Hunt In Reverse

Seattle.

At the imposing city gates, two ranks of soldiers stood at rigid attention, their rifles gleaming in the sunlight. In the distance, a dark tide of riders approached along the broad, paved road. Hundreds strong, clad in black, they thundered towards Seattle like a storm cloud unleashed.

The long line of citizens trying to enter the city check point were awestruck by this grand display of H.A.R.M.'s might. "So many?" they gasped, jostling for space along the congested throughfare.

"This is nothing," scoffed a young man, arms crossed, clearly from a minor family. "The real force is still behind, escorting the prisoners." He sneered at the commoners' ignorance. Unlike those from powerful families, those like him, stuck in the middle rungs of society, were likely to join H.A.R.M.

The destruction of Crown Mountain meant little to him; he felt no kinship with those lofty schools.

To him, both the elite sects and H.A.R.M. were equally distant, equally unapproachable.

The Atzmon siblings rushed out of the cabaret with the onlookers, their expressions grim.

Ethan Atzmon was furious.

Injured and bedridden for mere days, and his sister had already sent Kane to Crown Mountain? A place where even seasoned majors couldn't guarantee their own safety, let alone someone like Kane.

He knew Kane had slain a late-stage Wave Realm sea vampire, but the vampire had been weakened.

Despite his reservations, Ethan had to admire Kane's strength—it was a feat he himself couldn't have achieved.

But he'd also heard about Kane's choice of reward: the Melting Sun manual, which meant he was still a First Realmer.

A powerful technique, no doubt, but in the annihilation of Crown Mountain, a First Realmer with a few tricks up his sleeve would be no match for those with higher realms.

Survival favored those with greater strength, not fancy techniques. On a battlefield like that, a meat grinder where survival was the only objective, brute strength and a deep well of essence were far more valuable than fancy swordsmanship.

"..."

Noa Atzmon offered no explanation for that night. She simply stared out at the city gates, her expression unreadable. Her hands, hidden within her sleeves, clenched into fists.

The first to return would be the agents who had been temporarily reassigned. They weren't needed for the aftermath, after all.

If Kane had survived, he would be among them.

But what was she hoping to see? Kane, battered and bruised? Did she want to prove him wrong? To show him that his decision to refuse her offer, to push back those documents, had been foolish, reckless?

She bit her lip. Better he return safe and sound. A momentary burst of pride was hardly worth more than his life. But the odds of that were slim.

A whole sect was gone, wiped from existence. The battle must have been a massacre. A lowly captain, forcibly conscripted... he'd have been thrown to the wolves, used as fodder to weaken the sect's forces.

… …

With a resounding "Whoa!" and a unified tug on the reins, the hundreds of bloodsteeds screeched to a halt.

A sea of black-clad figures dismounted. The Admiral of H.A.R.M. Cascadia had set the rules: no riding within Seattle, except in emergencies. The penalty? A hefty fine, and a lashing.

The crowd surged towards the city gates once more, even the children of the noble families craning their necks in anticipation. "Can you see General Grant?"

"There he is! General Skyler Grant!" Someone shouted, pointing towards the gate.

A ripple of excitement surged through the crowd as all eyes followed his gesture. With the hundreds of black-clad riders dismounted, one figure stood out from the rest.

A contingent of golden eagle agents strode through the gates, their expressions stern, efficiently clearing a path through the throng.

Several colonels, their cloaks billowing behind them, flanked a single bloodsteed.

Atop the imposing bloodsteed sat a slender young man, his black uniform blood-stained yet sharp. Despite his slight frame, he exuded an aura of undeniable power.

His face was pale, his clear eyes fixed straight ahead. A high nose bridge and thin, pressed lips gave him an air of determination, while the black sword at his waist hinted at a chilling ruthlessness.

The rhythmic beat of hooves echoed through the street, and even without the golden eagle agents holding back the crowd, people instinctively stepped aside.

"Get out of here! General Grant isn't some pretty young boy!" A young man scoffed, shoving the loudmouth back into the crowd. The young women, however, remained captivated. General Grant or not, this newcomer was clearly worth a second glance.

Captains cleared his path, colonels guarded him and led his horse. Such deference... clearly, this was no ordinary agent.

In the crowd, the Atzmon siblings gasped. Ethan Atzmon stared at the two-star patterns on the man's sleeves, then at his face. It couldn't be... could it? He slapped himself, then turned to his sister, dumbfounded. "Tell me I'm not seeing things."

