Treasure Hunters are sensitive to information. Just as Thousand Transformations' mere attempt to purchase a Treasure Weapon once spread like wildfire, this particular piece of intelligence had reached every Treasure Hunter in an instant.
Thousand Transformations — the brilliant strategist who had effortlessly handled countless crises — was powering up.
The information was tangled and contradictory. Some claimed the attack on the Clan House was the trigger, while others insisted that even that assault was part of Thousand Transformations' design.
The only point of agreement was that retaliation would be thorough and merciless.
Of course, that would violate imperial law. No matter how high-level a Hunter was — no, precisely because they were high-level Hunters, breaking the law could not be tolerated.
But the infamy of the Mourning Specter had an impressive track record to back up such a threat. They had once pursued those who defied them to the very ends of the earth and never let them escape.
Imperial Capital Zebuldia. In a corner of the Decadent District — known as a crucible of criminals that distilled the capital's darkness into its purest form — a certain shop existed quietly.
A mansion that looked like ruins on the verge of collapse. Open the half-detached, weathered door, step inside, and descend the staircase leading underground.
The Red Tavern. Born as a place for society's outcasts to share information, it was essentially a shadow version of the Explorer's Guild — brokering dirty commissions for those who operated in the margins.
The shop was narrow, but admission to the tavern was granted only to those from large organizations or first-rate individuals with top-tier credentials backed by such groups.
Inside, with a handful of tables scattered about, only a few customers remained aside from the intimidatingly-faced owner. Their appearances, genders, and ages varied wildly, but what they all shared was the cruel light in their eyes and the aura of violence that clung to them like a second skin.
In the dim corner of the shop, around a small table, sat a man and a woman. Black hair that concealed their faces down to the eyes. A slight, brooding man and a golden-haired woman with sharp, aggressive eyes.
Compared to the other patrons, their intimidation factor was subtler, but the mere fact that they existed in this place was proof enough that they were skilled Red Hunters.
Non-Combat and Gold. The pair were big-game assassins known by their epithets.
The reason these two, who usually worked overseas, had come all the way to Zebuldia was that a certain man had a massive bounty placed on his head.
The reward was staggeringly high for a single Treasure Hunter. If they pulled it off, they could live in luxury for the rest of their lives. And to be the ones who killed the Hunter who had outsmarted that old fox — that alone would bring them fame.
Yet before what could truly be called the job of a lifetime, the pair looked anything but cheerful.
The golden-haired woman — an Archer who never missed her mark, Gold — slammed her fist on the table and glared down at the man intimidatingly.
"Are you seriously getting cold feet now!? We already launched another attack!"
Assassination was an easy job for Gold. Even when the target was a seasoned Treasure Hunter, she had completed every job without a single mistake.
Targets who were clearly superior in power posed no problem either. Growth through Mana Material was heavily influenced by one's own will, but most Treasure Hunters channeled the Mana Material they absorbed into offense. Defense could be sufficiently covered by equipment, but without boosting attack power, you couldn't put a dent in formidable Phantoms. No one who had been shot in a vital spot by Gold — who had focused her absorbed Mana Material on stealth and attack power — had ever remained standing.
And what made that job even more certain was her partner, Non-Combat.
A distrustful man who always seemed lacking in confidence, but his ability to defeat targets without ever engaging in direct combat — freely manipulating explosives and poisons — carried a terror entirely different from brute strength.
When Gold and Non-Combat, each with their own specialty, teamed up, there was no one they couldn't kill.
And yet, the man who always trembled and seemed so uncertain yet delivered results with absolute reliability was now completely deflated.
"I-I can't do it. We w-won't win. That man is... a m-monster."
"We already knew he was a monster! He's Level 8!"
Normally, assassins didn't target Level 8 Hunters. The risk was simply too great.
A Treasure Hunter's certified level could only be raised by accumulating achievements, verified through exams. A Level 8 Hunter was, in a sense, proof that one was among the strongest humans alive.
Through countless deadly ordeals, the sheer volume of Mana Material absorbed, the amount of effort invested, and above all, talent — it all set them apart. There were various types, from one-skill specialists to all-rounders, but Level 8 Hunters possessed power that blew all such distinctions away.
Even in Zebuldia — this sanctuary of Hunters — there were only four people at Level 8 or above, which should make their abnormality abundantly clear.
And yet, despite everything, they had decided to go through with it. Weighing the risk against the bounty and the glory, they had resolved to take the shot.
Gold was a hunter. Having planned the operation and made her probing move, retreat at this point was simply unthinkable.
