[427] The Definition of Life (3)
In front of the military-supply community's main gate.
"Heh heh, they're all cowering. What should we do with them?"
"Kill 'em, I guess. Or take them alive?"
The guards' voices grew thin and hoarse, as if extra muscle had formed around their throats.
More startling than that was the aura they gave off.
Blade, fang, claw—when you face a creature bent on killing, you feel a fierce presence. But each carries a different temperament.
A murderer? A predator?
What came from these men was nothing like that.
An unknown organism. Or some strange amalgam of existing creatures.
'Can't afford to be embarrassed again.'
Kuan stayed ready to spring.
If they showed their true forms, he'd fire his external gravity in three directions.
He'd cut down those on the left first, use feedback to accelerate, and sweep the rest even faster.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
A faint sound, barely audible to anyone but a Schema user, reached Kuan's ears.
It was the click of nails extending long and sharp from the right hand of the guard facing Armin.
"Everyone, stop moving!"
A booming shout came from beyond the main gate.
Kuan planted his feet, spun, and neutralized the external gravity, but it was already too late—the guards had already tasted his blade.
Thock! Thock!
The two guards who had stood on the left dropped their heads to the ground.
Shiina shuddered as Kuan, who had been beside her moments before, was suddenly in the enemy formation.
She hadn't seen when he moved or what motion he'd used.
Most swordsmen rely on thrusting force for surprise; Kuan moved by drawing in—he traveled by suction rather than propulsion.
A burst of acceleration that required no prep or warm-up.
She was immensely relieved he wasn't one of the enemy.
"You bastard! I'll kill you!"
When the guards, rage in their faces, surged forward after seeing their comrades fall, Kuan lifted his sword horizontally, ready to meet them.
"Stop it, you idiots! Didn't you hear me?"
The guards froze instantly.
No dramatic physical change yet, but their faces contorted into something close to monstrous.
With a clang, the iron gate swung open and a huge, middle-aged man walked out.
He wore a minklike fur coat, and a terrified weasel's head had been mounted on each shoulder. His shoulder-length hair was unkempt and frizzy; his sharp features were framed by black-rimmed glasses.
He was Frankwine, leader of Yamang—the man who might as well have owned every hunting ground near the mainland.
Armin stepped forward and asked, "Are you the person in charge here?"
"Hmm."
Frankwine stroked his beard as he eyed Armin, then flashed a grin that showed a few gold teeth.
"Passionate young people. Yeah, I'm the boss. What brings you?"
"We have a request for the military-supply community."
"Aha! So you want to do business. Right—business is necessary. Come in, come in."
"Boss! Those bastards just killed two of our comrades! Are you really going to let them in like this?"
Frankwine glanced at the two bodies with their throats neatly cut and shrugged.
"So what? Men fight and sometimes die. What, you're crying because their heads were chopped off? What's the big deal?"
"But boss—!"
Frankwine's face twisted in annoyance.
"Are you going to keep contradicting me? Did you die? No. You're alive, right? Then stop fretting about other people's deaths and go do your own job."
The guards ground their teeth as they looked at Armin's group, but in the end they had no choice but to stand aside and let them pass.
Violent. Absolute.
That was Armin's first impression of Yamang.
On the way to the office, Frankwine gave a quick tour of the factories.
Armin had guessed their scope, but seeing it in person made it feel immense.
They handled everything—Kala, the elixir-made food; all kinds of weapons; hunting consumables; medicines—and the massive amount of elixir they got from renting nearby hunting grounds made them arguably the largest community on the mainland.
'Definitely different from anyone we've met so far.'
On guard, Armin probed casually.
"Thank you for your time. I heard you were busy."
"Ah, I drank too much last night. Feeling rough. But what's the point of loafing? Might as well not just sit on my hands. Heh heh heh."
Frankwine opened the office door with the pride of a hotel manager.
The cramped room looked fit for cockroaches; the wallpaper reeked of tobacco and alcohol.
"Wait here a sec. Finish what I'm doing and I'll be back."
After ushering Armin's party in, Frankwine turned down the corridor to a room at the far end.
A handsome blond man with his hair slicked back had his long legs thrown across a desk; he jumped up in alarm when Frankwine entered.
"Oh, boss. You're here."
"What did I say? Sit in my chair one more time and you'll be dead, remember?"
"Who knew you'd actually come back. So—how are they? Those people?"
This was Mitgun, Yamang's second-in-command.
Though the community employed more than three hundred people, only Mitgun could claim to be capable of guarding Frankwine.
Frankwine stuck a crushed cigarette in his mouth and lit it.
"They're workable. Let's entrust them to those folks. The estimate Raysis sent—hand it over again."
Mitgun pulled a sheet from his inner pocket.
Frankwine unfolded it and scanned the names—about ten creature types.
They were split into first and second priorities, and every one of them was hard to hunt.
