Unlimited Hunting

Gordon had arranged to meet them at dusk.

As twilight fell, the Blackwater River looked even dirtier and more decrepit. A fishing boat slowly approached from downstream and stopped along the bank, a little over a hundred meters from the Montfort Ancestral Home.

The boat looked quite old. Gordon saw iron cages, fishing nets, ropes, and several unusually large wooden barrels on its deck. He had no idea what the barrels were for.

Five people came ashore: Old Baz and three burly sailors with brutal faces. Peter trailed behind them like a dejected prisoner.

"Gordon." Peter hurried over to his side. "I brought them. You'd better really be able to get a whole swarm of Deepclaw Demons to cooperate. These people don't mess around. I hear Old Baz can kill a man with one thrust of his harpoon..."

Gordon followed his gaze. Sure enough, Old Baz had a harpoon strapped to his back. Noticing Gordon looking, Old Baz gave him an extremely unfriendly smile.

Facing these hulking men, Gordon had nothing to his name but a sealed bottle tucked against his chest, with a few drops of water inside.

To him, that water might fetch a fortune. It was his way out of his student debt, and might even spare him from ever sleeping on a wooden plank bed again.

"Don't worry," Gordon said.

"How can I not worry?" Peter said anxiously. "You have no idea how many lies I told for you today. I put up five silver coins out of my own pocket, and I even promised Old Baz I'd hand you over to him if this information turned out to be false."

"I have two legs."

"So do I, and mine are longer," Peter said.

Vera stood on the bank and looked at the iron cages aboard the boat.

"Not enough," she said.

"Not enough what?" Old Baz glanced at the sailors beside him.

"Cages. Too few. They won't hold all the live Water Monkeys. And Water Monkeys aren't worth anything unless they're alive." Vera sounded regretful.

"You think I don't know that?" Old Baz laughed. "Miss Hunter, you may know how to kill aberrant demons, but you don't know the first thing about this trade."

"You..." Vera frowned.

"It's fine. I know a little," Gordon said.

Old Baz finally looked at him.

"You're the one who claims he can... lure in Deepclaw Demons?" Old Baz said pointedly. "I've caught them before. You need the right moment and a bit of luck to deal with them. Sometimes you even have to throw a dog into the water first."

"Don't worry. They'll walk right into our nets." Gordon began his preparations.

Old Baz couldn't be bothered to argue anymore. He had traveled the Blackwater River for thirty years. He didn't need a university student to teach him what Water Monkeys were. These aberrant demons were viciously cunning, good at enduring hunger, and solitary by nature. Wary and sly, they hid beneath bridges and watched people from behind.

"If nothing shows up... what about all the time we've wasted..." One sailor stared at Peter.

A chill ran down Peter's back. He began wondering whether it was too late to claim he barely knew Gordon.

He had already planned his escape route: first, say something urgent had come up at the academy, then return to his dormitory, pack his things, apply for leave to visit his family, and spend a year back in his homeland. Once everyone in Lundenim had forgotten about this, he could return and make a fresh start.

Gordon took the glass bottle from inside his clothes. Its mouth was tightly plugged with sealing wax, and there was only a little water inside.

He had instructed the butler, Evans, to collect it. In the twilight, that tiny amount of water looked perfectly still, with nothing strange about it.

"That's it?" Old Baz narrowed his eyes.

"That's it."

"You called us all here just to look at this?"

Gordon said nothing. He simply removed the sealing wax, swung his arm, and hurled the bottle into the water.

Splash...!

A bottle of water had fallen into the river. Naturally, nothing would happen.

The Blackwater River flowed on as usual.

The sailors looked at Old Baz.

Old Baz looked at Gordon.

This seemed destined to become an enormous joke. Two minutes passed. Peter had already extended his escape route to his aunt's house in Cobbenhaven and decided which port he would change ships at.

Gordon hadn't moved at all. He could keep his composure because, in his eyes, that drop of water had already spread out like a net that knew how to cast itself through the Blackwater River.

At some point, the atmosphere suddenly grew tense. One sailor lowered his head and only then realized that his hair was standing on end.

Then a V-shaped wake suddenly appeared on the distant water, moving against the current.

Gordon watched intently. Soon, he saw several grayish-white shapes appear, swimming just beneath the surface and heading straight for the spot where the glass bottle had landed.

One.

Three.

Seven.

...Then there were too many to count. Ripples became undercurrents, and undercurrents became surging waves. The monsters clearly came from different places, yet their destination was uncannily the same.

That swimming motion... there was no doubt about it. Water Monkeys. Old Baz's heart jolted. People at the old fish market generally disliked catching Water Monkeys. They fetched little money and could easily cost a man a hand. But this was different. They were lining up to come ashore and be caught!

Peter instantly canceled his escape plans. His beloved homeland would have to wait a little longer for its wandering son to return.

"Aaaargh-" A Deepclaw Demon climbed onto the bank and shook the water from its body.

It was less than two meters from Old Baz's legs, yet it looked at no one. It simply gazed lovingly at that patch of water.

Its stare was deeply unsettling. It never blinked, and throaty growls kept rising from its mouth, as though it were calling out to something...

Vera walked over.

One thrust.

Shnk!

The black sword pierced its head.

With an exceptionally clean motion, Vera flung it onto the bank as though discarding a piece of trash.

More Water Monkeys followed immediately, charging forward without any regard for their companion's death. They seemed to be under some spell of blind madness, darting out from every direction, frenzied and dangerous. Yet they were interested only in that drop of water and ignored everything else.

"Get to work! Get to work, damn you!" Old Baz roared.

That roar jolted everyone awake.

The sailors finally reacted, letting out a chorus of bellows.

Two sailors grabbed harpoons, while the third went to open the iron cages.

They were open for business!

They maneuvered the boat toward the utterly defenseless swarm of Deepclaw Demons and began hauling them in.

Spear them! Haul them up! Knock them out! Cage them!

Their movements grew faster and more practiced...

Water splashed ceaselessly, iron chains clattered, harpoons pierced flesh, and Deepclaw Demons howled. The scene was crude and reeking of blood, yet it set the heart racing, with a kind of primal beauty born of humans on the hunt.

The few iron cages soon filled up. Even breaking their arms to cram them inside wouldn't make room for more. The sailors could only stab the remaining Deepclaw Demons to death and scoop them up in fishing nets.

Throughout it all, they never showed the slightest thought of resisting. They merely danced an ancient dance in the middle of the river, understood by them alone, singing praises to what they held truly sacred... until the last one died.

Vera flicked the black blood from her sword and glanced at Old Baz.

"You could've earned more if you'd brought another couple of cages," she said scornfully.

Old Baz didn't answer back. At last, he stopped looking at the river.

"This was a good haul today." Old Baz turned toward Gordon and spoke slowly. Something had entered his rough voice without his noticing: respect.

"Now, Mr. Baz," Gordon said amiably, "we need to settle the accounts."