Jackal Tark

Jackal Tark was definitely a "celebrity" in the Underhive!

Rumor had it he wasn't originally from the Underhive. He'd offended some nobles in the Mid-hive and faced political persecution, being forcibly exiled to the Underhive.

But Jackal Tark's fame didn't stem from his origins or identity.

After all, thousands were persecuted and exiled by nobles every year; it wasn't exactly noteworthy.

What truly made Jackal Tark famous was when the Crusader Gang, who then held sway in the Underhive, smashed his stall.

Then, Tark, without anyone noticing, infiltrated the Crusader Gang. Unseen and undetected, he decapitated their leader and hung the head on their doorstep.

No one knew how Tark managed it, but from that day on, the Crusader Gang, vowing revenge for their leader, mobilized their entire force.

Just as everyone believed Tark was doomed, a shocking reversal occurred!

Tark moved like a phantom, like the Grim Reaper himself wielding a scythe. He killed the Crusader Gang members one by one, severing their heads and tossing them at the gang's stronghold.

Soon, the Crusader Gang collapsed. They couldn't find "Tark" and didn't even dare to close their eyes.

Because every time they shut their eyes, they might never open them again.

Finally, with the pile of severed heads growing higher at their doorstep, the Crusader Gang disbanded completely. No one dared to bother Tark anymore.

After that incident, many gave Tark the nickname "Jackal"!

It was a metaphor, like a jackal, that would lock onto its target and refuse to let go, always ready to deliver a fatal blow—cruel and cunning.

When Alvin learned the other party's identity was "Jackal" Tark, he was shocked, but a thought suddenly struck him.

Should he... tell Tark about the Cult?

But he quickly extinguished the idea.

Setting aside whether Tark would even believe him, even if he did tell him, what guarantee was there that he'd be willing to help?

Thinking deeper, without knowing the Cult's scale, Alvin couldn't be sure if Tark wasn't part of the Cult himself.

He couldn't take that gamble, because the price of losing would be his life!

Tark flicked the ash from his cigarette, scoffing, "Kid, don't tell me you've got nothing and expect me to help, right?"

"No, esteemed Mr. Tark."

Alvin directly tossed the cloth-wrapped gold nugget he was holding: "Are you satisfied with this as a show of 'sincerity'?"

Clang!

The cloth bundle landed on the table with a dull thud.

"Metal?"

Tark raised an eyebrow, a hint of interest piquing.

"You can take a look, Mr. Tark," Alvin said, deliberately playing coy.

In truth, he was nervous. Gold was a hard currency even in 2K, but in 40K, who knew?

Under Alvin's anxious gaze, Tark tore open the cloth, revealing the irregular, gleaming yellow nuggets within.

He'd deliberately used his Psykana to reshape the neat gold bars into chunks, lest their unusual nature be discovered.

"This is... Gold?"

Tark's voice suddenly rose a few octaves, surprise flashing in his eyes: "Where did you find this stuff?"

"In the waste disposal chute 0-4," Alvin lied casually. "I pried it off some fancy-looking clock. It should be worth a lot, right?"

Tark held the irregular gold nuggets, looking thoughtfully at Alvin: "This is called Gold. It's rarely seen in the Underhive or Mid-hive; only nobles in the Upper-hive use it. Its value is hard to estimate, but it's definitely worth much more than you imagine."

Hearing his description, Alvin finally relaxed and said, "Then please arrange for me to be smuggled into the Mid-hive as soon as possible."

"The value of this is enough for a Mid-hive resident permit."

Tark looked at him meaningfully. "Are you sure you only need smuggling and don't want me to help you get a resident permit?"

"You can get a resident permit?"

Now, Alvin was genuinely shocked. Just how capable was this guy?

"I can, but it will take three months," Tark said nonchalantly, playing with the gold nugget. "I, Tark, always hate being shortchanged, but I never take advantage either. How about it, kid?"

Three months was too long. By the time the permit was ready, the Cult might have already reached the Upper-hive. What use would it be then?

Alvin sighed inwardly and shook his head, refusing. "No, just smuggling is fine."

"Oh?"

Tark narrowed his eyes, seemingly appraising Alvin.

