Night descended once more. Within the crumbling ruins of an old church, the pews once meant for worshippers had long been pushed aside—some reduced to planks and splinters. A bonfire blazed at the heart of the nave, its flames dancing and crackling, casting flickering shadows on the walls. Around it huddled more than a dozen figures, roasting meat and drinking with wild abandon.
Their appearance was bizarre—each draped in voluminous black robes that resembled heavy woolen blankets, giving them an almost grotesque silhouette. Most unsettling were the tattoos etched into their faces—ghastly patterns that sprawled across their features like masks of horror. It was a devotion to something dark, a twisted obsession carved in flesh.
The chunks of meat they clutched were barely seared—some still slick with blood—yet they tore into them with savage delight, shouting and laughing raucously as if nothing could be more natural. Madness shimmered behind their eyes.
While they feasted, three silhouettes slowly approached from beyond the church doors. Firelight stretched their shadows long across the floor, painting them like specters against the gloom. Though they were three, they seemed achingly alone in the vast, devouring night.
As they stepped into the ring of firelight, their identities became clear: Henry, Charles, and a stranger bearing a long, narrow case—clearly a container for a weapon.
The revelry around the fire fell silent. Every tattooed face turned toward the newcomers with hostile interest.
One of the robed men rose to his feet. A black dragon was inked from brow to jaw across his face, giving him a truly fearsome visage.
"Get lost, all three of you!" he barked. "Or we'll carve you up and roast your flesh!"
Henry stepped closer, smiling faintly. "Apologies, but I doubt you'd enjoy our meat. I'm here to offer you a deal—interested in hearing it?"
The dragon-faced man laughed darkly. "Do you even know who we are, and yet you dare to bargain with us?"
Lighting a cigarette, Henry exhaled calmly. "Of course I know. You're with the Cult of the Black Dragon. And I also know something else—you're short on money, aren't you?"
At those words, the smile fell from the cultist's face. His expression turned cold. "Who the hell are you?"
"Don't ask who I am," Henry replied. "Just know I've come bearing coin—a lot of it. Enough to buy you countless women and rivers of wine. Tempted?"
"Of course we are," the cultist said, his voice now oily. "Tell us, how much are we talking? And what do we have to do for it?"
Henry took another drag of his cigarette and said with a smirk, "What else would I ask of you—aside from killing?"
"A hit job, is it? Alright then, who's the target?"
From behind his back, Henry pulled a small bag and tossed it to the cultist. "Inside you'll find dossiers on three individuals and a deposit of 100,000 Union Credits. For every head you bring me, I'll pay an additional 500,000. Just bring me proof—any one of them—and I'll pay immediately."
The cultists froze. The math was simple—three targets, 500,000 each, plus the 100,000 down payment. A 1.6 million credit deal. For a moment, their minds stalled under the weight of it.
"You're serious?"
"Deadly," Henry said smoothly. "I don't care how you do it—just deliver the heads, and the money's yours. My contact info is in the envelope."
The cultist opened the bag and drew out three photographs. The first was Xiao Feng, the second was Heber, and the third was a man whose features bore a striking resemblance to Carey.
Skimming the profiles, the cultist muttered, "No wonder they're worth half a million each…"
Holding up Heber and Carey's father's photos, he sneered, "These two are the core of Braum Corporation. They're richer than you'll ever be. What makes you so sure we won't just take their money and turn on you?"
Henry chuckled. "You've already taken my deposit. As far as I'm concerned, those two are dead men walking. And let's be honest—dead men don't pay. I have faith in your cult's… professional integrity."
The cultist laughed aloud. "Alright then. Since you've paid first, those two are already corpses in our eyes. But this boy here—does he really warrant half a million?"
Henry's expression darkened as he gazed at Xiao Feng's photo. "More than you know. If not for him, I wouldn't be in this wretched state. He's the one I hate most in this entire world. Kill him. No matter what."
"Then it's settled. Prepare the rest of the money—we'll handle the rest."
Henry took one last puff of his cigarette. "Pleasure doing business."
With that, he turned and left with Charles and the unnamed companion.
After their departure, the cultists began to murmur among themselves.
"Black Dragon… this job won't be easy."
"True. Especially those two Braum executives. If it were me, I'd price them at a million each."
"A million? You might as well rob a bank!"
"Who cares who they are? As long as we're paid, 500K is plenty."
"And it's only three targets. We'll rally the brothers tomorrow and deal with it swiftly."
"Heh. It won't be that simple. If it were, those three wouldn't have come to us."
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Meanwhile, Xiao Feng and his companions had not completed their E-class beast hunt that day. As night fell, they constructed a makeshift shelter from massive stones and lit a fire within. Dinner preparations began.
One point of pride for Xiao Feng—his unexpected culinary skills.
As he stirred a pot of steaming broth, he grumbled, "Today's a disaster. Not a single E-class beast within a hundred kilometers! It's maddening!"
"Hmph. You think E-class beasts are that easy to find?" Rice scoffed. He'd already doubted the wisdom of this hunt, and after discovering the slain four-horned rhinoceros, his nerves were even more frayed.
But Lin interjected thoughtfully, "Have either of you noticed something else? It's not just high-level beasts—even low-tier creatures seem unusually scarce."
"What do you mean?" asked Xiao Feng.
"I mean…" Lin said slowly, "…it feels like the magical beasts in this region have begun to evolve again."