But as Gold crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes, her partner spoke while trembling violently.
"Y-yes, I... I did think it m-might not work. But it's n-not just his strength. Ah... he threw my special bombs right back at Gaark. Ah, some of the screws in his head are definitely —"
"............"
"How are w-weaklings like us supposed to kill someone even m-more crazed than we are!"
The shop had fallen dead silent. The black-suited owner at the counter, the other patrons — no one said a word. But his words hit the mark.
An assassin's strength lay in the awareness that their actions were criminal from the very start.
Therefore, Gold didn't need to choose her means to achieve her objective — as long as the target remained rational, the advantage lay with Gold. It didn't matter how powerful the target was.
But what if the target had no intention of choosing their means either?
Gold understood clearly the meaning of the terror reflected in Non-Combat's eyes.
"O-of course! They're on the same level as us, Gold! They're standing on the same ground! L-listen — they'll do it! Things even we can't do! They'll kill our friends, acquaintances, family — and h-hang them! As a public display! They're not afraid of doing something that isn't righteous!"
"...I don't have any friends. Besides you. My family's been dead for ages."
"I-I have people I care about."
As Gold narrowed her eyes, Non-Combat rose unsteadily to his feet and waved his arms wildly as he shouted.
The table rattled, and the air froze.
"J-just look! Those bastards who came here with us, so self-assured — they've almost all run off! Because the Guild is t-terrified of the Mourning Specter overreacting!"
"............Well, that's that."
Indeed — it was the worst-case scenario.
If word got out that the Explorer's Guild, to which the Mourning Specter belonged, was itself afraid of that Party's excesses, even assassins would flee.
If even their allies feared that Party's actions, there was no reason for their enemies — Gold and the rest — not to fear them.
This was obviously a mountain too dangerous to climb. A living fortune, a true monster — no amount of money was worth the risk.
To avoid retaliation, they'd have to eliminate the entire Party, but even one target alone would be one thing — taking out a Party with two named elites couldn't possibly be done by just the two of them.
They had been considering hiring additional manpower depending on how things developed, but everyone had fled.
From the moment the first strike was launched, they were enemies. Retreating now was extremely dangerous in many ways, but in this case, it might still be better to run. They hadn't even glimpsed the target's limits yet.
Bombs and arrows hadn't worked. Poison might not work either. Most importantly, it was rare for the sharp-minded Non-Combat to make such a definitive assessment.
It was a completely wasted effort. A sigh of frustration escaped involuntarily.
"Tch. Giving up on a target once we've decided on them looks bad, but if you're that insistent, I guess there's no choice. Once that's settled, let's get out of this country quick."
"Y-yeah. M-monster hunting isn't our line of work."
The enemy was probably lying in wait for their second strike. It was certain they'd been found out as merely testing the waters on the first attack.
No matter how brilliant a strategist Thousand Transformations was, they wouldn't expect someone to make such an obvious probing move and then immediately bolt.
As these thoughts ran through their mind, the shop shook violently. The sound of something heavy crashing against the metal door.
The owner sprang to his feet reflexively, and the other patrons shifted into combat stances. Non-Combat groaned, his face drained of color, and pressed his back against the wall.
The air trembled. A heavy impact struck the door again and again.
The door was sturdy, but it hadn't been designed to withstand people who would charge head-on into a gathering place for skilled assassins.
No — more fundamentally, very few people should have even known about this shop. Where had the information leaked? He glanced at the owner, who was shaking his head.
From beyond the door came a scream. A young woman's voice, desperate and strained.
"I won't let you turn the Master into a criminal!"
Just one person? A member of the Clan belonging to Thousand Transformations?
They could handle it. One person was no problem. But as if shattering that escapist thought, a rough man's voice boomed through the door.
"I know you're in there! There are fifty of us — accept your fate! We won't hang you or put you on display!"
Fifty people!? Impossible. An absurd number. Even a fairly large Clan wouldn't have fifty members.
It could be a bluff, but it would be dangerous to dismiss it outright. There were many presences beyond the door.
Even if there were really only thirty, it wouldn't make much difference. Gold and Non-Combat didn't even have combat equipment on them. There had been guards outside, but those had probably been dealt with already.
"There's a back exit."
The owner said curtly and vanished behind the counter. The door warped, its hinges clattering. It was being broken down by brute force — there was no time to spare.
"Shit — let's go!"
Grabbing Non-Combat's arm, they rushed toward the back of the counter. Almost simultaneously, the thick, heavy door — weighing several dozen kilos — came crashing inward.