The One Who Hunts

The game of tag had already begun.

Solomon crossed District 8’s night streets without lowering his guard, seeing through the eyes of the Black Bird Spirits circling overhead.

The rules were clear.

Until the next dawn came, using Hotel Snark’s doors or leaving District 8 entirely was forbidden.

If the contractor broke the rule and ran, the Selene Family would ‘truly’ chase him to the ends of hell.

The three executors were moving as well. On the surface, it was for vengeance for the Elf of Honor. At the same time, their vengeance was a hunt permitted only until daybreak.

Fortunately, through the hotel’s room service, he had been provided with their information. The executors also had rules of their own.

The executors could only act individually. At least, explicitly, that was the rule.

So Solomon intentionally didn’t hide, revealing himself as bait. It was a gamble based entirely on the Black Bird Spirits’ surveillance.

The Black Bird Spirits’ black pupils flying overhead reflected the ground moment by moment, like a strategy simulation game.

He was looking down on the maze-like streets as if they were in the palm of his hand.

‘An executor two blocks away.’

Along the outer wall of the northern abandoned warehouse, up to Solomon’s right, there was a narrow back alley that could be entered from the left. Someone was there. Like a breath quietly tightening around the throat.

And Solomon was looking down at that soundless breath from above his head, through the eyes of a crow perched on a streetlight.

‘It doesn’t seem like he knows my exact position yet….’

He could pounce right now and end it. Prey that was far too easy to take down.

At the same time, Solomon imagined a possibility.

Just as he had gained more ‘eyes and ears’ through the Black Bird Spirits, there was the possibility that the opponent had the same as well.

When he fought the joint creature of the Sewer Mage Tower and Biotech Guild in the sewers, the rats there had been the underground mages’ eyes and ears.

The saying that ‘birds hear daytime words and rats hear nighttime words’, was not a metaphor in this city. They could truly see and hear. You couldn’t let your guard down just because they were animals.

So if he was being careful, he had to consider the possibility the other side had laid a trap too. He didn’t know where ‘another eye’ might be watching him approach while pretending to be exposed.

‘It’s not like this is some 21st-century info war with drones.’

Weighing each possibility made his blood feel like it was drying up.

‘…But I can’t just sit here sucking my thumb either.’

Caution was never bad, but speed was a virtue just as important. In this line of work, even more so. And the two were not necessarily conflicting virtues.

Fast, but careful.

‘Stealth.’

As Solomon moved to hide his presence, the Nightweaver Coat writhed and wrapped around him like a living creature. It felt like the night’s darkness was winding around Solomon.

The cantrip <Blessing of Stealth> activated automatically with the user’s movement. Though not grand, it was a support magic whose small effects shone in small ways, reducing his presence and lightening his steps.

Hiding his presence, Solomon began to move.

Toward the prey two blocks away. More precisely, he chose a route that looped around and caught the opponent’s tail from behind.

He circled around the corners of the abandoned factory and headed behind the target. Soon, it was close enough to be directly reflected in Solomon’s own eyes.

In that state, he hid his presence and approached the prey before him. Like the night’s shadow sliding, the distance closed far too easily.

‘All that talk about goddesses of vengeance… and it’s a guy.’

A male elf. It wasn’t anything new. It was only a formal rite, afterall.

The Selene Family’s executor was right in front of him.

Not even a meter away. Yet the target couldn’t even think to look back, focused only on chasing Solomon’s traces through the scene ahead.

Even though the person himself was right behind him.

‘He didn’t even notice the Black Bird Spirits. And it doesn’t look like he’s controlling a familiar either.’

He was just clumsy prey, trapped in the illusion that he was the hunter.

He was an absurdly easy opponent. At this level, it wouldn’t matter if there were three executors or more.

‘Deactivate Blade in the Dark’

So he didn’t go all out. He kept his joker card hidden. Nothing changed.

A blade swung. By this world’s rules, unseen dice rolled, and a strike plunged down.

Ambush.

Puuk!

An invisible blade shot forward. From behind. Loaded with every advantage this world’s rules allowed.

And the new trait he had gained from killing Gilbert Graham last time, its power felt more vivid than ever at his fingertips.

It wasn’t just a shove. It was as if something exploded behind him, adding an outrageous explosive force to his movement.

‘!’

He realized at once. Not an invisible hand, but an invisible dynamite. That was the nature of the power.

───
Trait 「Master of Ambush」
: On a successful ambush, add Damage 6
───

Chwaaahk!

With the strike, blood sprayed.

Even as that blood drenched Solomon from head to toe, the tip of his blade did not stop.

As if pulled by an unseen force, the blade remained plunged in and kept burrowing without end.

It dug into vital points, slipped past the joints between bones, tore muscle fibers, and aimed for the organs.

The blade kept burrowing without end, into depths as deep as being sucked into a black hole.

It was strange.

The positions of all the organs inside a human, no, an elf, were felt clearly, like a worn-down surgeon.

