Five years later.


    Miraculously, I was still alive. And here I thought I would need to die as the so-called plot demanded it. Maybe fate was more fickle than I had given it credit for. My survival had been a defiance, a slap in the face of whatever unseen force tried to script my demise. But it wasn’t without cost.


    My son, Leon, grew more distant with each passing year, his anger festering like an unhealed wound. His techniques advanced in proportion to his obsession to escape me and search for his mother on his own terms. Yet, for all his fiery determination, he was still helpless against Reina. No matter how much stronger he became, she always outmatched him.


    Leon’s stubbornness was unmatched however. His will reminded me too much of Leora’s, though his was more raw and unrefined, a boy trying to play the part of a man.


    A lot had happened in these five years. I built an Outpost near the area where Leora vanished with Ulrich. It was a haven for hunters and a base for my personal operations, though its true purpose was more personal. It was a tether to her, a way to remind myself of the mission I refused to abandon.


    The Company had grown too. Once a modest organization, it was now a considerable force in the Hunter World, its influence stretching far and wide.


    Then there was Bob. The man had finally realized his grand dream—the Hunter Academy. He had been relentless in its creation, and when he invited me to join the faculty, I declined. Teaching was never my strength. Instead, I lent my expertise to crafting the curriculum and advised him closely on the Academy’s foundation.


    The world outside didn’t stand still either. The rise of the Gift Theory had revolutionized the way we understood aura abilities. The theory postulated that every ability followed a Core Idea, a logic unique to the individual. With it came the Divination of Self, a ritual that allowed one to discover the true name of their Gift.


    When I performed the Divination, I learned my Gift’s name was Akashic Records. All this time, I had thought Soul Link was the name. Apparently, a name decided was different from a name divined.


    And here I’ve been thinking of myself as someone special for having advanced theoretical knowledge of aura. Turns out, I had been scratching the surface of something much deeper.


    The theory’s popularization brought about the creation of the Gift Registry Department and made the existence of aura techniques, and by extension the Hunter World, public knowledge. It was inevitable, I suppose. The world was moving forward whether I liked it or not.


    Not everything was progress, though. The Undead Troupe had made a name for themselves by destroying an entire city-state. Our relationship had soured after Thomas’s death, though Loki, ever the diplomat, remained amenable to discussions. He cared about keeping our relationship cordial, but I didn’t trust him fully. Thomas’s actions had been deliberate, and while Loki claimed no involvement, I knew better than to take him at his word.


    Today, I found myself in my office, staring out at the rain-slicked world through the glass panes. My son had turned ten recently. He’d tried to kill me at his birthday party, of all places.


    Of course, he failed.


    But not before puncturing both of my lungs, leaving me on the brink of death. It was a stark reminder to never host birthday parties for Leon again.


    “What do you want?” I asked without turning.


    Behind me, the air shimmered, and a flicker of purple light heralded the arrival of a figure.


    He wore the signature uniform of the World Order—a white trench coat with a dark inner layer, the emblem of a globe with an eye etched on his shoulder. His features were sharp and unmistakably oriental, with white hair and dark eyes that seemed to pierce through me.


    “Codename: Yaksha,” I said, my voice flat.


    He gave a slight nod, stepping forward. “It’s a job, Hunting Dog.”


    I sighed. That name again. “I quit a long time ago. What are you talking about?”


    Yaksha’s expression didn’t change, his voice calm and unwavering. “It’s not a request. It’s a necessity. The World Order has need of you.”


    I turned to face him fully, my eyes narrowing. “You’ve got the wrong man. I’m not a Hunting Dog anymore.”


    “Perhaps,” Yaksha said. “But you’re still the only one who can handle this.”


    The weight of his words settled in the room, heavy and unrelenting. The rain outside continued to pour, a steady rhythm against the glass.


    For a moment, I said nothing. Then, with a sigh, I gestured for him to continue. “Fine. What’s the job? I will at least hear you… so go on, yap for me.”


    One of the biggest discoveries I made during my time as a Hunting Dog for the Hunter’s Association was that we didn’t just answer to the President. We answered, in part, to the World Order.


    It wasn’t something they liked to admit, of course. According to the President, it was a “partial thing,” a necessity born out of cooperation. I wasn’t supposed to know any of this—memory wipes were standard protocol. But, like Selena deduced years ago, I’d become immune to them. A quirk of my Gift, maybe, or just another curse in the long list of things that kept me tethered to this mess.This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    The memory wipes didn’t stick, and the more I remembered, the more I questioned how in the hell Leora managed to leave the Hunting Dogs unscathed. If anyone should have been a prisoner of the system, it was her. And yet, she found a way out.


    No wonder people envied her.


    Now, five years later, here I was, facing another relic of that world.


    “A dungeon appeared,” Yaksha said, his tone clinical. “We lack the manpower to clear it. And we don’t want DERT involved because there’s an item the World Order wants inside.”


    I leaned back in my chair, staring at him. “DERT?”


    The Dungeon Emergency Response Team was a government-run organization composed of hunters from the military sector. They dealt with dungeons when political figures or mundane civilians were involved. They weren’t perfect, but they got the job done.


    Yaksha’s lips thinned. “The World Order and the Government have their roles, Hunting Dog. Neither of them involves active dungeon captures. That’s your domain.”


    “Not mine,” I corrected. “I quit, remember?”


    He ignored me, continuing. “The Hunter’s Association would have been our first choice. Unfortunately, Bob’s recent actions have made that impossible.”


    I arched an eyebrow. “Bob? I thought he and the World Order were on good terms.”


    “That quickly changed after he raised his Academy,” Yaksha said, his voice carrying a sharp edge. “It was unnecessary. A waste of resources and attention. And then the Government, of all things, decided to expose the Hunter World to the mundanes. Utter stupidity.”


