Hunt In Reverse

Hanes Valley, Crown Mountain, Vancouver.

Dozens of sturdy bloodsteeds thundered through the Hanes Valley, their hooves pounding the earth, kicking up clouds of dust that painted the dawn sky a hazy orange. After days of relentless riding, the colonel, cloaked in black, finally dismounted, his gaze fixed on the grim scene ahead.

Rows of tents stood silent, the morning dew clinging to their canvas. A nearby campfire sputtered, dampened by the night's moisture, black charcoal hissing as wisps of white smoke curled upwards. But it was the sight of the fallen H.A.R.M. agents that truly chilled him. A dozen bodies lay clustered together, their uniforms stained crimson, skin and flesh torn open by vicious sword wounds, revealing glimpses of bone.

Colonel Chandra Banerjee led the bloodsteeds towards the makeshift camp, his eyelids twitching involuntarily. Purge Division agents were akin to skilled investigators, adept at working in small teams to handle individual cases. Containment Division agents, on the other hand, were a force of nature, a disciplined army. A hundred men moving in a H.A.R.M. Grand Formation could sweep through a vampire lair with terrifying efficiency.

To see so many casualties meant the situation had spiraled into chaos.

The sound of approaching hooves drew a young man from one of the tents. His cloak, similar to the colonel's, bore a golden eagle embroidered on the shoulder.

He looked at least ten years younger than Chandra, his youthful face pale and drawn, his right arm wrapped in bandages. His aura flickered erratically, betraying his injuries.

"Why have you only just arrived?" he demanded, his voice sharp with displeasure.

"I was just about to ask you, Colonel Washington," Chandra retorted, his voice laced with ice. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, a silent threat. "I entrusted you with forty men to secure Hanes Valley and prevent any Crown Mountain disciples from escaping. And this," he gestured towards the gruesome scene, "is the result?"

Hanes Valley was a natural fortress, ringed by towering cliffs and treacherous terrain. It was easily defendable, making it the ideal location to monitor the movements of the Crown Mountain disciples. Any attempt to descend would be immediately visible to the H.A.R.M. agents stationed there, providing ample time to signal for reinforcements.

"I'm not one to sit idly by," Kenya Washington scoffed, his lip curling in disdain. "Had that old swordsman not interfered, I'd have already stormed the mountain with my men. Just imagine the accolades from General Grant!"

Chandra clenched his jaw, resisting the urge to strike the arrogant young colonel. He followed Kenya's gaze towards the towering cliff.

Perched precariously on the edge, a figure in grey sat cross-legged, his sparse silver hair held in a bun by a simple wooden hairpin. His eyes were closed, his gaunt face etched with the lines of time, his palms resting on his knees, a plain iron sword lying flat across them.

This was the Angry Sword Elder of Crown Mountain, a legendary swordsman who had reached the peak of the Wave Realm decades ago. His name was known throughout Cascadia. Despite his prowess, his advanced age—over three hundred years—and declining health held him back. Were it not for his fear of failure and unwillingness to squander a precious opportunity to crystallize in the legendary Crown Pool, he might have already ascended to the Crystal Realm.

"He's injured," Kenya Washington announced, a smug grin spreading across his face. "And so am I. But he suffered a hidden injury that will take ten days, maybe two weeks, to heal."

Kenya, a scion of a prestigious family, had employed a secret technique to exchange blows with the renowned swordsman, escaping with his life. It was a feat he would proudly recount for years to come.

His arrogance, however, failed to impress the agents present. The Containment Division personnel in golden eagle-emblazoned uniforms gathered by the tents, while Purge Division agents sat astride their bloodsteeds. Their faces were grim, their expressions a blend of resentment and disgust.

I sat impassive on my bloodsteed, the reins held loosely in my hand. So this was the reason for our hasty summons.

"Contribution?" Chandra scoffed, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You should be more concerned about the punishment awaiting you upon your return."

"You!" Kenya sputtered, his face reddening with fury. Were it not for his precarious situation, needing men to maintain the siege, he would never tolerate such insolence from a mere Purge Division colonel.

Dismissing Kenya with a disdainful glance, Chandra turned towards the assembled agents. "Purge Division, dismount!" he commanded.

