#238. Why Are You Mumbling the End?
“Argh! Ptoo! Ptoo! Ptoo!”
Billy spat on the floor three times in a hurry and rubbed it away with the sole of his shoe. Ulvert, startled by his antics, asked,
“What the hell are you doing? We're indoors. Spit outside.”
“I have to spit right now. The branch chief just said something ominous.”
“Ominous? 'Bee War'? What about it?”
“'It's like the Bee War'? Don't say it so confidently. The branch chief's instincts are spot on most of the time.”
Billy made a sour face.
Ulvert was what you'd call a hunter with killer intuition. It wasn't just his skills that made him the LA branch chief—his judgment played a big role too. That's why most O.C. members hated hearing him voice bad vibes.
At some point, a superstition had taken hold: whenever Ulvert voiced a bad feeling, people spat to ward off the evil.
“Instead of wasting time on that nonsense, check the comms network one more time. Manage the freelancers properly. That's the least we can do for defense.”
“Speaking of defense, something I forgot slipped my mind. We got some weird news from a member in Culver City.”
“Weird news?”
“Some hunter's rounding up hunters for a defense op.”
“Our guys?”
“Not just our members—freelancers, guild affiliates, everyone's getting dragged in.”
“That's possible?!”
Ulvert shot back in surprise.
No matter the emergency, hunters from rival factions barely got along, let alone worked together.
In reality, guilds in each area weren't stepping up aggressively—they were hunkering down, watching the situation.
Some small guilds were rescuing folks in their zones, but the big players with real power weren't moving much.
O.C. wasn't a coercive organization to begin with, so with just members and direct units, response was tough.
Even the non-member freelancers on the contact list were holding back, eyes on the guilds. With spotty intel, playing it safe around guilds was how you survived long-term.
But someone was mobilizing all of them? Astonishing.
“Yeah, apparently it worked. Thanks to that, Culver City's strongest member, Oliver, got half-crippled. Mid-tier guild party leader Benjamin broke an arm too. A few others took hits.”
“Huh? Crippled? Broken? Monsters get rowdy over there?”
“Nah. The hunter who took over roughed 'em up.”
“??”
“Made 'em listen the hard way.”
Ulvert clapped without thinking.
'That method?'
It wasn't anything special. Strong-arming locals to boss hunters around was common.
The issue? In North America, flexing muscle outside S-rank could get you killed.
Relations were tangled by region, faction, and personal grudges. Hunter ranks were law, but enforcing them was rare.
“Whoever that hunter is, they've got balls. Hope they can handle the fallout.”
“Dunno about fallout, but they won't stick around the U.S. long, so probably why.”
“What? Foreigner?”
“Yeah. Someone the branch chief knows.”
“Me?”
“Yep. Name's Jang Deok-gu. Jang Tukku? Jang Dakku? Damn, hard to pronounce. That Mr. Jang. From Kang Moo-hyuk's crew. He took over Culver City.”
Once the gate era hit, U.S. gun incidents plummeted.
Made sense—point a gun wrong and you'd piss off a hunter, getting wrecked wasn't rare.
Even if the target wasn't a hunter, nearby ones made short work of you.
A gate-era perk, but monster damage overshadowed it, so folks didn't feel safer from guns.
Didn't hurt gun sales, though. Guns lacked punch against monsters but could check low-grades.
Plus, holding a weapon felt reassuring.
Gun companies milked it with hype. “Protect your family from monsters” slogans hooked plenty of Americans.
America got even more gun-obsessed. Fewer accidents, booming gun shops—an ironic boom.
Bang! Bang! Baaang!
Gunfire echoed somewhere.
Dave handed the pistol from his hip holster to his son, just entering middle school.
“You hold this pistol. Don't unlock the safety till Dad signals.”
Culver City turned hellish in hours.
Bee monsters swarmed suddenly, chaos instant.
Dave had been shopping at the nearby mart.
Single dad, cooking wasn't his thing, but pricey takeout made him decide on home dinner for once.
Choice he regretted fast. Monster assault began.
He bolted from the mart amid captures, drove home.
Getting back was pure luck. Roads wrecked—cars flipped by giant bees, collisions dodging them. Pedestrians snatched mid-run like B-horror flicks.
Called his son while driving—lines dead. Cops useless. Prayed and floored it home.
Son Liam was safe inside.
Dave pulled prepped pistol, rifle, shotgun. Overkill for a home, solid for monster times.
Residential density meant a local guild, so basic arms sufficed. Outskirts had bunkers and armories.
“Liam, remember how to shoot from last time? If anything happens to Dad, don't look back—run no matter what.”
“D-Dad...”
Bang!
Gunfire closer now—from their apartment building.
“Shh.”
Dave pressed a finger to his lips. Liam clamped his mouth. No breathing sounds. Dave supported wobbly-legged Liam, heading to the bedroom.
Then—
Krunch! Craaash!
Front door exploded. Hallway: a bee triple adult male size, hunched, scanning the house.
