The young man trembles uncontrollably when he hears the voice, a flicker of resentment and an awkward, forced smile crossing his face. “So... hello... master.”

  “Help me find someone.”

  “Find someone?” The young man blinks in surprise. “Who? Please tell me.”

  “Aaron. What he looks like, go ask the Hunter Union yourself.”

  “Beep beep beep...”

  The young man stares at the disconnected call, his expression darkening. Then, with a roar of frustration, he hurls his phone against the wall. “Damn it! A bunch of filthy rats! Go to hell, all of you!”

  ……

  4 PM.

  In the imperial calendar year 962, February, the first rain of early spring arrives quietly.

  Fine, needle-like drizzle carries the lingering chill of winter’s end, washing away the dust from countless towering skyscrapers.

  The neon city sinks under a misty veil.

  Rain patters softly as water begins pooling along the streets, gradually forming small streams.

  With the flow, withered leaves and debris drift toward the sewers, disappearing into endless darkness below.

  On the streets, a large number of security company personnel and gang members appear.

  They move in and out of hotels, bathhouses, entertainment venues—any place where people might stay, searching relentlessly for something.

  Property management and the city’s transportation groups also work overtime, scanning surveillance footage from their districts, hunting for a certain individual.

  Various factions aligned with the Rhine Consortium spring into action.

  The entire Fortress City is being manipulated by an unseen giant hand.

  At a small inn, Simon from Vorry’s team pulls back the curtain. Then he spots a gang member wearing an earring and smoking a cigarette, stepping out from a nearby hotel with a sleazy air. He immediately grows cautious.

  “Boss, something’s off.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Looks like someone’s searching for something.”

  “Searching?” Vorry’s voice rises slightly as he moves to the balcony, pulling aside the curtain to look down. “Let’s move. Change locations.”

  A quick glance intensifies his unease.

  Earlier, when he went out, he ran into multiple inspections. But he didn’t think much of it.

  Now, with gang members out in force, a chill runs down his spine.

  Only a big shot inside the consortium can command such a movement of gang members.

  Could Aaron be connected to the consortium?

  Vorry suddenly feels the situation is complicated.

  He’s not too worried about the Hunter Union; their numbers are limited. No matter how much Master Scott mobilizes, they only have around ten thousand force adepts.

  He can easily blend into the crowd and rest easy.

  But the consortium’s involvement changes everything.

  Those called the consortium are monopolists controlling multiple key industries locally. The power they can mobilize is terrifying.

  “Simon, gather the others. We need to get out of here, now.”

  Vorry’s team, a seasoned group of elite hunters who’ve worked together for years, immediately spring into action at his command. They quickly move, taking Aaron, following the evacuation route out of the inn.

  At the backup vehicle waiting along the route, Simon wipes the raindrops from his face.

  “Boss, where are we headed?”

  “I’ve already figured out the place, where we can make a profit. We go straight there. If we can negotiate, great. If not, kill this kid, toss his body in the river, and we leave.”

  “You mean the outcast?” someone asks hesitantly.

  “Yeah! What, you scared?” Vorry glances around the group.

  He’s met with the outcast before.

  The outcast is a general term for those who’ve aligned themselves with the Church.

  In reality, the outcast is divided into twelve major sects scattered across different regions.

  These twelve sects operate independently but each has a complete organizational system.

  They’re the biggest headache for the Hunter Union everywhere.

  In the Linta Region, the outcast sect is called the Sky Sect.

  It commands all the bandits and outcasts in the entire Linta Region, a massive organization.

  Unlike the more aggressive outcast sects in other regions, the Sky Sect keeps a low profile. It is mostly known only among the upper echelons in Linta.

  But no one underestimates them.

  Being one of the twelve outcast sects proves their strength.

  The Sky Sect’s leader tops the Linta Region Hunter Union’s wanted list.

  Known as the Poison Master.

  Vorry’s plan is to sell Aaron to the Sky Sect.

  Inside the outcasts, there are bounties on talented individuals from various cities, and the rewards are substantial.

  The place Vorry is heading to is one of the Sky Sect’s outposts.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  When Vorry mentions teaming up with the outcast, the others in the squad are surprised but just shrug it off.

  “Not scared, just a bit shocked.”

  “Outcast or not, whoever’s got the money, that’s who I’m with. I don’t care about the rest.”

  “Heh, doesn’t matter to me, as long as the cash comes through.”

  Their sense of right and wrong is pretty loose. Though they’re hunters, out in the wild they often run into other hunters and sometimes even play the role of bandits themselves.