Over forty figures landed in unison, their boots hitting the ground with a resounding thud.

Chandra strode along the line, his eyes scanning each agent. "Our hasty departure left no time for introductions," he began, his voice crisp and clear. "Many of you aren't under my direct command. I'm Colonel Chandra Banerjee, a sixty-year veteran of H.A.R.M. I've reached the mid-Wave Realm and have served under General Grant throughout my career." He paused, a hint of pride in his tone. "Yes, that General Grant—the one currently atop Crown Mountain."

He paused, his eyes hardening. "I know you're resentful. You're here to clean up the mess created by those fools who've grown complacent in Seattle."

His tone softened. "But be assured, as long as you perform your duties diligently, you'll each be rewarded with a Crystal Realm merit upon our return."

A wave of excitement rippled through the ranks. To ascend from one star to two, an agent typically had to participate in five Wave Realm vampire calamities. The jump from two stars to three required more than twenty. A single Crystal Realm merit was equivalent to at least five Wave Realm incidents.

Moreover, despite the gravity of the situation, they weren't expected to engage in direct combat. Their task was to secure the mountain, providing support for General Grant.

"You'll also receive three bottles of precious medicine," Chandra continued, "unlimited access to beginner-level, top-grade martial arts, and one Wave Realm low-grade technique. Plus, three years' worth of salary and two months of leave."

As Chandra extended his hand counting, the allure of the rewards proved irresistible, even to me. H.A.R.M. might be forceful, but their generosity was undeniable. Such incentives were unheard of in Pinewood County, yet here they were offered to every agent present.

"And all I ask in return," Colonel Banerjee declared, his voice ringing with conviction, "is that you keep a watchful eye on this cliff."

He lowered his hand and approached the first agent in line. "Your name and realm?" he inquired. "And what weapons do you specialize in?"

"Darius Johnson, late-stage First Realm, skilled in saber," the agent replied.

"Miles Wagner, late-stage First Realm, proficient in fist and palm techniques," another responded.

"Mendy Snow, early-stage Wave Realm," a woman declared. "I... use a sword."

Chandra paused, his gaze lingering on the three stars adorning her sleeves. Such a young Wave Realmer was no doubt a rising star within H.A.R.M.

He reached for the long sword at her waist, his movement casual yet deliberate. Mendy Snow's expression tightened as she instinctively took a step back, her hand hovering protectively over her weapon.

A flicker of amusement crossed Chandra's lips before he moved on to the next agent.

The young man stood tall and slender, his back straight, a ceremonial black sword hanging at his hip. His black attire fit him impeccably, accentuating his refined features and air of quiet confidence. Aside from his unusually fair complexion, he was the picture of a promising young agent.

Chandra's gaze swept over the two-star patterns on the young man's sleeves, and asked slowly, "Peak of the First Realm?"

I shook my head and said calmly, "Wave Realm."

Chandra's eyes widened slightly as my words landed. A ripple of surprise spread through the assembled agents. Most were seasoned Cascadia natives, well-versed in the norms of cultivation. It was generally accepted that reaching the Wave Realm at seventy or eighty marked one as a master—someone capable of leading a family.

To achieve the early-stage Wave Realm in one's thirties typically required the resources of a top-tier school and exceptional talent. Even accounting for potential age-concealing techniques, placing my true age at forty, it was still an impressive feat.

But what truly shocked them was the realization that two such individuals stood before them, both seemingly ordinary agents within their ranks.

Chandra, momentarily stunned, suddenly recognized me. He recalled the scene in the park: the admiral's disciple, the Atzmon heiress, both radiating power. Even the pot-bellied butcher, despite his seemingly unremarkable aura, had stood alongside them, suggesting a hidden strength.

Chandra no longer found my power surprising. He realized I could have easily declined the summons, yet I chose to stand here, prepared to confront the peril atop Crown Mountain. This, he concluded, was the hallmark of a true hero.

A wave of respect washed over Chandra. "Don't worry," he reassured me, his voice softening. "Your task is simply to guard the cliff. Master Grant hasn't committed to a full assault on Crown Mountain. If they surrender the culprit, we'll withdraw."

He paused, his gaze hardening. "The key is to avoid the mistakes of that spoiled young fool, a man in his forties with the brains of a pig."