‘Under the shoulder blade in the back, slightly to the right of the spine.’

At that spot, the elf’s heart was beating.

So Solomon’s Ghost Whale bone blade dug obsessively deep, straight toward that heart.

The Ghost Whale bone blade, plunged in, its tip clearly reached toward the heart.

That was how it felt, like the compressed air of a slaughter air gun exploding and driving a bolt forward.

It was different from Gilbert.

His absurdly swollen, armor-like body had not allowed an ambush from behind to sink past the wall of flesh.

But this elven executor was not like that.

At the end of the strike, Solomon’s blade reached its destination. The heart. After that, there was no obvious resistance.

The heart fell silent.

Chwaaahk!

When he pulled out the plunged blade, a fountain of blood poured out again.

With blood gushing like a fountain, the elf’s body collapsed. Instant death.

‘That’s one executor.’

Solomon didn’t let his guard down.

Separate from checking the dead elf, he was thoroughly watching the surroundings through the eyes of the Black Bird Spirits in flight.

Even so, the remaining two executors were nowhere to be seen.

Not just nearby, but in none of the eyes of the Black Bird Spirits he had spread across the skies of District 8.

That fact bothered him in a strange way.

They were not being seen by the Black Bird Spirits circling overhead like drones. How?

[Stealth Detection Success!]

So when that warning rang out, Solomon was already moving. As he moved, he understood.

‘Did they use that guy as bait…!’

There had been two executors.

From the very beginning.

And one of them had planned it that way from the start. Using that executor as bait, hiding his own presence, tailing his ally’s movements while aiming for Solomon all along.

All without being caught by the eyes of the Black Bird Spirits Solomon controlled.

It even fit the definition of individual action. He was simply being used as bait, one-sidedly.

Only then did he realize. They were mafia. Honor of kin or whatever, they were criminals at the core.

In the end, in the world of criminals, honor and the like were nothing but hollow formal echoes.

That was the true form of the “formality” they obsessed over.

Tadadada!

When he realized it, a sound rang out, following Solomon as he moved belatedly.

“What…!”

It was not the automatic crossbow’s sound. It was a short, rapid noise, like someone pounding on a typewriter.

And it didn’t stop at sound. It wasn’t even a crossbow sound Solomon knew from this world.

‘Gunfire?!’

[The Alfheim Typewriter is a weapon of the venerable elven mafia families. It is not a crossbow. Afterall, it does not fire bolts.]

It was the sound of bullets.

‘<Shadow Mimic>, <Shadow Swap>!’

Before the voice in his head could even ring out, Solomon’s body collapsed like a husk on the spot.

Even as it fell, the body was pierced all over like a beehive, and most of the wounds belonged to the shadow mimic that replaced it.

Even so, he couldn’t avoid everything. A few rounds hit.

‘To think I’d live to see the day I get shot full of holes.’

On the spot, he swapped positions with his shadow to the abandoned factory rooftop, then leaned his body against a duct.

“Keoheok!”

Blood burst out.

At a glance, there was no doubt bullets had torn through his clothes and punched straight into his body. Five or six hits, at least.

‘No, they’re not bullets.’

[The Alfheim Typewriter, befitting elves loved by spirits, is a spirit-affine weapon that butchers spirits that approach without caution, processes them, and fires them as projectiles.

It is an elven innovation that fires nearly hundreds of chopped spirit fragments per minute.]

‘…….’

Amazingly, they were not bullets. Those small blazing lumps of flame soon faded weakly inside Solomon’s body.

[At first, the shots sounded like the screams of spirits, so it was called the Alfheim Screamer, but apparently they decided the naming sense was a bit much and compromised on the typewriter sound, giving it its current name.]

Butchering spirits, chopping them up, firing the fragments… just hearing it made his brain spin.

But this was not the time to be dumbfounded.

‘I just used two spells.’

───
Available spell slots
: Level 1 spell slots, 2 uses (⚀⚀■■)
: Level 2 spell slots, 1 use (⚁)
───

Shadow Mimic and Shadow Swap, a combo that let him reposition instantly… and it consumed two of the four Level 1 spells he could use in a day.

To refill spell slots, he had to drink expensive magic replenishment potions, or get sufficient rest and have a good sleep.

Right now, he couldn’t expect either. He had no potions, and if he slept here, he might never wake up.

‘Two Level 1 spells, one Level 2 spell.’

And there were two executors left. With one of them being right here.

On top of that, that executor hadn’t shown up in the eyes of the Black Bird Spirits watching the area from the start. How?

‘He noticed the Black Bird Spirits’ existence from the beginning.’

There was only one answer. He didn’t get caught because he knew.

Meaning he had the skill to target blind spots beyond the eyes of the Black Bird Spirits and avoid being seen.

Solomon looked around again and reduced the number of Black Bird Spirits.

