194. Shall We Catch an S-Rank Fly?
“It’s started.”
Diniger Gao, leader of the Huanglong Guild’s Expedition Team 3, rose to his feet at the distant rumble of explosions. The 40 expedition members waiting behind him stood as well.
“Move in.”
At Diniger’s command, the team sprang into action. But not everyone followed.
“Do we really have to go in there?”
“Shirinai, are you refusing orders right now?”
Diniger halted and shot Shirinai a sharp glare.
Killing intent laced his voice, making her long eyelashes tremble as she swallowed dryly. But she had to speak her mind.
“You know it too, Captain. The guild’s just using us as cannon fodder. We’re called an expedition team, but we’re really just Uyghurs they squeeze dry and toss into monsters or battlefields whenever they want—meat shields, nothing more.”
“Did you think I didn’t know that when you joined?”
“Even knowing, they should leave us a way to live. Telling us to jump into an S-rank fight is just telling us to die.”
The attack team members nodded in agreement with Shirinai. They’d follow orders, but they all shared her sentiment.
Diniger noted the sinking mood and spoke up.
“Isn’t that why our families are living ‘safely’ well-fed lives?”
The team’s faces hardened at his words.
Shirinai, irked by the captain’s response, spat back venomously.
“Thanks for the reminder of our situation.”
“Don’t take it as a threat. It’s just the truth.”
“How can you, a fellow Uyghur, talk so casually about our families’ safety? Oh, wait—is it because you’re Han mixed-blood?”
Diniger sighed.
This issue’s tripping us up again.
Diniger was mixed Han and Uyghur. His name gave it away. He’d taken his mother’s Uyghur naming style but added “Gao,” his father’s surname, at the end.
That’s what let him lead the all-Uyghur expedition team—the so-called “Death Row Squad.”
It was Huanglong Guild’s ploy for handling minority hunters.
“No matter how others mock us as the convict unit, I’m not sending you to your deaths. But we can’t defy guild orders either. If you insist on running, I won’t stop you. I’ll report you as KIA in battle.”
That was all Diniger could offer. No logic could fully convince Uyghur hunters considering their plight. He didn’t even try. Hell, he’d even suggested tacitly allowing desertions.
But not a single hunter had fled so far. He knew their complaints were just venting.
As expected, resignation settled on their faces.
“Can we… actually survive this?”
“At the very least, if we retreat, I’ll be the last one out.”
That was enough.
Kamenisky and Sim Wol’s clash was dead even.
Both held hidden cards, but neither could play them without exposing an opening.
Old man. I’d only heard rumors… but this guy’s a straight-up monster. Sure, there’s talk of peak experience in old age, but has he actually gotten younger with time?
The longer the fight dragged, the more Sim Wol realized the Desert Reaper’s fame wasn’t hype.
They called her Namsan’s prodigy. Well earned. A few more years like this, and she’ll be a real threat.
Kamenisky was impressed—and worried.
He’d decline with age, but Namsan’s demon was heading into her prime.
Hunter bodies aged slower at higher ranks, but there were limits.
Counting from his late awakening at the Great War’s end, he was nearing eighty.
“Hup!”
“Tchah!”
Ki-yells rang out as they clashed again.
Mana rippled outward in concentric waves from where spear met scythe.
Asphalt peeled back, sidewalks shattered into fragments. Remaining windows exploded; building facades crumbled, exposing rebar skeletons.
They separated. Sim Wol closed in fast, her Namsan style aggressive.
Kamenisky backpedaled, defending or countering. To low-rank eyes, he’d seem cornered.
In truth, he conserved stamina, gaining edges where it mattered. Without her monstrous endurance, she’d be gassed already.
Kamenisky leaped to a half-collapsed 10-story building’s roof. He stabbed a hand into the wall, glancing back. Sim Wol pursued. Her spear slashed through the structure toward him. The remaining half sheared in two. But he was already across to the apartment complex opposite.
Zigzagging between buildings to disrupt her line of sight, Kamenisky irked Sim Wol. She extended her spear behind her, assuming a stance.
“Old man. Waiting for me to tire? I’ll show you it’s pointless.”
She poured mana into the spear. Suddenly, it drew mana from her like a waterfall. The blade screamed.
Then Sim Wol swung it horizontally in a wide arc parallel to the ground.
Ghostly Reaper Strike
Sim Wol’s signature weapon, the Ghostwail Spear’s exclusive skill engulfed the apartment complex.
The slashing wave screamed with ghostly wails, spraying eerie energy tendrils everywhere.
Buildings bisected at the waist. Collapsing debris got shredded by the ravenous tendrils.
Kamenisky landed on the ground. Then he crouched motionless. Concrete chunks rained down, burying him.
