Hunt In Reverse

Butcher Garcia froze, the name echoing in his ears. He blinked, his mind struggling to catch up. As comprehension dawned, awe spread across his bearded face.

Like Rose Hightower, this was a name whispered only in legends. A man with hands capable of shattering mountains, a slayer of vampires whose victims lay piled at his feet. A man favored by the admiral of H.A.R.M. Cascadia, chosen as a disciple, inheritor of unparalleled secret techniques.

And yet... here he stood, offering a humble gift of oranges and dried meat.

Despite his grandiosity, Butcher Garcia knew this legendary figure would not seek him out. "I'm just staying here temporarily," he stammered, flustered. "The owner of the house is... out."

"Where did he go?" Max demanded, his impatience barely contained.

"He..." Garcia licked his lips, pointing towards the park. "Look, he's back. And it looks like he brought food."

Max turned, his gaze sweeping across the garden.

A handsome young man in black approached, a sleek dark blade strapped to his waist, two takeaway boxes balanced in his hands. He was not only unharmed, but his sleeve now bore an additional star.

"Captain Kane," Butcher Garcia boomed, his voice cutting through the stillness. "Someone's here to see you!" Whether this was a friendly visit or trouble, he wanted to give Kane a moment to prepare.

Probably not trouble, Garcia thought, his gaze flickering to the oranges and meat. If it was, I'd be flat on my back by now.

He watched Kane's unhurried approach with a growing unease. Back in Pinewood County, Kane had acted with a reckless disregard for danger. Why was he still so nonchalant here in Seattle?

If only Kane could seize this opportunity to connect with Max Vierkant, the looming threat of the Crown Mountain Leviasaur might be averted. With Vierkant's influence, a simple transfer order could get them both out of harm's way.

… …

Surprise flickered across my face as I saw Max Vierkant standing at my door. I had sensed his presence earlier, but I hadn't expected him to arrive bearing gifts.

"What brings you here?" I asked, strolling towards them with an unhurried pace. I thought I had made myself clear last time. There were no lingering obligations between us, no unresolved feud.

Max inhaled deeply, steadying his breath, and thrust the oranges and dried meat into Butcher Garcia's hands.

With a slight bow, he said, "I've come to clear up a misunderstanding and offer my apologies."

Butcher Garcia's jaw dropped. He stared at Max, his breath catching in his throat.

Apol...apologize?

I glanced at Max, noticing the tension in his frame, the slight tremor in his hands. A quiet sigh escaped my lips.

Just as I expected.

Max straightened, his hands clenching and unclenching. He exhaled slowly, a turbid breath escaping his lips. He had followed Senior Brother Bai's instructions to the letter.

His eyes burned with a fierce intensity. "Secondly," he declared, "to rectify my mistake, I'm here to bring you back. If you refuse, I'll have to resort to force. Once we return, I'll offer another apology."

As he spoke, a surge of power erupted from him, radiating outwards like a heatwave. The air crackled with energy.

"Damn," Butcher Garcia muttered, his eyes widening. So it was trouble after all!

He stiffened, his hand instinctively reaching for the butcher knife tucked into his belt. He shot a desperate glance at me, speechless. Ever since his path crossed with mine, trouble seemed to follow me like a shadow, each encounter escalating in danger. Previously, he could at least offer some assistance, but this situation was entirely beyond his capabilities.

Then, my voice cut through the tension, calm and unconcerned. "No need for theatrics," I said, my tone almost bored. "If you want to fight, just say so."

I turned and walked into the house, placing the takeaway boxes on the table with a gentle thud. I stood with my hands clasped behind my back, an image of serene composure.

A flicker of disbelief crossed Max's face, quickly replaced by a bitter smile. "Reputation," he muttered, his voice laced with resentment, "once lost, it's truly hard to regain."

His words still hung in the air as he vanished, a blur of motion leaving only an afterimage. This time, he would hold nothing back. He would reclaim his lost honor.

The oppressive aura of the Wave Realm filled the room, pressing down like a suffocating weight.

"I trust you learned something from my carelessness last time," he said, his voice a low growl.

He materialized behind me, his eyes as cold and deep as an ancient well, his bulging muscles rippling with terrifying power.

Shadow Touch!

"Don't worry," he said, a cruel smile twisting his lips. "Senior Brother Bai's skills are excellent. Though it might sting a bit. Consider it a lesson."

