Hunt In Reverse

Canlis Restaurant, Seattle.

The last embers of sunset bled across the Seattle skyline, painting the windows of Canlis restaurant in hues of fiery orange and deep violet. Below, the streets thrummed with a nervous energy; the usual symphony of urban life now punctuated by the sharp intakes of breath and hushed whispers of arriving guests.

Brian Canlis, his smile a practiced mask of welcome, stood at the entrance like a conductor orchestrating the flow of Seattle's elite. "Welcome, welcome!" he boomed, ushering them in with a flourish. "Come in, come in! No need for formalities tonight."

The heir of Truffle Queen, the chief disciple of White Hall, the eldest son of the Huang family...

Though still young and without significant influence in Seattle, they were all prominent figures in their own right, heirs to powerful legacies.

Their presence here, however, signified more than mere courtesy to Canlis. It hinted at the underlying anxieties of their respective organizations and families.

Though Old General Grant had shown restraint in his destruction of Crown Mountain, the sight of that once-mighty school reduced to rubble had shaken them. They instinctively sought strength in numbers, a sense of unity in the face of uncertainty.

Suddenly, Brian's practiced smile became rigid. His eyes widened as he spotted a figure he hadn't expected.

"Mr. Washington!" he exclaimed, his voice a touch too bright as he navigated the crowd. "Welcome, welcome!"

Damn it, he thought, cursing his luck. He was hosting this banquet on behalf of Ethan Atzmon, who had explicitly instructed him to keep the guest list small and limited to minor factions. How in the world had the son of the governor managed to snag an invitation?

Kendall Washington, his handsome face etched with a grief that belied his languid posture, merely offered a curt nod. "Just taking a stroll," he murmured, his voice edged with a hint of bitterness, "clearing my head." He stepped into the restaurant, the faintest hint of sorrow clinging to him like a shroud.

The other guests briefly paused their conversations and nodded at Kendall, but his arrival had cast a pall over the gathering.

Whispers rippled through the room, rehashing the rumors that a scion of the Washington family had fallen at Crown Mountain. The air, once thick with forced pleasantries, now crackled with unease.

Even Kendall Washington, heir to one of the Four Families, could find solace only in aimless walks these days. They reflected. H.A.R.M., emboldened by support from the capital and the power of the Admiral, grew more reckless by the day.

If we don't stand together, some thought grimly, we'll be picked off one by one, leaving nothing but bones for the vultures.

Fortunately, the Admiral was currently absent from Seattle, and with no H.A.R.M general present, the remaining colonels and majors were unlikely to cause significant trouble.

At least for now, they wouldn't suffer the same fate as Crown Mountain.

"What's he doing here?" Ethan Atzmon muttered under his breath from his vantage point on the second floor. He'd donned a loose blue coat to conceal the bandages that swathed his torso, but the lingering pain from his injuries forced him to recline against the plush mahogany chair.

"Don't mind him," Noa said dismissively, her voice a silken whisper. She was a vision in a deep purple dress that accentuated her every curve, a stark contrast to Ethan's more subdued attire.

For those of their standing, hospitality was simple: provide exquisite food, fine wine, and a veneer of polite conversation.

The invitations to this gathering were merely a carefully orchestrated means to an end – a way to summon Kongo Shintai without arousing suspicion.

As for the deeper implications, the delicate balance between the noble families and H.A.R.M... those were headaches for the older generation, not two youngsters.

"Please, make yourselves at home," Brian Canlis announced, steering Kendall Washington towards the other guests with practiced ease. Then, with a murmured apology, he excused himself and slipped away, ascending quietly to the second floor.

He entered the private room, his eyes taking in the scene before him. He glanced at the Atzmon siblings, then his gaze settled on the young man seated at the head of the table.

Dressed in an unassuming black jacket, the young man's face was an impassive mask. He swirled the crimson liquid in his glass, seemingly more interested in the play of light on the wine than in actually drinking it.

*Does he find the wine beneath his standards?*Brian's eyes narrowed.

