The Unclean's Vein of Gold (2)
In the deep night, on the mountainside overlooking the city center, a pack of dogs barked furiously. Gaunt and filthy four-legged beasts fled from humans. They were hungry enough to turn savage, but their circuits could detect mana fields, so they didn't dare attack me or my men.
In short, they were stray dogs abandoned by their owners after awakening as primitive magic awakened beings. The primary reason owners ditched their dogs was fear. A pet gaining superpowers couldn't remain just cute and lovable.
Yet even those who still cherished their dogs often let them go—more like releasing them than abandoning. Run away. Escape the government's grasp. Awakened animals held value as lab subjects, and the Chinese government was seizing them without compensation under the pretext of public safety.
With rumors swirling that captured animals faced cruel experiments or became tonics for high officials, few willingly surrendered their pets. Thus, countless dogs, cats, and other companions gained an unwanted freedom from their loving owners.
Baiyun Mountain, rising in the heart of Guangdong, provided the perfect hideout for these strays. Designated a 5A-grade scenic area—a national park—hunting was restricted there.
Thanks to that, tonight's surveillance was a bit easier. The guard dogs barked so incessantly that the mansion's sentries couldn't distinguish whether it was human scent or just stray beasts triggering them.
I could thus survey the entire mansion from the hillside, ignoring the wind direction. This was the target Gao Xusen had relayed that afternoon.
In the darkness, as I sketched the mansion's floor plans on a dim pad, Kyung-tae—bundled in snow camouflage—exhaled frosty breath and spoke.
"This is right next to that famous Pinyun Zuo, isn't it, hyungnim? Kinda surprising the city committee secretary would stash an underground vault here."
"Darkest under the lamp."
"Yeah, but with his predecessor getting his head chopped off practically next door, you'd think it'd feel ominous. Chinese folks are big on omens, especially picking land."
"The previous secretary didn't lose his head just for corruption. And Pinyun Zuo wasn't his private turf. So the land's innocent."
"Makes sense..."
Kyung-tae nodded, convinced.
As he said, Baiyun Mountain—Guangdong's crowning beauty—hosted Pinyun Zuo, an ultra-luxury social club. Separate from public paths, it served Communist Party elites.
The former Guangzhou secretary, Wan Qingliang, was busted for corruption right there. But he was clean by local standards—his haul barely 100 million yuan (about 17 billion won).
Other countries might laugh, but in China's corruption labyrinth, that was pristine. His downfall was factional defeat. A life sentence for that pile screamed politics.
Sniff.
Kyung-tae wrinkled his nose, watching my work. "How much cash and gold inside?"
"Not curious about the headcount?"
"Psh, you'll see it yourself and call the shots. I'm wondering the haul. Jackpot?"
"Nah, decent but not huge. Scrape it all, maybe five trucks."
"Five trucks... yeah, middling. Split stashes?"
Five trucks of valuables was objectively massive, but underwhelming for a Party elite. Corruption busts here hauled ten military trucks minimum.
I marked valuables on the basement plans. Not a true vault—scattered via secret passages under the sprawling estate: metals, cash.
Next, I detailed guards across floors, indoors and out: numbers, gear, patrols, shift gaps, report times.
'Hired top hunters, huh.'
Hunters—yeopsa—meant private ability users. Like in America, demand peaked for hunting/capturing wild awakened beasts.
Governments struggled integrating talents into official roles amid vague standards, so major nations encouraged private hunting to flush them out.
Thus, "hunter" became synonymous with superhuman worldwide—a convergent policy evolution. Follow the frontrunners until figuring it out.
Gao Xusen reported the current secretary used a hunter group like private troops. Some guarded here, a warning to tread carefully.
But up close, no real threats.
Soon, floor plans complete.
"Done."
"Good work, hyungnim."
"Save it till the job's over. Rally the men."
Pre-breach recon and team paths: basics. Skippable in a pinch, but not tonight.
Subordinates gathered under camo netting, tactical smartphones out. My sketches shared live—no long briefing needed.
Pathing to Kyung-tae—his forte.
"A-site here," he said, drawing fluid lines like prepped. Flawless: contingencies, roles.
"This good, hyungnim?"
"Yeah."
I beckoned. "My bag."
A sub brought the long hard case: semiauto anti-materiel rifle, suppressor, scope, laser rangefinder, ballistic computer.
Golden Age's Eye made the last three redundant for me, but the set stayed intact—for subs if needed.
This beast wasn't Chinese military issue from Gao Xusen. My Macau casino vault stash, customized stock to barrel.
Function check done, I beckoned again. "Ammo."
Same sub handed a box. One of my sniper support team. Others prepped paths/roles inside.
I held breach till sealed. Only I could oversee via walls, snipe through.
Wide grounds—escape contingency.
Click—telekinesis floated rounds, separating projectiles. I friction-etched patterns on each.
Armor-piercers rasped. Visually unchanged, but my eyes caught micro-grooves—like hand-sanded Al Qasim molds.
Forging their traces. Lab scrutiny might spot fakes, but overworked cops amid chaos wouldn't nitpick.
Not all ammo needed this—too suspicious. Just mine: alibi for heavy gear. Black Sea Party hadn't used it yet.
Reassembled, tele-loaded mags sans touch. Kyung-tae drilled maps amid clacks.
Mag in, I said, "Scout enemy. Report when set."
Kyung-tae grinned. "Ready now. Say when."
"Got it."
Shed netting, prone position.
Start: smash external relays, terminal boxes...
Outer patrols pushed 15-min shifts, doubling as sweeps. Reports on arrival.
Post-report: prime breach window.
Mansion backed remote valley gulch. Mountain rear, water front—feng shui prime, signal hell.
Hence relays. My sniper team targeted first.
Smash outer: phones die. Terminals next: net/femtocells chain-fail. Satellite phones left—need relays indoors too.
Watching ops room guards sleep openly, I decided.
"Attack at 0200. Positions."
Balaclava'd Kyung-tae synced watches with team leads, led breach squad downhill fast.
Dogs barked louder; hunters griped—no snipers, civilian limits.
"Breach squad, hold position."
Waited roof shift. 0202: four new heads.
Targets assigned quick—muzzles outnumbered. I aimed relays first.
"Fire on three. Three, two, one."
Boom! Crack! Subs' shots drowned in my rifle's roar—armor-piercer thunder.
0.5-sec gaps: four heads, one relay exploded/torn.
"Next, 2 o'clock post. Three, two, one."
Bang, bang, bang! Guided snipers silenced outposts sequential.
Three mags—15 rounds—cleared exterior.
No echoes—sound absorption barriers improving: circuit dominance, incant efficiency.
Now hallway hunters. Wall shots solo, but pairs easy. Burst-fire forgave misses.
Holes punched walls. Straight-line guts burst: bellies ripped, necks snapped, eyes popped.
Distant halls blood-smeared vivid. Big AP rounds: visual punch.
Burned prepped ammo generous. Extra to corpses, wasted shots random.
Reasons: too-good Black Sea sniper suspicious; too-precise Al Qasim rifles nonsense.
Untouched foes noticed oddities. Shots muffled, but wall-breaches echoed.
Too late.
"Breach squad. Go."
I unleashed the hounds.