Cold night wind swept across the roof of the abandoned factory. The executor wasn’t going to stop.

So Solomon chose this place on purpose. Not to run away, but to choose the battlefield by his own will.

The opponent had landed a clean hit through an ambush, and he would never withdraw quietly.

So he deliberately picked a rooftop that was wide open in all directions, yet filled with facilities inside that made it easy to hide.

He was sure the opponent would come. There was no reason not to chase wounded prey that was fleeing.

Kkiik.

Soon, a sound came. It was the sound of the rooftop access door opening.

The executor had walked up leisurely through the abandoned factory corridor to reach here.

No parkour, nothing. Just politely on two feet.

“Hm, I hear something from somewhere?”

The silhouette spoke calmly.

A fedora pulled low, a dark brown coat.

Just like that, he put a finger on the Alfheim Typewriter’s trigger, ready to aim at the target at any moment.

‘<Darkvision>.’

So Solomon also activated a spell and steeled himself.

“The sound of a wounded rat bastard trembling.”

A voice full of certainty and ease that he overwhelmingly had the upper hand.

‘To me, it sounds like a dog barking.’

Solomon didn’t answer.

It was clearly said to provoke him. There was no reason to respond.

Responding would be practically the same as suicide.

“With all that spare confidence, you just sat there watching your friend get air holes punched into the back of his head?”

Even so, Solomon answered.

Did his mouth get rough and his head got tough too? No.

“—”

The voice came not from his mouth, but through the beak of the black bird he controlled.

“Isn’t that how the food chain works?”

The elven executor answered with a sneer.

“When the weak kill each other, the predator above knows how to wait.”

Tudadada!

He aimed at the Black Bird Spirit that had landed behind him and pulled the Alfheim Typewriter’s trigger.

Before the Black Bird Spirit could even take off, blazing spirit fragments sprayed like bullets.

And no matter how many fire lumps he fired, it showed no sign of overheating or running dry.

Then several more Black Bird Spirits flew in and surged at the elven executor, like a bird strike.

This was no longer dark spirit control meant for surveillance or reconnaissance. It was clearly meant for killing.

It was nothing like being struck by an ordinary bird. Each one was a dark projectile with power on par with a level 2 offensive spell.

A large monitor and high-end speakers could be perfect weapons on their own.

“A lowly race dares use such petty tricks…!”

The elven executor snorted and slammed his hand into the rooftop floor with all his strength.

The slate floor cracked with sharp sounds, and from between the splits, something rose like sharp spear tips.

‘Tree roots!’

Literally.

Tree roots that had no reason to be there rose up, catching and skewering every Black Bird Spirit that surged in.

Earth magic that truly symbolized the elves.

Taang!

At that moment, Solomon quickly shifted position and pulled the trigger.

A single crossbow bolt flew in between the rising roots, ambushing from the elf’s blind spot.

It was the Nightfall automatic crossbow.

The tearing sound of the bolt flying in. To elf ears, it was noise pollution they had to hear whether they wanted to or not.

“To think you’d attempt a surprise snipe against an elf.”

The executor dodged the Black Bird Spirits’ strike and the bolt without difficulty and mocked him.

“Even Hotel Snark’s name has fallen to the ground—”

Finger on the Alfheim Typewriter’s trigger, turning his head toward the bolt that had flown from behind.

But the mockery did not last long.

“Keoheok…!”

An air leaking sound rang out.

The sound didn’t come from the executor holding the Alfheim Typewriter, but from a slight bit behind him.

Behind the duct at the edge of the rooftop. Someone was hiding at the very end of that narrow gap, barely exposed.

“Who said that was for you?”

“What…!”

“Don’t worry. I’ll punch you with pretty star-shaped holes soon enough too.”

From the very beginning, that bolt had never been aimed at the dark elf in front of him.

The elf that thought he was shot was acting like he was already getting served when no one ever planned to feed him.

If two could do it, three could too. Solomon had more than enough learning capacity for that.

Just like the executor in front of him, the last executor had watched the fight using the same method, using him as bait. The one making that air-hole sound right now.

Click!

Solomon’s shooting did not stop there.

To make absolutely sure, one shot to the head, one to the chest.

“Why is it that elves always do the same shit?”

Even the one who believed he was the predator was, in the end, nothing but bait for a higher predator behind him.

A backstab behind a backstab.

That was why Solomon had been aiming there from the very beginning.

Starting with the one who believed without doubt he was the apex predator here.

Paradoxically, because he was sure he was the hunter, the carelessness of believing he could not be hunted produced this result.

“What about the food chain?”

“……!”

Solomon sneered.

Without caring that his position had been pinpointed and he had revealed himself by that strike.

“But one thing looks certain.”

The one being targeted didn’t realize it until the end.

That Solomon had noticed his existence from the beginning.

As for the elf in front, there was nothing to say. He hadn’t even noticed the hidden elf, much less Solomon’s intent.

“You’re dead now.”