The hierarchy in this room was clear. This stranger, though unfamiliar, exuded an aura of quiet command.

But who is he? Brian wondered. And what is the true purpose of this gathering? Was he dissatisfied with H.A.R.M.'s heavy-handed tactics? Was he seeking to rally the factions under his own banner?

"Mr. Atzmon," Brian inquired tentatively, "shall we begin the banquet?"

"Not yet," Ethan replied, keeping his eyes on the elites below. Then he turned to the young man, his manner subtly changing. "He's arrived," he said with quiet anticipation. "Should we summon him now?"

Brian's brow furrowed. He, too, peered downstairs. Who could possibly be important enough to warrant this young man's personal attention?

The Atzmon and Washington families were already present. Could this late arrival be someone from the Rodriguez or Sharma families? But he hadn't extended invitations to them... His eyes widened in surprise as he recognized the figure striding through the lobby.

A masculine young man with a shaved head and a mischievous glint in his eyes moved with the grace of a seasoned warrior. A white cloth was draped over his torso, revealing toned, oiled arms that rippled with each movement. In one hand, he carried a gleaming steel staff; in the other, a heavy iron chain that dragged along the polished floor.

"Ah, everyone's already here! Even Mr. Washington!" he announced with a flourish. "Forgive my tardiness!"

"A warrior playing monk? How absurd," Kendall Washington sneered, his lip curling in disdain. "Your Kongo Shintai Securities only started worshipping Buddha a few decades ago," he scoffed. "Three months before a wealthy Japanese donor settled in Seattle to be exact. I doubt you even knew how to hold a rosary before that."

"You wound me, sir," Miguel Lopez replied without a hint of offense. "But diligence can compensate for lack of knowledge, as they say. One need only recite the scriptures faithfully and count the mala beads with sincerity—enlightenment will follow."

His words were met with a chorus of laughter, the tension in the room momentarily broken.

But as Miguel Lopez's gaze swept over them, they quickly fell silent.

The Kongo Shintai Securities was showing signs of resurgence. Thanks to that half-volume of Crystal Realm body tempering technique, their jushoku had made significant progress in his training.

Rumor had it he could even hold his own against a Crystal Realm expert. After the withering of their Tree of Awakening, the Kongo Shintai had somehow stumbled upon another method of rapid body tempering, even more potent than their previous technique.

But a group of body tempering warriors comparable to the Perfect Wave Realm was vastly different from a group capable of rivaling the Crystal Realm.

If the rumors were true, in a few decades, the Kongo Shintai might rise to fill the void left by Crown Mountain, becoming a first-rate power and joining the ranks of the Four Families and Six Organizations.

The thought seemed to give even Kendall Washington pause. He refrained from further mockery.

"I apologize for my tardiness," Miguel explained, his voice smooth and confident, "but I've been traveling the countryside, spreading the word and forging connections. I've visited seven or eight counties in recent days. It's been quite a journey to return to Seattle."

Miguel scanned the room, searching for someone. Failing to find whomever he sought, he forced a smile and tugged on the heavy chain in his hand.

"Once we've had our fill of food and drink," he announced, his voice ringing with theatricality, "I shall entertain you all with a grand performance! Buddha Ape Subdues the Pig Demon!"

The iron chain rattled ominously as a hulking figure was dragged into the restaurant. He was a mountain of a man, clad in a dirtied grey tunic, his massive belly straining against the fabric.

But it wasn't just his belly that drew attention. His bearded face was painted with grotesque markings, mimicking a demon's visage. Crude pig ears, complete with bristly hairs, hung at either side of his head, and a pig snout was strapped over his mouth and nose. The effect was undeniably comical, a jarring contrast to the sophisticated atmosphere of Canlis.

His eyes were vacant, devoid of any spark of life, as if his very soul had been extinguished.

Another wave of laughter erupted around him, but the large man remained unmoved, his gaze fixed on the floor.

Even Kendall Washington couldn't help but chuckle. "Where did you find this specimen?" he asked, his voice dripping with amusement. "He plays the part of a dimwitted pig demon to perfection."

