Hunt In Reverse

Before joining H.A.R.M., Chandra had also dreamed of roaming the world with a sword, a white-clad figure leading a horse.

But now it seemed that not joining the Crown Mountain School and instead joining the even more dangerous H.A.R.M. might not have been a bad idea after all.

Fifty or sixty Crown Mountain disciples were escorted up the mountain by the agents. They were returning to their own school, yet their faces grew increasingly pale, their steps faltering.

Chandra and I trailed behind.

"What is the Crown Pool?" I asked.

Chandra's head snapped up, his eyebrows furrowing. "You're not from Cascadia?"

"I came from Pinewood County." I didn't hide it.

"No wonder, a small place." Chandra Banerjee subconsciously nodded, then suddenly realized something was amiss. Is it the same Pinewood County that I know? Could that desolate backwater produce someone like this?

He opened his mouth, seemingly wrestling with his thoughts. "Any first-rate force," he finally continued, his voice regaining its composure, "has a stable method of cultivating Crystal Realm experts, ensuring that every generation has experts in charge. Unlike second-rate ones, if their headmaster encounters an accident, or if there's a lack of successors, they'll fade into obscurity within a few decades."

"Our H.A.R.M. also has something similar, but you have to go to the capital." Chandra's eyes flickered towards mine. He seemed to sense my ambition burning beneath the surface. Being able to fight both the Crown Mountain Elder and the Great Vampire alone, I was, naturally, also at the peak of the Wave Realm, and he recognized that.

A subtle smile played on his lips. "With your current strength," he began, his voice low, "if you dedicate yourself for a few decades, there will undoubtedly be a place for you in the Martial Abbey's Crystalization training. But don't set your sights on the next few opportunities," he added with a wry grin. "Both Miss Hightower and Doctor Bai are queuing up ahead of you."

Chandra leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Let's talk about the Crown Pool." He knew these geniuses, proud and independent, bristling at any hint of inferiority. "For every Crown Mountain disciple," he began, "the first act after joining the school and honoring the ancestors is a pilgrimage to the Crown Pool. There, they offer a sacrifice – three drops of blood from their fingertip, brow, and heart respectively. Once absorbed by the pool, they receive the ancestors' protection, a blessing that accelerates their training."

He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. "They also choose a sword, a relic wielded by a past master, and nourish it with their essence. This 'Path-Protecting Sword' becomes an extension of themselves, a conduit for their power. It's said that half their strength resides within that blade. Remember the instructor whose sword you broke? Even if he recovers, he'll be a shadow of his former self."

Chandra stretched out his palm, tracing patterns in the air. "That's why I wanted to see Mendy Snow's sword that day. I suspected she was from Crown Mountain, and I was right. Imagine, the essence and blood of countless disciples, spanning millennia, all connected to the Crown Pool. As they grow stronger, so does the pool. It's a symbiotic relationship, a cycle of power. Only such a sacred place could possess the miraculous effect of helping martial artists to crystalize their essence."

His voice took on a somber tone. "Old Angry Sword Elder was nearing the end of his life. By right, he should have used the Crown Pool to fight for another chance. But he gave that chance to Karim Shaheen. His actions today... stem from a deep wound, a sense of betrayal." Chandra sighed with emotion.

I absorbed his words, the implications swirling in my mind. Then, a question sparked. "If the Crown Pool is so potent, and it's been around for thousands of years, shouldn't Crown Mountain have more than one Crystal Realm expert?"

Chandra chuckled, a knowing look on his face. "Ah, you're worried about General Grant facing them alone?"

"Indeed," I admitted.

Chandra smiled again. "You're at the Wave Realm, and so am I. If you were to face two or three of me at the same time, would you be afraid?"

I pondered for a moment, then shook my head.

"Right, so what about ten or twenty..."

Chandra continued, but saw me deep in thought, then shake my head again.

The smile on his square face stiffened, but he quickly recovered. "Well," he said, looking away with a forced nonchalance, "if there were ten or twenty Crystal Realm experts, H.A.R.M. wouldn't send just General Grant. There are twelve H.A.R.M. generals, you know. General Grant is old, his strength barely ranks behind the General of Tacoma."

"Then where does the General of Tacoma rank?" I asked, curiosity piqued.

Chandra rolled his eyes, a long-suffering sigh escaping his lips. He remained silent for a moment, then finally muttered, "Eleventh."

"Who is first?"

"The Admiral's second disciple."

"And second?"

"The Admiral's first disciple."

"Why are they reversed?"

"Captain Kane, we've arrived!" Chandra Banerjee interrupted, rubbing his temples. He was starting to regret this conversation. Should he really be discussing such sensitive and potentially offensive matters so casually?

My curiosity burned, unsatisfied by Chandra's evasive answers. I strained my eyes, eager to see what awaited us at the School of Crown Mountain.

The gates loomed ahead, opening onto a vast plaza paved with gleaming white stone that stretched as far as the eye could see. The sheer scale of it was awe-inspiring.

But it was the scene unfolding within the plaza that truly took my breath away. On either side, a sea of swordsmen in flowing white knee-length tunic knelt in silent submission, their heads bowed as if in prayer.

Encircling them, a formidable force of eight hundred golden eagle agents stood in a ring of steel. Their black uniforms, emblazoned with golden eagle emblems, contrasted sharply with the white of the plaza and the kneeling disciples. Pitch-black chains, humming with barely contained power, snaked through the air, weaving an impenetrable barrier around the plaza.