"Heh heh, I'm crazy, but that woman is out of her mind. How are we supposed to fetch these? If I sent my men, they'd never come back whole."
"But it's an unprecedented offer. She said she'd raise the telomere level of a hundred of our men to level five."
"Hmm. Level five."
Telomere level denotes the pure life-sustaining power.
The higher the telomere level, the stronger the combat potential.
At telomere level five, assuming no explosive biological activity occurs, one could enjoy a lifespan of roughly four hundred years.
A hundred such subordinates would set Yamang on a meteoric rise.
What puzzled Frankwine was why Raysis—who keeps enemies all around her—would so readily offer such radical terms.
"What is she scheming? She only listed top predators from the local food chain."
Adaptation ensures survival, but adaptation alone doesn't make something supreme.
Creatures at the top of the food chain tend to possess powerful traits that compensate for other weaknesses.
"Pervert or not, this is extreme. With such distinct features, it won't be easy to graft them onto other creatures."
"She must have found a method. I don't trust her, but she doesn't act clumsily. And her proposal would definitely benefit Yamang."
Frankwine crumpled the paper and shoved it into his pocket.
"So—you think we should take the deal?"
"Yes. Whatever her motives, it's a golden opportunity to expand Yamang's power. If you have ambitions to dominate Purgatory, you have to take her hand."
Frankwine swung his arm and clocked Mitgun on the jaw.
Mitgun flew like a cannonball and smashed into the wall with a thunderous crack. When he hit the floor on his side, the wall bore a massive fissure.
Clutching his forehead, Mitgun forced himself to his feet as Frankwine opened the door and called, "One more time in my chair and I'll kill you."
Thud.
The door shut.
Armin's group sat in Frankwine's office, each frowning.
Through the stench of booze and smoke crept another sour, fishy odor.
Shiina fanned herself and asked, "What on earth is that smell?"
The men suspected but kept silent.
Etella tilted her head. "Yeah. It smells like some kind of fish…"
Armin hurriedly changed the subject. "Still, it's strange that the head of the military-supply community would suddenly be so cordial."
Shiina agreed. "We shouldn't let our guard down. The guards were odd, and Frankwine's temperament is...off. Maybe there's some variable happening somewhere we don't know about…"
Etella and Kuan nodded.
Even if something was occurring elsewhere, there was nothing they could do about it now.
Frankwine returned with a broad grin. "Ha ha! Sorry—got swamped."
Shiina jumped on him. "This is your office? Why is it such a mess? And what's that smell? It's giving me a headache."
Frankwine looked at her as if she'd asked the silliest question, then suddenly burst into laughter as something occurred to him.
"Ha ha! Right! I partied harder than usual last night…"
Armin gestured to a seat. "Please, sit. We have urgent matters to discuss."
Frankwine took a seat, a little embarrassed, but his mind was already racing with calculations.
All four of them were clearly skilled. Two innocent young women among them—that was uncommon in a Purgatory where survival was everything.
'They're from another world.'
That made things simpler. Frankwine wasn't from Purgatory either.
"So then, what brings the fearsome pair who wiped out two of my capable men to this shabby little place?"
He hadn't forgotten his men's deaths, but his feeling wasn't grief—more a merchant's calculation of meat prices.
"We want to rent your community's factories."
"Hoo. Starting strong. What are you planning to make?"
Armin gave only the necessary details for the deal.
The core request was production of large Targis.
They would cover all related elixirs and materials, and pay factory rental fees in elixir.
Frankwine licked his lips.
He didn't dislike the offer—every deal is gold to a trader—but the situation felt odd.
A sudden estimate from Second Commander Raysis. And now a Targis-production request that surely involved First Headquarters.
'Something's happening on the rebel side.'
Armin emphasized once more, "We won't be stingy with compensation."
Frankwine snapped out of his thoughts and beamed.
"If it's a big job, of course you'd come to us. Turns out you're big shots. But to run a factory you can't rely on elixir alone. As you know, we're doing very well lately."
"And?"
Elixir functions differently from currency, but on the mainland it's the most common commodity for obtaining goods.
Armin couldn't immediately see why Frankwine said elixir alone wouldn't be enough.
"Hmm. What to do about that."
Frankwine pretended to ponder, then scribbled at his desk.
He tore a page from a notebook, crumpled it, and tossed it onto the table. Armin smoothed it out and read.
A glint of light flashed from beneath the bandage covering his eyes.
Hunting List
1. Photosynthetic Monstrous Entity Olkir — Hunt Rank A
2. Bakyo-type Izeremon — Hunt Rank A
3. Transparent-Eared Hororos — Hunt Rank B
4. True Mycelial Species Galtomic — Hunt Rank S
5. Infinite Cell Proliferation Entity Kenser — Hunt Rank S
6. Consumption Fiend Kuzen — Hunt Rank A
7. Acid-Poison King Muusa — Hunt Rank B
8. Armored Mineral Species Ringer — Hunt Rank Double S