"I... I don't think so," Noa Atzmon managed, her voice trembling slightly. She watched as the imposing figure on horseback rode past, then slowly disappeared down the street.

He didn't even spare them a glance. He didn't sneer, didn't mock her, didn't even acknowledge the arrogant way she'd tried to manipulate him with those documents. He simply... rode past. Calmly. Indifferently.

... …

"Why the long face?" Chandra Banerjee asked, trotting alongside the bloodsteed with a furrowed brow. "We're vampire slayers," he muttered, "not tax collectors."

"I'm cultivating an aura of mystic," I replied, my face a mask of indifference and my posture rigid. Discreetly, I wiped my sweaty palms on the horse's mane.

Chandra noticed the surreptitious movement and smirked. If it were him on that horse, he'd be waving to the crowd, basking in the cheers. Wouldn't want to waste such an opportunity.

We finally shook off the enthusiastic crowd and stepped into the shadow of H.A.R.M. headquarters.

I immediately moved to dismount. But before I could even swing my leg over, Chandra slammed his shoulder into my calf, stopping me in my tracks.

"General Grant's orders," he hissed. "If you get off this bloodsteed outside the headquarter, he'll break your legs."

I let out an exasperated sigh.

… …

Meanwhile, in the tranquil bamboo building inside H.A.R.M.'s medical ward...

Alex Bai, with a frown, expertly inserted needles into Max Vierkant's arm.

A muffled groan escaped Max's clenched teeth. "Keep pushing your luck," Dr. Bai warned, "and next time I'll give you a demonstration of the Crystal Realm acupuncture technique Master begged from the capital.'

"How much longer?" Max whined. "It's been days!" He lay in bed, his arms numb and useless. Impatience gnawed at him.

"Interesting," Alex Bai drawled. "You waste my precious salary on healing your sorry ass, and now you can't even be bothered to call me Senior Brother?"

Dr. Bai smiled serenely, then with a swift motion, plunged over a dozen needles into Max's arm. Max's body arched like a fish out of water, his forehead throbbing with bulging veins. He clenched his jaw so hard he nearly cracked his teeth. "Senior Brother Bai..." he pleaded through gritted teeth, "I'm in a hurry! I need to get to Crown Mountain!"

"If Master knew he'd taken on such a useless disciple..." Dr. Bai clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "A Seeker of Redeemer, rejected twice before even getting a chance to meet him! And yet, you still want to go crawling back?"

Alex Bai shook his head, withdrawing the silver needles one by one. He stood up and brushed off his scrubs. "Let's go," he said.

"Go where?" Max asked, bewildered.

"To meet this captain who struck you so ruthlessly," Alex Bai replied. "To see what he's truly capable of."

His eyes remained calm as he tucked his needle case into his pocket. "To think you were beaten so badly while the other senior brothers and sisters were away. If Senior Sister Patani finds out, she'll assume I've lost my fighting edge after all these years of playing doctor."

"Back already? So soon?" Max scrambled to his feet, his lips working soundlessly. Finally, he mumbled, "Senior Brother... I started it."

"How badly did you lose?" Alex Bai asked, not even bothering to feign surprise.

"Hundred to one," Max Vierkant admitted, hanging his head.

Seeing his Senior Brother's confusion, he elaborated, "I attacked with a hundred percent of what I had. He slapped me to the ground with one move."

… …

Alex Bai made a show of reaching for his needle case. "Ah, but I mustn't forget," he said with a playful wink. "A doctor must be compassionate, not competitive. Perhaps we should leave this task to Senior Sister Patani."

Max recognized the mockery. "Of course you'd win, Senior Brother," he conceded with a sigh. "Your methods are far too devious for him."

They were both capable of taking him down with a single blow, that much was clear.

But Kane relied on close combat, while Senior Brother Bai... well, he had those poisoned needles. Extracted from Wave Realm poisonous vampires, no less. Master had even gifted him some rare, poisonous herbs for self-defense.

A single needle could fell a Wave Realm warrior. Yet Alex was cunning with his arsenal. One moment he'd be all smiles and pleasantries; the next, you'd find a poisoned barb in your neck.

Kane, at least, fought with honor. Always let him make the first move. But that also made Kane easier to exploit.

"I'll just take that as a compliment." Alex Bai replied with a smirk. His curiosity piqued, he strode out of the bamboo building. He had to see this new captain for himself.

The two men made their way briskly towards Mission Control.

As they approached, they found the entrance swamped with a throng of agents.