#257. See? It's an Ant Hell, I Told You.
“A vault? Do you need money or something?”
“You know that's not what I mean.”
Aila feigned ignorance. Kang Moo-hyuk pressed her again.
“When a guild master asks to open the vault, what does that usually mean? I doubt the Federation is any different. Just hand over some items.”
“How much do you need?”
“Enough to fully equip one party. The highest-grade items possible, as much as you can spare.”
Aila hesitated. As a Round Table member, she had the discretion to open a branch vault like this one—but the problem was her opponent: Kang Moo-hyuk.
“We can't have a repeat of the Poison Well incident, where you didn't return it.”
“The Poison Well wasn't stolen; it was borrowed.”
“You'll like it, then decide to borrow it again.”
“If I ask to borrow it, will you lend it?”
“The Poison Well was fine—what else do you want?!”
“You're getting awfully worked up. Not very elven of you. Anyone would think we had a unique-grade item in here.”
“……No way.”
“That pause in your response was pretty long.”
“No. Absolutely not.”
“Let's at least see what 'no' means. Surely the Federation won't be stingy about items when it comes to saving millions of LA citizens?”
No Song-rin, who had escorted Kang Moo-hyuk to the Federation branch, looked at Aila with pity.
He'd sensed it when they first met after arriving in LA, but she had an otherworldly aura, hardly human. Seeing even someone like her get played by Kang Moo-hyuk stirred a strange sense of kinship.
Poor woman. The boss is an antlion pit. Mix words with him, and you're eaten before you know it.
No Song-rin didn't know Aila was an elf. She always concealed her ears during external activities, making her look no different from a human at a glance.
He wasn't the only one in the dark. Aside from the guild master and vice master, no one in Iron Will knew her true identity.
Jang Deok-gu had heard a hint from Joo Se-ah but showed no particular interest in Aila.
“Ahem! Absolutely not. Respecting life is one of the most important tenets for my kin—er, my people. But when it comes to Federation business, even I can't stubbornly push my own views. I hope you understand.”
Mindful of No Song-rin, Aila rephrased her denial carefully.
Kang Moo-hyuk, well aware of how organizations devour individuals, nodded in understanding.
“I get it. Must be tricky for you.”
“Thank you for understanding.”
“So, will you lend them or not?”
“Wait... didn't you just say you understood?”
“Understanding is one thing; hunting is another. You gonna save those people or not?”
“…….”
Back to square one, No Song-rin muttered under his breath.
Ithaca Guild Master Dolores Scott listened intently to the new intel.
“Unique-grade items?!”
“Yes. Word's spread like wildfire. Every Tom, Dick, and Harry is buzzing around, hoping to cash in.”
Vice Guild Master Powel scoffed at the moth-like fools chasing the queen bee.
“If the queen bee were that easy to catch, Gunpowder and Call My Name wouldn't have run with their tails between their legs. We wouldn't have either. So why are those two guilds suddenly raiding? I figured they'd just poke the outskirts and spew hot air.”
“That's what bugged me, so I looked into it. Dwight's been frequenting the FBI lately.”
“Gunpowder's master?”
“Says there's someone at the FBI.”
“Who?”
“The loudmouth who strutted in front of you. The one who took Thomas.”
“Oh? That blabbermouth?”
Dolores recalled the face that gave her migraines just thinking about it. Talkative and troublesome—and the worst part was, he caused the trouble for others, not himself.
“Annoying bastard. But why him?”
“He's leading the raid, apparently.”
“Not Dwight? He's not even a hunter. White House connections?”
“Dwight's no pushover to act on a nobody's word alone. Raid on bad intel and die? Nothing more humiliating.”
“Then what?”
“Not confirmed yet, but...”
As Dolores grew irritated, Powel broached carefully. He lowered his voice.
“Intel says there's an S-rank at the FBI.”
“S-rank? Source?”
“Got a mole there. Contacted us as soon as comms recovered.”
“Saw them in person?”
“Not with their own eyes. But heard it from the branch chief.”
“If it came from the chief's mouth, it's legit. Makes sense now. Damn bastards. Knew they had something up their sleeve. Who's the S-rank? One of the Super S? Or an outlier?”
“Haven't pinned it down yet.”
“Tell the mole: find out who, and there's a bonus. Before the raid.”
“Got it.”
After Powel left, Dolores replayed her negotiations with Kang Moo-hyuk.
Did that bastard plan this from the start? Scheming a raid with an S-rank to freeze us out?
Overreaching, perhaps—but recalling his sly grin and veiled threats made it seem plausible.
He seemed to know exactly how I'd react from the beginning. Maybe he was gunning for this.
The thought of dancing in his palm ground her teeth.
“Playing dirty, huh? Fine. Time to show you why they call me Nothingburger.”
New York, the Bronx.
The Bronx, one of New York City's five boroughs north of Manhattan and Queens, had been a wasteland after the Great War, occupied by the poor until the Small Wars. Then, Rockets—the city's premier guild and one of America's top tiers—undertook massive redevelopment, turning it into a special hunter district fully equipped for operations.
