223. You Might Not Be a C-Rank
Thomas had spent his entire holiday guarding Doctor Marie's granddaughter, and the next day he headed to the guild for work.
The Ithaca Guild, located on Wilshire Boulevard near Koreatown, was a towering skyscraper with seventy floors.
It was one of LA's most prominent high-rises, rivaled only by the headquarters of major guilds like Gunpowder or Call My Name.
Thomas went through the standard security protocols at the building's entrance and entered the lobby.
To board the elevator, he had to endure the tedious steps of facial recognition, fingerprint scan, and voice verification all over again.
But some people ignored the procedures entirely.
"Oh, Thomas. Long time no see."
"Hello, Vice Guild Master Powel."
"I heard about your performance from the expedition leader last time. You pulled off a big one again. Impressive skills as always. Haha."
"That's not praise I deserve, sir. I nearly died this time too. You know how I'm used in expeditions."
There was bite in Thomas's words. Ultimately, the reason he was thrown into the meat grinder without regard for his life was Powel's influence.
'Powel's a mage like me, yet he shows no mercy for our kind and shoves us into the front lines. He's no incompetent, and there's no personal grudge—it's hard to understand.'
Mages understood mages best. Their insular nature limited exchanges, but communities existed for sharing info on spell applications and basic mana operation.
That fostered strong professional bonds. So treating fellow mages like disposable bait in reckless tactics was baffling.
Powel fell silent at Thomas's sharp retort, and those around them looked displeased.
Especially Grant, Powel's right-hand man, who replied in a cold voice.
"Loosen that stiff neck of yours before it snaps. You think scarfing down ten billion dollars' worth of magic makes you hot shit? Big mistake. Guys like you go to the afterlife in the blink of an eye."
"I've got a long way to go before I break even. Get the guild master's permission first, then snap my neck or rip my head off."
Even after the warning, Thomas didn't back down, so Grant clenched his fist and stepped forward aggressively.
Powel lightly pushed Grant's chest to hold him back.
"You seem to think I'm picking on you. Sorry to be blunt, but we're beyond petty grudge matches."
"……."
"Your trait—being able to cast strategic spells regardless of rank—is appealing, but as a mage, you're only half-baked. That's why you're used that way; no choice. Blaming others might ease your mind, but it won't help team cohesion."
"When have I ever been a teammate in this guild?"
"If you see yourself as one, you are. If as a slave, then that's what you are. It's all mindset. That's my advice."
"Thank you. I'll take it to heart, Mr. Powel."
Thomas turned away first. Enraged by the insolence, Grant balled his fist again, but Powel intervened once more.
"Let him go. Mockery's all the fight Thomas has left."
"Still, letting him disrespect you like that hurts our pride."
"He's a C-rank. Kill him and you're out ten billion. Like he said, far from breaking even. We need to manage him till he drops dead of old age to get our money's worth. Don't touch him unless necessary. Tell the second expedition leader to use him carefully—no dying."
"Understood, Vice Guild Master."
"Now, let's handle our business. Plenty to deal with."
"Where to?"
"Skid Row."
"Skid Row... the brewery?"
"Problems there."
"Do you need to go personally? I can handle it."
"No. Guild master wants me there. It's not the booze—might need to reset the setup."
Grant understood what Powel meant.
The brewery business targeting hunters wasn't huge in dollars. By major guild standards, it was pocket change.
But the services bundled with the booze changed everything.
The workers brewing the alcohol were under mental magic—suggestion—believing they owned the place. In reality, Ithaca Guild ran it.
It was a contingency for federal scrutiny: cut off the tail if needed. But when issues arose quietly like this, they had to reset.
Reset meant eliminating all involved and grabbing new homeless folks to suggestion-spell into workers.
Two or three vanishing at a time, or dozens in a batch—it was guild policy to handle it personally, avoiding underlings.
"Plus, it's been a while since I checked the factory. See if the dream moth larvae are thriving, confirm the high-concentration powder release schedule."
"The factory too? I'll escort you."
* * *
"This is what's circulating on the streets lately."
Billy Johnbuck, O.C.'s LA branch manager, handed his branch chief a slim plastic ampoule that fit in one hand.
The semi-transparent vial held about two-thirds liquid.
"Ingredients confirmed?"
"Some unknowns mixed in. But main component's identified: dream moth powder."
