The Hunt

"Was the sound just now coming from this place?"

The leader, a man with cold eyes, stared at the dilapidated, tightly shut door before him and questioned his four deformed subordinates.

Ever since they had ascended to this floor of the abandoned building, the strange noises had ceased.

Perhaps the battle between them had ended, or perhaps they had already sensed the arrival of these newcomers.

"Boss, I'm certain the sound came from here. Could it be that the two parties fighting inside have already finished each other off?"

The tall, thin man offered his opinion from behind, his shoulder still bearing the weight of a female slave who had fainted from the pain of having her legs broken.

"There are five of us, and you, Boss, are the pride of our Drifter Camp. Even if the guys inside are still alive, they definitely won't be a match for us, hehe."

In an apocalypse where even a full meal was a luxury, the rare fat man let out a lecherous laugh, seemingly unable to wait to rush in and claim his prey to fill his empty stomach.

"Is that so? Since you're so confident, why don't you go in first and lead the charge?"

The leader sneered, fixing a bloodthirsty, cold gaze upon the fat man.

In truth, none of them had ever taken this bloated man, who struggled with hunting tasks, seriously.

They merely kept him as a "meat ticket"—a reserve of food to be used whenever times got tough.

The foolish fat man, however, was unaware that he was nothing more than emergency rations, naively believing that following behind the boss was an honor.

"Uh... Boss, you're joking, right? I'm so slow; if I accidentally let the prey escape, all our efforts would be in vain. Why don't we all go in together?"

The fat man, who had been excited just a moment ago, saw his true nature exposed the moment he was asked to take the lead. His face turned ugly, and his mouth twitched as he spoke.

However, the only response from the leader was a cold stare, as if to say, "Do I look like I'm joking?"

"Dead fatso, you contribute the least and eat the most, damn it. It's time for you to show your worth."

The other subordinates chimed in, seemingly eager for the guy to die sooner; after all, it had been a long time since any of them had tasted pork belly...

Under the jeers of his companions and the icy glare of the boss, the fat man swallowed hard and finally moved his heavy feet.

He drew a rusted dagger that carried its own toxic properties with his left hand and approached the door at an agonizingly slow pace, hesitating over how to open it safely.

"Do you really need me to kick you in there before you're satisfied?"

Only after hearing the boss's impatient urging from behind did the fat man finally tremble as he pushed the door open.

Creeeak~

The rotting door frame let out a harsh, long-neglected groan, giving the fat man goosebumps. Deciding to stop hesitating, he shoved the door wide open with a loud bang!

Once pushed open, there was no monster lunging out as he had imagined.

There was no scene of bloody slaughter as he had hoped for, either.

It was just an ordinary, dilapidated room, and the dust covering the floor showed no signs of recent habitation.

"Huh? Could it be that the sound didn't come from this room?"

Seeing this, the fat man breathed a slight sigh of relief. Since there was no danger, this was his moment to shine.

"Wait."

Just as he was about to stride into the room, the boss behind him suddenly called out, startling the fat man so much that his right foot, which was about to land, froze in mid-air.

The leader picked up a worm-eaten wooden stick from the floor and stepped forward to poke at a few broken floorboards beneath the fat man's feet.

CRACK!!!

Suddenly!

Accompanied by a heavy metallic clang, a bear trap hidden beneath the debris snapped upward and clamped shut!

The iron jaws, lined with jagged metal teeth, pulverized the wooden stick in the leader's hand, and wood splinters instantly sprayed onto the fat man's shocked face.

If he had stepped down, he might have been having pig's trotter soup tonight...

"Hmph, someone is definitely in here. These childish tricks only work on idiots like you."

The experienced hunter snorted coldly, used the remaining half of the stick to pry out the rusted bear trap, and tossed it to a subordinate to carry—it was a decent piece of gear.

"B-Boss, thank you..."

After the shaken fat man regained his composure, the other subordinates drew their respective weapons, restless and ready to swarm in.

Anyone capable of setting such a trap must be a drifter who had survived in the wild for a long time; the loot would surely be plentiful.

The fat man, unable to support his heavy frame on one leg, stumbled and habitually leaned forward, finally planting his right foot down.

"Uh?"

The fat man felt his right foot trip over a thin string. Before he could react, he saw a white line, as thin as a spider's silk, snap toward his face with a sharp whoosh!

Swish!

The group sensed something amiss and instinctively stopped in their tracks.

Through the crimson moonlight shining into the room, they could barely make out a thin metal wire snagged behind the fat man's neck.

The fat man stood frozen in place, as motionless as a puppet caught in a display.

"Hey, you..."

The leader finally grew impatient, stepping forward to kick him; these guys were just like donkeys, needing a lash of the whip before they'd take the next step.

The fat man who had been kicked did indeed move, his obese body beginning to topple toward the ground, but what hit the floor a split second sooner was his massive head...

Thud, thud, thud.

The round head rolled to the leader's feet, and the group stared with eyes splitting at the corners at the smooth, bloody stump of the fat man's neck.

That guy inside—he'd actually set a double trap?!

Whoosh!!

Before the group could react to what had just happened, a sharp whistling sound suddenly erupted from the room once more!

The remaining four were true veterans of the hunting grounds; upon hearing the sound, they snapped back to reality, reflexively throwing themselves flat onto the ground!

At that moment, a makeshift arrow grazed the top of the leader's head, taking several strands of his malnourished, yellowed hair with it. Had he been even a fraction of a second slower, that arrow would have pierced his forehead!

"You bastard inside!! I'm going to slaughter you! Shields up!"

In this territory, no one had ever dared to provoke him like this. Since they had become prey in his eyes, they should just obediently accept their deaths.

Daring to put up a fierce resistance? Then only endless agony awaited you!

The leader grinned hideously. At his command of "Shields up," the three deformed subordinates behind him immediately and nimbly pulled several splints made of asbestos, iron sheets, and metal wire from their backs.

They quickly assembled these splints together, forming a triangular, makeshift mobile "bunker" about a meter high. Although it looked incredibly crude, the sturdy material construction could even withstand the impact of a handgun!

Beyond that, the surface of the "bunker" was welded with dense spikes; if they charged at the enemy, it could inflict massive damage, piercing the target until they were riddled with holes.

Originally, with the fat man included, they could have formed a four-sided square bunker, but being one man short was of no great consequence.

As for their leader, he gripped a sharpened steel blade capable of cutting iron like mud; judging by his bulging muscles, he could easily slice an enemy in two vertically.

This formation was their trump card for conquering the interiors of narrow buildings!

"Brat, you're dead. I'm going to rip your cervical vertebrae out while you're still alive and use it as my belt!"

The leader within the formation grinned hideously, leading his three remaining subordinates as they slowly advanced into the unknown area of the room.

Soon, a role reversal between hunters would begin within this cramped room.