Rockets had faltered briefly after its previous S-rank, Tyga, passed away, but recruiting French S-rank Bertrand Lefebvre brought a new golden age.
Success in the rare Dragon Horse ranching business—one of only two in America—cemented their status as the nation's strongest prestige guild.
“Fuckin' prestige guild. Big names are always the dirtiest. I don't trust you lot.”
“How might we soothe Vice Master Bertrand's ire?”
“Listen, Garen—if not for the debt to your father, I wouldn't have joined.”
“I know. A life debt can't be ignored. You could've just been saved and moved on, but you promised with your own mouth. A hunter who never breaks his word ends up saddled with an S-rank like me.”
“That story never gets old? I get it—no need to keep hawking it. Doesn't give you license to act cocky. Watch yourself.”
“Of course.”
“Don't forget: I'm the reason you kept your guild master seat. Without me, even Tyga's son wouldn't last there.”
“I never forget.”
Rude for a guild master, but Garen smiled amiably at Bertrand without a hint of resentment.
Bertrand grimaced, displeased even by that, and leaned back on the sofa, eager to put distance between himself and Garen opposite him.
“So, why'd you call me?”
“An overseas S-rank's in LA.”
“S-rank? Who? LA's west coast—don't tell me that Russian thug fled here after causing trouble?”
“Not the Tyrant.”
“Not Igor? Then who? Nobody else worth coming.”
“Korea. Joo Se-ah, freshly minted S-rank.”
Bertrand's face soured with disinterest.
“That's it? What use is a newbie S-rank?”
“A S-rank's a strategic weapon just by existing.”
“Not all S-ranks are equal, you know that. Needs another decade of training to be useful.”
“Joo Se-ah won't even need ten years. Rumor is she already tangled with the Tyrant.”
“What? That brute? Who won?”
“Result's unknown, but she's alive—draw at worst? Plus, she fought China's S-rank Bi Yuanjun. Word is she inflicted serious wounds.”
Now intrigued, Bertrand leaned forward toward Garen.
“You want to recruit Joo Se-ah to Rockets?”
“Fresh S-rank, right? Promise unique-grade custom gear, wealth, power—she'll forget her little Eastern backwater. Like you did, Bertrand.”
“You little shit. Always with the barbs... So, what do you need from me?”
“Words are cheap to hunters—especially S-ranks.”
“Beat her into joining?”
“Plenty of empty land in the west. Just not in the city.”
“Nom nom nom.”
“Chomp chomp chomp.”
“Nom nom.”
“Chomp chomp.”
“Seriously, how long are you gonna stuff your face?!”
The dark-haired woman yelled at the man inhaling a mountain of cheeseburgers.
He finally lifted his face from the table.
“Maria, ease up. They say don't hit a dog while it's eating.”
“Where'd you hear that? First time for me.”
“Korean proverb. Buddy from LA told me.”
“Buddy? You got friends I don't know about, Dwayne?”
“You know, the one you handled.”
Maria tilted her head, then snapped.
“The hunter who cussed you out at that restaurant? You dislocated his jaw and yanked twenty-one teeth?”
“Yeah, that's him.”
“That's a friend? He was Chinese-American!”
“Korean guy next to him. Muttered that after I pulled the teeth.”
“And the cussing wasn't even to your face—it was a comment on a news article! How'd you track him down?”
“Asked around on the dark side.”
“The dark side too?!”
Maria sighed as Dwayne flashed a V-sign.
“Told you not to hang with shady types. Wasn't worth hiring criminals over some trash talk.”
“He insulted my mom. Can't let family get touched.”
“Sigh, I get you're pissed. But an 'outlier' acting so recklessly? Know how much headache you caused blocking that lawsuit?”
“Sorry. Don't like that label, though.”
“What, outlier?”
“Passed on Super S too. Outlier sounds like I'm in some group. Bugs me. Hate being tied down.”
“But clinging to me's fine?!”
“C'mon, fifty cheeseburgers ain't much. Hunters shouldn't be cheap. You make bank.”
Dwayne grinned and waved it off; Maria exploded.
“I hunt for cash? I'm a lawyer first—hunter in name only. Cleaning your messes is ruining my life. Cause issues slower, at least! How many trials you got me in? Let me go, please. Last month's food bill alone was $110K. Boo hoo.”
“Sorry. Been thoughtless. Want me to bag a pricey monster?”
“Hopeless. S-rank skipping hunts. How'd you even hit S? Not the point! Let's end this!”
Dwayne stared at distant hills, pretending not to hear, then spoke.
“Seeing you this riled up after ages—trouble client? Spill. I'll help if I can.”
Maria bit her lip, then mumbled.
“Why contact me, though...”
“You're my lawyer?”
“No contract?”
“Everyone thinks so.”
“Later. Yeah, tricky request came in.”
“From where?”
“White House.”
“President?”
“Probably?”
“Probably?”
“Dunno. Via Secret Service. President's on Europe tour. NSC meeting at the White House now—VP leading. That's why.”
Dwayne shrugged indifferently.
“What's the job?”
“Congrats—you'll meet that Korean buddy. LA. S-rank showed up. They want contact.”