"Powder? It's liquid."
"Concentrated into liquid form."
"Why bother liquifying powder? It's hallucinogenic anyway."
"Regular dream moth powder's known as a hallucinogen sub for drugs. But this is different."
"How?"
"Works like drugs on hunters too. Body-wrecking addiction included."
Ulvert hadn't believed the reports at first.
Drugs affecting hunters?
Hunter bodies shrugged off most drug hallucinations. No addiction possible.
Ineffective, drugs were just flour to them.
Yet hunters sought them out before gates—betting their lives.
Hunters surpassed normals physically and mentally, but weren't perfect humans.
Countless suffered PTSD from monster fights. They turned to drug substitutes to forget, with dream moth wing powder popular.
Even that only induced mild hallucinations and numbness—no addiction. Turning it into true hunter drugs was no small issue.
"Freelancers hit hardest?"
"Yes. Targets without guild mental care."
"How long circulating?"
"Surfaced six months ago. Ramp-up last three weeks."
"Six months. Three weeks... supply chain just pinned down?"
"Likely."
"Any addicted hunters causing civilian trouble?"
"None yet. Freelancers still have cash. Fine while buying."
Ulvert fixated on Billy's phrasing.
"'Yet' in civilians—what's that mean?"
"Issues in gates."
"What kind?"
"One dosed hunter went groggy mid-hunt, died."
"Solid intel? Probing accidents as 'evidence' could tip off the wrong folks."
"No medicals or hunt data left. But party member testimonies point to connection."
"Damn, ruining a good day. Rider wolves headache enough—now this crap."
Ulvert slammed the desk.
If guild hunters, he'd feel better—major guild resources for quick truth.
But dealers wouldn't target guilds unless suicidal.
Freelancers overflowed; bleed them dry for profit.
Ball in O.C.'s court now—he had to solve it.
"Deploy everyone."
"No one's left."
"Why?"
"Kang Moo-hyuk."
"Shit, that guy's a migraine. Thought Vegas, wasted time there. Didn't know he hit LA."
"Orders? Pull surveillance?"
"No choice. Rider wolves tempting, but this first. Botch it, half LA freelancers turn junkies."
"Leave one team, rest on 'Butter' trace."
"Butter? What's that?"
"Drug name. Butter."
"Greasy name."
"Full: Butterfly Dust. Shortened to Butter."
"Butter or margarine—nail it."
* * *
Thomas met Kang Moo-hyuk in Koreatown, skipping lunch rush.
The quiet cafe had Kang waiting.
"Quick response. Must've been tough."
"You assume Thomas the hunter's choice gets a yes."
"Not confidence—trusting your insight, Leader. I know my trait's exceptional. But post-cure rank-up? Can't guarantee power boost. So relying on your judgment, begging mercy."
Thomas praised Kang outwardly, but premised no liability for outcomes.
'Unfavorable for me. No accountability, just whining for ten billion investment. Maybe threatening his life too. Shameless, but no alternatives...'
C-rank. Ten billion debt. Mana addiction.
Worse than broke—that was him.
Thomas felt sorry yet desperate toward Kang.
"No dragging—my decision."
Kang cut straight; Thomas's throat bobbed nervously.
"Yes."
"Phew~"
"But conditions."
"Expected. What?"
"Essential ones."
"Ready."
"Leave Ithaca Guild. I'll handle penalties, negotiations. Just confirm intent."
"Obvious, but... doubt they'll let me go easy."
"Won't overvalue a C-rank."
"Logical. But Ithaca—from guild master down—famous for irrational greed. Smell profit, they bite. Probably won't end at ten billion."
"Thought about it. No quick fix, but won't idle. Find way soon. First, check something."
"What?"
Kang pulled a small leather pouch from under his chair, placing it on the table.
Thomas glanced between Kang and pouch, clueless.
"Temporary symptom suppressor inside."
"Suppressor...?"
"Pre-cure stage."
Thomas's eyes widened.
Kang continued.
"Too potent for my body, but hunter physiology can handle. Not full cure—suppresses mana addiction symptoms for set time. Use on flare-ups. Maker says hunters might get extra effect."
"What effect?"
"Apparently, controlling disease suppressing abilities could release limits."
Thomas didn't grasp "limits," vaguely intuiting but unsure mechanism.
"Simply put. You might not be a C-rank."