    “Stupidity?” I asked, unable to hide the smirk tugging at my lips. “Nah, I think the word you’re looking for is progress.”


    Yaksha’s expression darkened. “Progress is a lie we tell ourselves when we lose sight of what matters.”


    I chuckled, shaking my head. “Right. Because keeping the Hunter World in the shadows was working out so well. If anything, Bob did the smart thing. Hunters have always existed in the public’s peripheral vision. Making it official just streamlines the process.”


    Yaksha stepped closer, his dark eyes locking onto mine. “You think you understand the stakes, but you don’t. The Government’s interference undermines the balance. The World Order was established to maintain control, not to pander to mundanes who don’t understand the dangers they’re inviting.”


    I met his gaze evenly. “And yet here you are, asking for my help. Sounds like your precious control is slipping.”


    For a moment, silence hung between us, the tension thick enough to cut. Then Yaksha exhaled, his posture relaxing slightly.


    “Whether you agree or not, the dungeon needs to be cleared,” he said. “And you’re the only one we trust to do it.”


    “Trust,” I repeated, the word bitter on my tongue. “That’s a funny way to phrase it.”


    Yaksha’s eyes narrowed. “This isn’t a negotiation. If the World Order wanted to force your hand, we would. But we’re giving you the courtesy of choice because of your history with us.”


    I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the desk. “And what’s in it for me?”


    “Leverage,” Yaksha said simply. “You clear this dungeon, and we’ll give you information on Leora.”


    The room went cold.


    I stared at him, my mind racing. “You know where she is?”


    Yaksha’s lips curled into a faint smile. “We know more than you think.”


    The bastard. He knew exactly how to bait me. And worse, it was working.


    “Fine,” I said, my voice low. “Tell me about the dungeon.”


    Yaksha inclined his head, satisfied. “I’ll send you the details. Be ready. The World Order doesn’t tolerate failure.”


    As he turned to leave, I called out, “Yaksha.”


    He paused, glancing over his shoulder.


    “If you’re lying about Leora…” I let the threat hang in the air.


    His smile widened, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I wouldn’t dare.”


    With that, he vanished in a flicker of purple light, leaving me alone with my thoughts.


    Leverage.


    The word churned in my mind as I stared out the window, rain streaking the glass.


    If Yaksha was telling the truth, this dungeon might be the key to finding Leora. But if he wasn’t…


    Well, I’d deal with that when the time came.


    I thought back to the Gift Theory.


    The Gift Theory had revolutionized the Hunter world. It simplified aura abilities, categorized Gifts, and made it possible for even mundanes to learn basic techniques. The theory promised rapid growth—Hunters could improve 1.5 times faster than before. But there was a cost. Those trained under the new system were weaker than traditional Hunters who learned the Seven States from scratch.


    The Government and the Hunter’s Association had been working closely ever since the Gift Registry Department was established. The realization of the Hunter Academy only deepened that collaboration. On paper, it seemed like progress. But I knew better than to trust surface appearances.


    I sat in my office, my phone in hand, and dialed Bob. The familiar, gruff voice answered after a few rings.


    “Hello? Who’s this?”


    “It’s me, President.”


    “Ah, Reynard! How are you doing?” His tone was jovial, but I could hear the underlying tension.


    “Did the World Order come to you with a request recently?” I made my point quickly.


    There was a pause on the other end. Then Bob sighed. “No, not recently. Are they harassing you again? If they’re trying to make you take jobs, let me know. I made it clear to them that you’re no longer a Hunting Dog.”


    “I’m just checking,” I said. “An Order member came to me with a job I couldn’t refuse.”


    “That sounds like their style,” Bob muttered. “Years ago, they came to me with a deal to borrow my Hunting Dogs. I refused, of course. You wouldn’t let just anyone borrow your sword. But they didn’t give up. Instead, they changed the deal—ten uses of a Hunting Dog, no questions asked. I couldn’t refuse that one.”


    “Did you offer yourself?”


    “Of course. But they didn’t want me.”


    Typical. The World Order always wanted the best tools for the job, and Bob was too valuable in his position to risk on the field.


    I leaned back in my chair, my mind turning over his words. “How did Leora manage to get out of the Hunting Dogs? I can’t see the World Order letting her go so easily. They’re relentless—offers you can’t refuse, incentives that demand acceptance. Their methods nauseate me. How did she escape their grip?”


    Bob hesitated, his voice softening. “She made a deal with me.”


    “What kind of deal?”


    “She faked her death,” Bob admitted, deflecting on the ‘deal’ and explained how Leora did it. “That’s how she did it. And she didn’t do it alone. That Selena girl… may she rest in peace… she helped her pull it off.”


    The mention of Selena sent a pang through me. Bob had been at her funeral. He knew my circumstances better than most.


    “So that’s how,” I murmured. It was a relief to know Leora had outsmarted the system, but it didn’t make my current situation any easier.


    Bob’s tone sharpened. “Did the World Order offer you information on Leora in exchange for doing this job?”


    I didn’t answer immediately.


    “Reynard,” Bob pressed, “don’t trust them. If they’re dangling Leora in front of you, it’s because they want something only you can give. You know how they operate. They don’t care about you, her, or anyone else.”


    “I know,” I said quietly.


    But knowing didn’t make it any easier to resist.


    The World Order didn’t play fair, and they didn’t leave loose ends. If they had even a shred of information about Leora, I had to take the risk. No matter how much it disgusted me, I couldn’t let this chance slip away.


    Bob sighed heavily. “Just… be careful, Reynard. I don’t want to lose another friend.”


    “Thanks, Bob,” I said. “I’ll handle it.”