Thousand fuzzy hairs on its face, compound eyes gleaming like screens. Head tilting 90 degrees left-right, Halloween-costume unreal.
Bee clutched a person in its jaws—someone firing to the end, bisected at the waist.
Dave shoved Liam behind, blasted shotgun instinctively. Emptied shells, then shouldered rifle, triggered. Warzone racket indoors.
Click.
Mag empty, bee lunged. Dave swapped clips fast—but bee whipped leg, smashed entry wall. Debris hit his head, dropped him.
“Dad!”
Bee shoved torso through widened gap.
Liam hugged dazed Dave. Dad said run, but nowhere to go. Mustered courage, unlocked pistol safety as taught. Bee lumbered in, maw gaping grotesquely.
Liam aimed shaky hands. Knew it wouldn't work, but had to resist. Squeezed trigger—first shot.
Bullet grazed bee forehead, shattered back wall. Room plunged dark. But everything visible.
Liam realized quick: flames flickered outside windows.
Bee whipped head out—window shattered, massive heatwave torched it.
Bee melted without a leg swing. Flames died with it.
Liam stared blankly at window. East Asian man perched on busted frame, panting, waved lightly at Liam.
“Hey, you hurt?”
“Uh? Y-Yeah...”
“Your dad... Mind if I check?”
“Y-Yes. Sure.”
“Lemme see.”
East Asian felt Dave's neck pulse. Prodded body, said,
“Good. Just passed out. Cleared nearby bees. Gathering folks, heading to local guild. You too—leave the guns. We'll handle your dad. Hey! Oliver! Help here!”
Man yelled out window—someone leaped from below, clung to sill.
'Fifth floor...'
Even hunters struggled jumping that in one go. High rank for sure.
Then Liam spotted weird: presumed high-rank hunter had a black eye. Like punched.
'Nah, probably monster fight.'
But the bruise nagged oddly.
“Get that downed guy below. Minor head wound, just fainted—wake soon.”
“Thomas, right? Treating me like a porter? Ease up on the sass.”
“Why take out your grudge on me for getting hit by Mr. Jang?”
“You're with him! Touching an O.C. member? I'm playing nice now, but after this? Watch your back. I remember your face.”
“With him? I'm a victim too. Got beat senseless. And I'm Ithaca Guild. See that Italian lady? Vacationing, got nabbed, beat, now helping. Everyone but Mr. Jang's in the same boat.”
“Same boat? Looked chummy.”
“Camaraderie in battle. Something like that. Emergency anyway. Fighting monsters beats infighting. Think: who beats an A+ hunter?”
Oliver eyed suspiciously but nodded.
The merciless East Asian hunter, Jang Deok-gu, who slapped down his no-rescue refusal, was terrifyingly strong.
'Sword sheathed and still that scary. No fancy skills—just couldn't dodge a single hit. And I'm A-rank.'
Confident in his swordplay, he challenged—and got wrecked. Rage-fueled skill resistance only pissed off Jang more.
Jang loaded mana into punches, stopped only at surrender.
Expensive potion healed, but aches lingered.
Terror rooted deep. Other hunters obeyed to avoid it. Cut off from orgs, no backup—nearest fist was law.
Oliver sighed heavy, scooped father-son pair, descended.
Thomas scanned building—no more survivors—returned to Jang Deok-gu.
“Rescuing like this? Endless.”
“Hand to nearest guild, move on. Convince guild master to expand rescue? Perfect.”
“Doubt it. Mr. Jang's request? Not that romantic here.”
“Makes me miss strong leader more. He'd find a way. All I got's violence.”
“Preemptive warning: don't pull that on guild hunters. Mr. Jang's tough, but guild war? Suicide.”
“I can judge that much. Worry not.”
“No, you lead with fists more than I thought.”
“Know someone like that.”
“Who?”
“Our guild master.”
“Guild master... Joo Se-ah? S-rank? She can punch first, claim she didn't. Do whatever anywhere?”
“Did it pre-S-rank too. No issues 'cause her fists always right direction.”
“One more time: right don't mean fist it. LA guilds small but stacked with elites. Can't handle carnivorous wasps, skip guild war.”
“Got it, geez.”
Thomas checked syringe from Kang Moo-hyuk. Might need extra hits soon.
'Block Mr. Jang after full dose? Barely held last time. Hope meds last.'
Go Eul-ji spotted the familiar face, shot her hand up high.
“Strong Leader!”
“What kinda talk to the leader?”
No Song-rin scolded, frowning, but she beamed, greeting Kang Moo-hyuk.
“Coming yourself to meet me? Non-hunter overdoing it? Feels extra nice abroad.”
“Go Eul-ji Hunter, this LA gig. Fat off-duty bonus.”
Go Eul-ji backed away, face souring at Kang Moo-hyuk's words.
“Means you'll work me to death?”
“Not death-level. Just a bit... Yeah, a little tough...”
“Hey! Why are you mumbling the end?!”