenty satisfied with the view.
Even from this distance, I can roughly pinpoint the Life Gate and Death Gate.
Life Gate and Death Gate—the concepts from Qimen Dunjia that Kyung-tae had mentioned before. I'd initially bristled at the phrasing, but without a better term, it smoothed communication with the subordinates, so now I just rolled with it, tweaking the meaning as needed.
If I hadn't investigated the forest early on—mapping its spiritual circuits down to the deep roots—I wouldn't have grasped those life-and-death crossroads so easily. A vessel didn't change its essence just by growing or shrinking. Material expansion or loss affected the soul literally, like inflation or contraction.
Boom, thud, thud!
Sounds of industrial explosives detonating. About a hundred meters from the fog, earthmovers were carving straight trenches. The plan: create a gap several meters wide, concrete the sloped sides to block root expansion. In short, part of a military op to halt the "giant's invasion."
Amid all that, groups of people were pushing into the fog from various angles.
"Those are Pathfinders."
Nielsen named them before I even asked, following my gaze.
"Guys promised rewards for exploring that foggy poplar forest and blazing safe Paths. The route's rating depends on how deep they go and if they stay healthy after multiple round trips."
"How much pay for that kinda work?"
"Not public, but they pay well. You gotta be a Tau-Runner to even qualify, and with global eyes on this place... State and feds sponsor it, plus tons of corps and groups funding expeditions."
A whole new economy sprouting here too. Intriguing. Someday, they might claim intellectual property on Paths and charge tolls.
"Pioneer Hunter Brigade—was that name chosen with this kinda gig in mind?"
Not as literal as Pathfinder ("pathfinder"), but Pioneer shared the trailblazer vibe. Sure, the militia predated magic's return, but reincorporating as an LLC could've prompted a rename.
Nielsen chuckled briefly. "Pure coincidence. We just took it from the nearby mountain. Still, wouldn't mind taking Pathfinder jobs someday. Money aside, building rep across the board helps snag government contracts. Consider this a briefing from one businessman to an investor."
"Noted. Good outlook, and I'll throw in more investment."
"I'll hold you to that."
Government contracts. Green as a businessman, but his direction was spot-on. In my view, these hunters—as armed groups of awakened primitive magic users—were inevitably headed toward private military company territory. National security would soon hinge on how many trained ability users a nation could muster.
The chopper banked south around the giant's domain, then followed an eastern valley north. By the time we reached the mountain reservoir, I'd spotted winding roads and rivers dotted with explorers' and hunters' camps below.
And invariably at those camps: mobile shops and trailers from various companies. Walmart ammo trucks like the ones I'd seen pre-takeoff from Richfield, makeshift runways and helipads marked on flat ground hosting oil company refuelers.
Each camp had outer fences and watchtowers. Armed guards stood vigil atop them.
Hunters' demand breeding demand for more hunters. Nielsen remarked, "Couldn't have imagined Utah's backwoods buzzing like this back in early spring. Really drives home how the world's changed."
Now the chopper threaded two high peaks, crossing the reservoir and climbing higher. The fog-shrouded poplar forest lay to our left along the flight path.
"Passing Big Flat peak now—the tallest around here."
Far from flat, the isolated summit swarmed with climbers in colorful gear. Drawn purely by the "world's greatest mystery." The sky buzzed too: tourist choppers, military birds, hunter rides, news crews—swarming like autumn dragonflies.
A recently built observation deck crowned the peak: steel H-beams for a wind-permeable frame topped with wood.
Kyung-tae whistled at the crowds. "Whoa, it's a full-on tourist trap down there."
Not a trap—a full-blown tourist spot. From here, the poplar forest revealed a new angle: its territory expanding unmistakably downward. The swallowed lake was the sole exception to that outward sprawl.
The magic forest seeking environments favorable to its growth. Problem was, all that desired land belonged to humans... But those were just lines humans drew. I wasn't fool enough to believe humans had special rights.
No species escaped the destiny of survival struggles. Humanity had just forgotten—thanks to superior might—that they too were part of the food chain. Now they were relearning it on a whole new level.