Beyond them, over a thousand Purge Division agents stood in disciplined ranks, their faces hard and cold, their weapons gleaming in the sunlight.

At the epicenter of this display of power, a figure clad in black armor radiating an ominous aura sat upon a massive throne-like chair. A heavy steel halberd held in his hand, and a crimson cloak billowed around him like a swirling vortex of blood.

This was General Grant, a man who exuded an almost palpable sense of authority and lethal force.

No machine guns or heavy equipment were visible. H.A.R.M. wasn't planning to massacre the disciples; General Grant's focus was clearly on the vampires among them.

Yet, the sight of the kneeling disciples sent a wave of confusion crashing over me.

While I had been fighting for my life down below, assuming the situation was desperate, here they were, passively surrendering.

If they have time to kneel, I thought incredulously, why not come down and help their fleeing schoolmates?

"It's not as simple as you think," Chandra murmured, his voice grave. He sensed my bewilderment and gestured for the group to proceed.

"The disciples clearly aren't resisting," he explained, his brow furrowed in concern, "yet General Grant continues to besiege them. This can only mean one thing: the old Headmaster has lost his mind!"

We followed Chandra towards the main hall, a sense of foreboding hanging heavy in the air.

In front of the hall, a man sat cross-legged in the center of a platform, his upper body bare, a network of intricate, crimson scars crisscrossing his skin. He resembled a shattered porcelain vase, painstakingly pieced back together, every crack and fissure a testament to battles fought and endured.

The sight of those familiar scars sent a jolt of recognition through me. They were eerily similar to the wounds I had seen on Maple Rex's back in Temple Village.

As we drew closer, I felt an oppressive aura emanating from the man, growing stronger with each step, pressing down on me like a physical weight.

Suddenly, the man's eyes snapped open, bloodshot and filled with a terrifying intensity. His gaze swept across the plaza, settling on us with laser focus. I tensed, my hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of my blade, a shiver of apprehension running down my spine.

Even facing the black-skinned jackalvamp, when I had almost no martial arts knowledge, hadn't evoked such a primal, gut-wrenching dread.

"This is Karim Shaheen," Chandra said, oblivious to the palpable fear choking my lungs. "The renowned swordsman of Crown Mountain. General Grant believes he's a Leviasaur in disguise."

I remained silent, my gaze locked on the man at the center of this spectacle. His eyes, smoldered with a blend of agony and bitterness, pierced through me.

Every instinct screamed at me to flee, to put as much distance as possible between myself and this man.

But I knew distance wouldn't make me safe. A killing intent rose within me, cold and sharp, coiling my muscles like springs, ready to release.

Suddenly, Karim Shaheen surged to his feet. He strode to the platform's edge, his gaze sweeping over the assembled crowd below.

The Crown Mountain disciples looked up, their faces a blend of fear and desperate hope. H.A.R.M. agents tensed, gripping their weapons tightly. "Stop!" they cried, their voices sharp with alertness and confusion.

Karim Shaheen's last outburst had been weeks ago, swiftly and brutally quelled by General Grant. Why this sudden resurgence of defiance?

"I'm innocent!" Karim roared, his voice raw with anguish, his body hunched with despair. "You can't kill me!"

He glared at the old man clad in black armor, his eyes blazing with defiance. "I've slain vampires for Cascadia for a hundred and fifty years! I've protected the people of Vancouver for a hundred and fifty years! They hail me as a hero! I am innocent!"

General Skyler Grant, his hair and beard as white as snow, his face etched with the lines of countless battles, observed Karim with an unsettling calm. He looked like an ordinary old man, yet his eyes held an undeniable authority, a quiet strength that spoke of immense power. "Read it again," he instructed, his voice steady and unwavering.

A colonel stepped forward. "Omar Shaheen," he began, his voice clear and resonant, cutting through the tense silence, "disciple of Crown Mountain. Three years ago, he traveled to Pierce County to slay a vampire. He killed a tigervamp, but over twenty villagers perished, their bodies never recovered. Two days ago, someone spotted that same tiger vampire five hundred miles away, at Mystic Beach."

"Zayn Shaheen," the colonel continued, his voice cold as steel, "disciple of Crown Mountain. Two years and seven months ago, he employed the same method in Whatcom County, slaying a vampire, but resulting in the deaths of thirty villagers, their bodies never recovered."

"Layla Shaheen, disciple of Crown Mountain..."

The list went on, each incident a chilling echo of the last: vampires slain, villagers vanished without a trace. A pattern of death and disappearance followed in the wake of Karim Shaheen's offspring.

The colonel's voice grew hoarse as he recited the grim litany of crimes. The Crown Mountain disciples lowered their heads in shame.

"So, my achievements are fabricated?" Karim Shaheen challenged, his voice cracking, his gaze fixed on the impassive general.

"Your achievements are real," Skyler Grant replied, nodding slowly. "We've investigated. Your reputation as the hero of Crown Mountain is well-deserved."

"Then why—?!" Karim's voice broke, his face contorted with anguish. "With my service, with my protection of the people of Vancouver, aren't they obligated to raise my children?! They are half-vampires! It's in their nature! I've been trying to teach them!"

"Why won't you give me time?!"

"Why won't you give me a chance?!"

His despairing cry echoed through the mountain, a heart-wrenching lament that spoke of a father's love and a warrior's shattered hopes.