"An old friend of mine," Miguel Lopez replied with a grin. "He has a fondness for playing the fool." Miguel turned to the large man, a broad, almost predatory grin spreading across his face. "Isn't that right, old friend?"

The large man seemed oblivious to the mockery, until Miguel yanked hard on the chain. He blinked, then nodded slowly, his voice a dry rasp. "Yes..."

What an imbecile. Brian Canlis frowned. These two were old acquaintances, after all. Even if there was bad blood between them, why resort to such public humiliation? A duel, a clean death, – that was the honorable way to settle grievances.

But before he could voice his concerns, a palpable chill settled over the room. The air crackled with tension, the lighthearted atmosphere evaporating like morning mist.

Ethan Atzmon sat frozen, while Noa bit her lip, her usual vivacity replaced by a pallor that drained the color from her cheeks.

The young man in black set down his glass. With fluid grace, he stepped out of the private room and descended the stairs. Among the merriment below, his composed figure stood out like a shadow, drawing curious gazes.

Kendall Washington glanced up, his face hardening. He'd deigned to join the common rabble downstairs, yet someone remained secluded upstairs? What game was Brian Canlis playing?

A flicker of familiarity crossed his face, followed by confusion, as he took in the young man's features. There was something about that face that tugged at his memory...

… …

I stopped before the self-proclaimed monk, my gaze fixed on the hulking figure behind him. But my words, spoken with a chilling calm, were directed at the entire room. "Is this amusing?"

The large man's head snapped up at the sound of that familiar voice. Recognition dawned, and his body trembled. He stumbled back, instinctively raising his arms to shield his face, the chains rattling with his panicked movements.

He'd boasted to me about Seattle, about his heroic deeds. He'd accomplished little in his life, but he'd always prided himself on his courage, his willingness to stand up for what was right.

He was a butcher who feared no one, not a pig demon to be chained and mocked.

And Kane... Kane was new to Seattle, he worried, He shouldn't be dragged into this, forced to make enemies because of a fool playing the fool.

… …

Miguel Lopez paused, his eyes narrowing. He didn't recognize the newcomer, but the young man clearly come down from the second floor. Brian Canlis wasn't a fool. Which meant... this stranger's status was at least on par with Kendall Washington, perhaps even higher.

A flicker of apprehension crossed Miguel's face, but he quickly schooled his features into a casual smile. "If it displeases you, we'll forgo the performance," he said smoothly, feigning deference. "Though it's a shame to disappoint such distinguished company."

The others exchanged uneasy glances. Kendall Washington, too, frowned. He certainly realized that Miguel was fanning the flames. But then again, he'd laughed along with the others, hadn't he? And a disturbing recognition was beginning to dawn in Washington's eyes... he knew who this newcomer was.

He rose slowly, about to intervene, when a voice, cold and sharp as shattered ice, cut through the air.

"Was this what I asked you?"

The words were accompanied by a casual flick of my wrist, a seemingly innocuous gesture that held a terrifying power.

In the blink of an eye, Miguel dropped the chain, his hands instinctively gripping his gleaming steel staff. Light surged beneath his skin as he channeled his full strength into a defensive block, his warrior instincts taking over.

He might have looked young, but Miguel was nearly a generation older than anyone else present, even older than Butcher Garcia. He was only at the early stage of Wave Realm, but his physical body rivaled that of a late-stage Wave Realmer.

"You've brought this upon yourself!" he snarled, his face contorted in a grimace. "Forgive my offense!"

He gritted his teeth, his face a mask of fury. But in the next instant, a slender hand, knuckles prominent, slammed into his staff.

The terrifying impact snapped the hundred-refined steel, shattering it into a spray of sharp fragments. The force continued unabated, driving into Miguel's chest.

His body, tempered over many years into an indestructible form, now collapsed in the space of a breath!

CRACK!

The sickening sound of breaking bone echoed through the stunned silence of the restaurant.