  “That’s settled then. I wanted to wait for a contact to set this up, but I can’t reach him—probably out in the no-signal zone. No time to wait; we’re going straight there.”

  Vorry makes the decision.

  He knows the Sky Sect’s outpost is in Bert City, information his friend had shared.

  Earlier when he went out, he confirmed the location and planned to wait for his friend’s call to make the introduction.

  But now, with the consortium’s interference, he can’t afford to wait.

  The longer he waits, the more things could go wrong.

  Besides, carrying an S-grade potion genius like Aaron, no one will doubt his determination.

  Two business vans plunge into the rain, disappearing into the downpour.

  ……

  On the ground floor of a certain building, there’s a small shop with a sign that reads: Honest Realty Agency.

  The shop is cramped inside.

  Sitting there bored is a bald guy in his early twenties.

  He’s lounging with his legs crossed, watching a girl group dance on his tablet, occasionally scratching himself down there.

  There’s a hint of lust in his eyes.

  Soon, his phone rings. Seeing the caller ID, he rolls his eyes. After answering, he pulls a cigarette from the pack on the table, lights it, and casually responds:

  “Yeah, yeah, I got the message. I’ve already passed it on, they’re looking. But seriously, aren’t we supposed to kill these geniuses? Now someone wants them alive? Who the hell gave that order?”

  “The higher-ups told me. I don’t know the details either.”

  “I just don’t get why they want these geniuses alive. Why not just kill them, take pictures for proof, and collect the bounty? You should know that we're all on the wanted list. It’s hard enough staying alive without the bosses making it harder, okay?”

  “Are you arguing with me? Just do what you’re told. Stop whining. And by the way, your antidote supply’s cut off this month. Figure out how to survive on your own.”

  The voice on the other end is short-tempered and snaps back.

  “Damn it, you’re my boss, right? I just don’t get why the Sky Sect is like this. When I was a wanted man, life wasn’t this rough.”

  “Stop whining. The orders are strict. If you don’t find the target, no antidote this month. Go find him.”

  “It’s not that I’m emotional, it’s just we’re like rats, hiding everywhere. Who dares to openly look for someone?”

  “Fine, then fucking stay home and wait. See if some idiot will bring the target to you.”

  ......

  “Hello?” Vorry peeks his head inside.

  The bald guy glances at him, then hangs up the phone with a fake smile. “Hello, so do you have a contract? This is legit business. No contract, no deal.”

  Many people drowning in debt and bankrupt would sign sell-yourself contracts, going through agencies like this one, to be sent off to various mining sites.

  “What about a pharmacist?” Vorry asks.

  The bald guy suddenly stands up, his hand sliding under the counter. Guns are stashed there.

  “Hey, what do you mean by that? I don’t follow.”

  “Cut the act. I’m from Ogrioe City, part of Fred’s crew, an outer member of the Sky Sect.” Vorry pulls out his phone, showing a photo of him with a man.

  The bald guy glances at it. He knows the man in the picture—a manager in the Sky Sect. His expression softens a bit.

  “Oh, a pharmacist, huh? What level?” he asks casually.

  He’s skeptical. Over the years, the Sky Sect’s top brass lay low, and the middle management slack off. It’s usually the outer members who drag in all kinds of people, pretending to be pharmacists just to claim bounties. He figures Vorry’s probably faking it too.

  “High-level apprentice. The real deal,” Vorry grins. “More than that, he’s an S-grade prodigy named Aaron.”

  “Holy crap!” The bald guy’s face goes from shock to excitement. “Bro, are you serious?”

  Aaron is exactly the target they’ve been ordered to capture alive.

  Vorry chuckles and waves behind him. Simon pushes in Aaron, bound and hooded.

  The bald guy’s face lights up when Aaron’s hood comes off. He pulls out his phone, checks the photos, and confirms.

  “Yeah, yeah! That’s him! Damn, bro! You’re my blood!”

  After confirming Aaron, the bald guy looks like he wants to hug Vorry and plant a kiss.

  “Brother, I’m bringing you the guy, but you can’t expect me to just hand him over for free!” Vorry smiles.

  The outcast’s bounties are huge, especially for gifted pharmacists. The Church’s big shots fund these operations with crazy budgets.

  “No way it’s free, no way,” the bald guy grins wide. “Wait, let me make a call.”

  He dials his phone. Before he can say a word, the voice on the other end cuts in:

  “What’s the call for? Some idiot’s bringing the target to you?”

  “Yeah! Aaron’s right here.”