Even an S-rank would take serious damage from that mass. His baffling response left Sim Wol frowning instead.
Tch! The old bastard knows my skill?!
Ghostly Reaper Strike controlled the vengeful spirits in the spear. Blind and deaf, they targeted movement.
Or inversely: stationary targets were ignored.
Not dodging under collapsing buildings proved he knew its weakness.
For the first time in battle, chills ran down Sim Wol’s spine.
He knows me that well? Means he’s scouted thoroughly. This isn’t fishing—it’s hunting. Nikolai Kamenisky came prepared.
The veteran of Great and Small Wars had her shivering.
But she was S-rank. Fear wasn’t in her vocabulary.
It turned to rage.
“You dare treat me, Sim Wol, like a monster?!”
Amid the dust cloud, she sensed Kamenisky under the rubble.
She became one with her spear, charging straight at him.
Criminals are always hot-headed. At S-rank, you gotta control your temper.
Kamenisky felt—predicted—her move.
He’d baited her charge to skewer him.
Invisible through the dust, but he timed his strike perfectly.
The decisive moment: a split-second parsed into hundreds. Both aimed for it, but at the last instant, the crouched Kamenisky split the second once more.
“Kuh…!”
As concrete dust settled, Sim Wol emerged—scythe tip embedded in her side.
Her armor shattered. The bloodied scythe twisted mockingly.
Pain seared, but she didn’t groan.
“Hoh, dodging at the last second? Not bad.”
Kamenisky smacked his lips in regret. Dust coated his white hair and beard, but his eyes gleamed like a beast’s.
This exchange confirmed his edge.
And the end was…
My victory.
He yanked his scythe free. Sim Wol reacted a beat late. Her spear blade swung toward him, but too slow. His scythe would cleave her first.
Then.
“Hup!”
Kamenisky’s body jerked briefly. A split-second bind—so faint no human would notice—but something restrained him.
He shook it off instantly, eyes flicking aside instinctively.
A hunter? Damn… Focused on Sim Wol, I missed the trick.
His opening became her chance.
Spear and scythe grazed past. Blood soaked Kamenisky’s right abdomen. His leather armor tore raggedly, flesh protruding like tatters. He spat blood midair, then circulated mana to forcibly seal the wound.
“Turnaround, Reaper geezer.”
“Congrats. But wasn’t this one-on-one?”
“Calling me sneaky?”
“Just checking. In this world, the loser’s the fool.”
“Fair enough, at your doddering age.”
“I’ll chalk it up to my oversight—not predicting this despite preparing everything else.”
“Tch! I’m not thrilled with this either!”
Sim Wol glanced at her rescuers. Huanglong Guild’s windbreaker cloaks instead of armor coats. Yellow capes—expedition-exclusive uniforms.
You’ve done it now, Guanhong. I won’t forget this humiliation.
Even a high-rank expedition couldn’t do much to an S-rank—just momentary magic stuns or sacrificial delays.
They’d bought her time at death’s cost, but scarred her pride.
Prime example of hunters’—especially S-ranks’—selfishness.
Sim Wol vowed to kill Kamenisky, then wipe the expedition.
All who knew her shame would die.
She’d escape alone, as she entered.
“Perfectly cooked.”
A grating, metal-scraping voice echoed suddenly.
Sim Wol and Kamenisky turned toward it.
“Heh. Igor Dudnik…”
Kamenisky recognized him. Sim Wol’s face twisted.
“That’s… the Tyrant?”
“Call me Tyrant Sir.”
Igor grinned, baring teeth.
Sim Wol thought this might be her grave.
Reaper’s hurt, but still S-rank. I’m not unscathed. Two S-ranks? Instant dog food.
She plotted escape, using the expedition as bait.
Before she moved, Igor acted first.
No warning—he ballooned into a giant instantly. A massive hand slammed toward her head.
Sim Wol thrust her spear into its palm’s center. The shaft bent near-breaking. But mass overwhelmed. She plunged spear-first into the earth.
“Shall we catch an S-rank fly?”
“It’s me, Director Kang.”
—Yes, Guild Master. Have you arrived in Jilin City?
“The Tyrant’s already crashed the party.”
—Situation?
“Reaper and Demon both wounded, as you predicted. Huanglong’s expedition is here too.”
—Harbin forces will probably head down.
“Ah? So that’s why you had me wait north?”
—Handle Harbin reinforcements. Don’t get spotted.
“Kill them all?”
—No need for runners. Just obscure faces.
“My beauty won’t hide that easy.”
—…
“Kidding, kidding.”
—Sounded dead serious.
“Let it slide. Block Harbin support, got it?”
—Yes. One more thing.
“What?”
—About Kamenisky.