The underground nest lay in eerie silence, its twitching walls reduced to pulp and acid-streaked ruin. Kael stood alone at the heart of it, surrounded by shattered chitin, broken limbs, and the stench of death. The Breeder's corpse was still leaking thick black ichor beside him, a barely recognizable mess of muscle, bone, and ruptured sacs.
Hundreds of ant-like creatures surrounded him in pieces , some whole, others crushed under the weight of collapsed tunnels or split open by aura-infused strikes.
It was over.
Kael exhaled slowly, his heartbeat steady, his breathing calm. The calm after combat.
He looked around at the carnage, and for the first time, recalled a detail he hadn't needed before.
Guild Rule #7: All successful hunts must be validated through evidence , corpse fragments, cores, or official witness statements. No proof, no reward.
He stared at the hundreds of ruined bodies.
Then sighed.
«…Right.»
The thought of hauling a few dozen mangled carcasses across miles of forest and teleportation space made his soul recoil. He looked down at the ruptured body of the Breeder and muttered, «They better pay well.»
But then a thought sparked in his mind.
Storage.
The games he used to watch… the ones he pretended to enjoy. Characters with inventory screens, infinite bags, portable vaults. He never felt joy from them back then, but he remembered the mechanics in painful detail.
In this world, the concept of storage magic didn't exist , not even in the memories of the magical knowledge implanted in him from the soul of the second strongest being alive who I got the power from beside the muscle headed one.
If it existed, he would know.
Which meant…
He could invent it.
Kael sat cross-legged in the center of the nest, the mask resting on his lap. His fingers curled around glowing threads of mana, drawing shapes in the air.
Spatial theory. Mana compression. Object permanence. Anchor binding. Dimensional fold theory.
He worked in silence, muttering incantation patterns to himself , none real, all made up , until he could shape the core logic around one principle:
«The space expands according to the mana capacity of the user.»
Since his mana capacity was near-unlimited, that gave him more room than a vault.
Hours passed.
He carved runes with his fingers, weaving them in midair like embroidery on invisible cloth. Failure struck again and again , items disappeared, or reappeared half-digested, or warped so badly he had to disintegrate them.
But he learned quickly.
Just like before… mimicry first. Mastery second.
By the sixth hour, the magic circle pulsed with layered golden light. He held a broken sword hilt in one hand and tossed it into the formation.
It vanished.
He reached out again and called it back.
It materialized perfectly.
Kael smiled.
«…Inventory unlocked.»
He reached for the Breeder's corpse. With a surge of mana, he wrapped her mangled remains in a band of shimmering space-thread, collapsing the body inward like folded cloth and storing it deep inside the vast dimensional vault.
One by one, he absorbed the other corpses.
Dozens.
Then hundreds.
Ant Voidkin of all sizes disappeared into the space, like he was cleaning up after a war crime. His mana remained steady , the storage function adapted fluidly to his absurd capacity.
In time, the nest was empty.
He stood, brushing dust from his coat.
Then paused.
«Oh, right…»
He reached into his pants , not a pocket, but literally under the waistband , and retrieved the black-and-silver A-rank badge the Guildmaster had given him.
«…Probably should wear this if I don't want to get questioned again. That is if they forgot the terrorist masked man aka me»
He pinned it to his illusionary vest just below the collarbone, over the heart.
Then donned the white mask once more , that unsettling smiling expression facing the world.
He raised a hand.
And vanished.
Myrefall Guildhall , Main Hall
The air shimmered.
And then he was there.
Kael reappeared in the very center of the Hunter's Guildhall , not near the entrance, not outside, but dead center, between tables, benches, and stunned voices.
Conversations stopped.
Forks dropped.
Cups froze midair.
A masked figure had just teleported into a high-security building , something no one could do except high-tier mages… and even they needed prep time and sigils.
But this?
One flicker. One blink.
The Ghost had returned.
He didn't speak.
He stood with gloved hands at his sides, black coat dusted with blood, the smiling mask angled slightly downward , like a grim reaper in formalwear.