A moment later, he grinned, picked up the cigarette on the table, lit it, and took a deep drag. "Alright, you pay, I work. I won't ask why."

Alvin nodded calmly. "As soon as possible. I'm in a hurry."

"Come back in three days. I'll take you to the Mid-hive."

Tark flicked his ash and said calmly, "One gold nugget for smuggling is enough. For the remaining two, I won't take advantage of you. Any other requests?"

"High-purity energy, a deflection field generator, weapons, protective gear. Anything." Alvin said without hesitation.

These items were exactly what he needed most right now, especially "high-purity energy."

"Heh, these things aren't so easy to get your hands on."

Tark mused, glancing up at him and grinning, "But for me, it's not a problem. Forget the Deflection Field, not even the top-tier nobles have many of those. I can probably manage the rest, though. Any special requests?"

So capable?

Alvin was somewhat shocked. It seemed Tark's background was even deeper than he had imagined.

After a moment of thought, he shook his head and said directly, "No special requests. The more powerful the weapons, the better."

"Kid, you're not planning to assassinate a noble, are you?"

Tark eyed him suspiciously. Sneaking into the Mid-hive with such powerful equipment looked like he had impure intentions.

"I'm not an idiot, and I'm not looking to die."

Alvin felt a mix of amusement and exasperation. He shook his head and explained, "Actually, I've offended some people and am being forced to take refuge in the Mid-hive. The weapons are purely for self-defense, it's that simple."

"Oh, I see..."

For some reason, Alvin felt Tark seemed a little regretful?

"Alright, I've made a note of it."

The fleeting regret in Tark's eyes vanished, replaced by a serious expression. "Come back in three days. You can leave now if there's nothing else."

"I look forward to seeing you in three days, Mr. Tark."

The deal struck, Alvin gave a slight bow and turned to leave decisively.

He trusted "Jackal Tark's" character. After all, this guy was known throughout the Underhive for repaying kindness and avenging wrongs.

Watching Alvin leave from the second floor, Tark weighed the gold bars in his hand and couldn't help but scoff, "Heh, a lying brat. Even the idiots in the Upper-hive wouldn't be foolish enough to throw gold into the Underhive."

He knew very well this kid had secrets, but Tark couldn't be bothered to investigate.

So many people had secrets these days. If he tried to investigate every single one, where would he find the energy?

Moreover, Tark found this kid interesting.

It was as if a voice in the back of his mind told him that this kid would bring him great surprises in the future.

Just then, another tall, thin, and sharp-looking man rushed up to the second floor, lowering his voice in a panic, "Bad news, boss, something big has happened!"

"What's so big? Catch your breath first."

Tark turned around unhurriedly, calmly sat down in his chair, lit a cheap cigarette, and crossed his legs, exuding a composed aura.

As if influenced by Tark's calm demeanor, the tall, thin man took a few deep breaths. Once he had calmed down, his expression turned grave. "Just now, the Blood Axe Gang was wiped out by the Iron Hammer Gang!"

"That's the big news you're talking about?"

Tark glanced at the tall, thin man with amusement and said irritably, "This little thing scared you like this? It'll only be big news when all the gangs in the Underhive are gone. What's the big deal about one gang being wiped out?"

"Oh, boss, it's not that simple!" The tall, thin man's face turned pale. He swallowed and said cautiously, "Not only was the Blood Axe Gang wiped out, but over three hundred Scavengers from the East District were also killed by the Iron Hammer Gang, not a single one left!"

"Over three hundred Scavengers killed by the Iron Hammer Gang?"

Hearing this, Tark's brow furrowed. He straightened his back abruptly from his relaxed posture.

"Yes, more than half the Scavengers in the entire East District, except for those who didn't go out today, are basically all dead!"

The tall, thin man wiped the cold sweat from his brow, still seeming frightened, his voice trembling slightly. "You didn't see it, boss. The entire junkyard was dyed red with blood. The Iron Hammer Gang is too cruel!"

"Only blood? No bodies?"

A terrible suspicion suddenly flashed through Tark's mind, and he quickly pressed, "No, no... I didn't see any bodies." The tall, thin man scratched his head. "There was only blood, and no Scavengers returned."

Tark sat back down in his chair, but his eyes were now filled with confusion.

No bodies?