His eyes, honed by years of combat, traced the intricate network of veins beneath my skin.

He struck with explosive force, his palms carrying every ounce of his power, slammed forward!

I pivoted, mirroring his movement, but with a fluidity and grace that surpassed his own. My speed was deceptive, just a fraction faster than his, enough to create an opening.

My fingertips brushed against his arms, redirecting his force. My hand transformed from a palm to a fist, unleashing a Tempest Strike that connected with his chest in a simple, direct blow.

Thump!

The impact reverberated through the room. Max Vierkant flew backwards, crashing through the door and rolling across the ground. He lay sprawled on the grass, his hands trembling at his sides.

It all happened in a flash, leaving him no chance to react.

He lay there, winded and disoriented, the metallic tang of blood filling his mouth. Above him, the afternoon sky stretched into a vast expanse of blue, a stark contrast to the chaos of his thoughts.

… …

Inside the house.

I straightened my collar and sat down at the table, opening the takeaway boxes and retrieving two sets of plastic utensils. I offered one to Butcher Garcia. "Let's eat," I said, my tone casual.

Garcia's gaze darted from the scene outside to me, finally settling on the cutlery in my hand. His face contorted in a mixture of confusion and disbelief. He tugged at his beard, his eyes wide as he struggled to reconcile the peaceful scene before him with the violent confrontation he had just witnessed.

Either that wasn't Max Vierkant, he thought, or this isn't John Kane.

"Pass me an orange," I requested, my voice breaking through his stunned silence.

"Oh," Garcia mumbled, his train of thought derailed. He silently handed me the fruit, a sense of bewilderment still clouding his features.

Then, Wade Rivers' words echoed in his mind: "It wouldn't be surprising for someone like him to do anything."

… …

I peeled the orange, my gaze drifting towards Max Vierkant sprawled on the grass.

Since Max had said someone could heal him, I had been a bit heavier-handed this time. His arms wouldn't be moving for at least two months.

This kind of martial fanatic, if you don't beat him into submission, who knows how much trouble he'll cause in the future.

My recent breakthrough to the Wave Realm wasn't simply an increase in celestial essence; it was a transformation. My strength, speed, and perception had all undergone a profound shift, further amplified by the Leviasaur Power.

Max Vierkant, in comparison, seemed slow, weak, predictable. He barely posed a threat.

I had joined H.A.R.M. to slay vampires. Why keep trying to confine me to that courtyard? If the Leviasaur from Crown Mountain truly sought revenge, I needed to be prepared, not trapped and helpless.

… …

A moment later, Max Vierkant flipped himself up to his feet, his face a mask of stoicism. He spat out a mouthful of blood, then walked into the house, his arms hanging limp at his sides.

He sat down directly at the table: "I don't understand."

"Me neither," Butcher Garcia said, offering him a sympathetic look and a duck leg. "What happened to your hands? Want some food?"

Max opened his mouth and took a bite of the duck leg offered to him, chewing forcefully.

I twirled some pasta onto my fork, my gaze fixed on Max. "Aren't you going to get your injuries treated?"

"Not today," he mumbled, recalling Senior Brother Bai's parting advice. He stood and headed towards the next room. "I'll sleep here tonight and leave tomorrow."

His shoulders slumped as he walked away, his dejection palpable.

At the door, he paused, turning back to face me, his cheeks flushed. "Do you think... what I said before was ridiculous?"

I set down my fork. "No," I replied calmly. "You guys are geniuses. It's natural for geniuses to possess pride."

"Aren't you a genius? Why don't you have any pride?" Confusion flashed across Max's face.

"I certainly am not." I said, stretching languidly. A true prodigy wouldn't take thirty years to master Shadow Strike.

A thoughtful silence stretched between us, Max's expression gradually softening with a newfound respect.

So, in the eyes of true genius, he realized, we're nothing but arrogant fools, strutting around like peacocks, blind to our own shortcomings. The realization stung, a bitter taste of humility he had never experienced before.

"If I hadn't been born a decade earlier," he declared, his voice firm, "and already pledged to my master, I, Max Vierkant, would willingly become your disciple."

Leaving those words behind, he turned and disappeared into the next room.

This left me a little confused. I pursed my lips and pondered for a moment before realizing... that Max seemed to have misunderstood me.