  “Get lost! I don’t have time to joke around.”

  “No joke, he’s really here. I’m sending you the photos now. Check ’em out.”

  “What?”

  “......”

  A moment later, the bald guy turns to Vorry. “You guys wait here. Someone from above will be here soon, and your reward’s with him.”

  Vorry and the others don’t suspect a thing. The outcast organization may be ruthless, but their reputation is still somewhat reliable.

  Of course, not because they’re noble, but because the Church’s big shots throw in so much money.

  After layers of exploitation, even the scraps left over are enough to keep the lowest ranks well-fed.

  A little reward here and there to attract more people willing to join, that’s the outcast’s usual tactic for sustainable growth.

  The evening rain grows heavier after hours of steady fall.

  Few pedestrians remain on the street.

  The whole area is shrouded in thick mist.

  A figure appears at the end of the road.

  Wearing a demon fang mask and holding a black umbrella, the person walks slowly yet swiftly.

  Seconds ago, he was at the previous intersection; seconds later, he stands at the agency’s doorstep.

  Noticing the arrival, everyone inside instantly becomes alert.

  All eyes turn toward the newcomer.

  The bald guy speaks first, “Who the hell are you?”

  “Where’s Aaron?”

  “From the Church?” he mutters.

  Though confused, he doesn’t doubt it. He just reported the news upstairs, and now someone shows up, naming Aaron directly—definitely someone from the Church.

  Judging by the masked figure’s hidden identity, this must be a big shot.

  Soon, Aaron is brought out.

  “Who caught him?” the newcomer scans the room.

  Vorry steps forward quickly. “I did.”

  “Are all your people here?”

  Vorry thinks he’s asking how many people want to join the Church and replies casually, “They’re all here.”

  No sooner are the words out than a surge of pitch-black the force bursts from the masked man.

  Everyone, including the bald guy, is slammed against the wall.

  The impact is so brutal, they feel their insides nearly shatter.

  But that’s not all.

  The black the force starts to corrode their bodies.

  Their faces twist in terror, but before they can scream, their flesh visibly rots away, turning into a pile of stinking, decayed meat.

  The masked man unties the ropes binding Aaron.

  Freed, Aaron pulls off the blindfold and strips away the tape covering his mouth.

  He stretches his limbs, aching from two days of being tied up.

  During these two days, a crushing sense of helplessness had completely overwhelmed him.

  He hates it.

  Seeing the masked man turn to leave, Aaron quietly follows behind, saying nothing.

  The stench of rotten flesh in the room assaults his senses, mixing with the lingering fear and the overwhelming relief of being rescued.

  A whirlwind of emotions swirls inside him.

  The two walk through the rainy night.

  One tall, one short—two figures huddled under a black umbrella.

  At the street corner, Aaron stretches out his hand, letting raindrops fall onto his palm.

  The lingering chill of late winter, stubbornly refusing to fade in early spring, spreads through his entire body from his palm.

  Aaron breaks the silence.

  “When I was in the orphanage, I often dreamed that one day, my real parents would suddenly appear before me, hold me tight, lift me high above their heads, and say with tears in their eyes, ‘Child, we finally found you.’ I’ve imagined that scene countless times.”

  “I even rehearsed what I’d say. I’d stand on tiptoes, wipe away their tears, and tell them calmly, ‘Don’t cry. During all these years waiting for you, I’ve been doing well. From now on, our family will never be apart again.’”

  “When I was homeless, I wished passersby would spare me a few coins—not much, just enough to buy some day-old bread from the store.”

  “Or that I could find some fruit that wasn’t completely rotten in the trash, or leftovers wrapped in plastic. If there was nothing edible, even a dead rat would do, as long as it kept me alive.”

  “When I was a slave in the mines, I hoped the guards would see how young and pitiful I was and hit me fewer times. When others bullied me, I wished someone kind would stand up and speak for me.”

  “I spent nine years in the orphanage, waiting in vain for my parents or someone to adopt me.”

  “I wandered for three years, never once receiving a coin from anyone. I stole and fought, and when they caught me, they beat me in the corner. Under their hitting, I ‘tasted’ the food stolen from my hand.”

  “At the mine, I never missed a single lash I deserved. No kind soul ever stood before me to say a single word of justice.”

  “That’s why I hate handing my fate over to others. I hate the helplessness that comes with waiting to die. Whenever that feeling hits, I hear the ticking of a second hand in my mind—clear and sharp. It’s reminding me that my life is counting down.”

  “Master, I want to learn the Poison Technique.”