The receptionist from before , the same woman who had first processed his request , stood frozen behind her desk.
Then she blinked and gathered herself.
She stepped from behind the counter and approached him, bowing slightly.
«Welcome back… Ghost. The Guildmaster left standing orders that all matters regarding you be handled by him directly. Please follow me.»
He said nothing.
Just walked.
The room parted around him like shadows fleeing the sun.
Guildmaster's Office
Dren Volkar looked up from a crystal display hovering over his desk, eyes narrowing slightly as the masked figure entered.
«Back already?»
Kael nodded once.
«I assume you forgot something,» Dren continued, voice even.
«No,» Kael replied. «I finished the mission.»
A pause.
Dren's face didn't shift , didn't reveal even the slightest shock , but inside, a quiet voice whispered:
Already? An A-class mission. Solo. In less than a day.
He gestured toward the seat across from him. «Sit, then. Tell me.»
Kael did.
Calmly. Precisely. With no embellishment.
He explained the village's corruption. The nest below. The hundreds of mutated Void Ants. The Breeder. The missing people, all consumed or used as birthing fuel.
«And you dealt with it?» Dren asked, gaze sharp.
«Yes.»
«Any proof?»
Kael nodded. Then lifted his hand.
A pulse of gold and white.
A magic rune flickered into being above his palm.
Dren's breath caught for the first time in years.
From nothing , from literal thin air , a mutilated, collapsed, black-glossed corpse emerged and dropped heavily onto the guildmaster's reinforced stone floor.
The Breeder's remains.
What was left of her.
Twisted. Shattered. Brutalized.
Still leaking foul ichor.
Dren stood slowly. He approached it with cautious steps, eyes analyzing every detail.
«A… Cursed-rank,» he murmured.
Still no shock showed on his face.
But in his mind?
Two. That's two. In one day.
This man… this masked ghost…
He beat a cursed-rank like it was a drunk beast in an alley.
Then another realization struck.
He just… pulled it from empty air.
Storage magic.
Storage magic doesn't exist in this world.
And yet, here it was.
He looked back at Kael, face calm.
«Unexpected. Very well. You've fulfilled the contract , and more.»
He walked to a sealed drawer and removed a pouch, glowing faintly with mana.
«Your reward,» he said, handing it over. «Base payment increased due to the following factors: Solo completion. Guildmaster-level commission. Threat exterminated. Corpse provided. Estimated threat level exceeded.»
Kael accepted the pouch silently.
He turned to go.
Then paused.
«…Actually.»
He raised his hand again.
The aura around him shimmered.
Then, with a thunderous whump, he unleashed the rest of his haul.
Hundreds of Void Ant corpses.
All of them , low-ranked corrupted creatures , fell in a tide across the main hall just beyond the guild office, slamming into tables, rolling down the stairs, spilling across the stone like dumped garbage.
Gasps. Screams. Crashes. Panic.
Then a voice at the door.
The secretary burst in, wide-eyed and breathless.
«Guildmaster! T-There's some kind of attack happening in the main hall , c-corpses are appearing everywhere, hundreds of corrupted Voidkin, all at once, «
Dren didn't even look away from Kael.
He exhaled.
«That… would be his.»
The secretary blinked.
«…What?»
Kael spoke quietly behind the mask.
«They're mine. Ants. I expect payment.»
Dren pinched the bridge of his nose. «Gods…»
Kael stood, tipping his hat lightly.
«I'll come back for the coin.»
Dren gave him a long, exhausted look.
Then chuckled, low and dry.
«Very well. You'll be compensated next time.»
Kael nodded once.
Then vanished.
No sound. No spell circle. No warning.
Just… gone.
Silence.
The Guildmaster sat slowly back down at his desk, glancing out toward the ruined main hall now buried in dead insectoids.
The staff were scrambling. Hunters were shouting.
Chaos.
And all he could do was lean back in his chair and mutter:
«…How the hell are we supposed to survive a year of this?»