"Y-You're Kahn the Pack Leader?" Moya suddenly recalled a legendary name.
"No, I am not Kahn." The aloof silver-haired man stepped forward, picking up the dagger Moya had discarded. "Kahn was this dagger's master. Not long ago, he was murdered, and this iconic dagger was stolen..."
Moya understood the implication. If they didn't plead their case, something horrific would follow. He scrambled to the silver-haired man, stammering: "You must be mistaken! We're just rookie hunters—we could never kill the great Kahn."
"So?" The man asked coldly.
"So... so..." Moya's mind raced. He thought of the mysterious stranger who gave him the dagger. "The real killer gave me this! His name was... Nirvana Shust!"
"Nirvana Shust!" The man's brows furrowed. He scanned the surroundings, muttering: "So it's him..."
"He went downstream. You can still catch him if you hurry!" Moya begged, hoping the hunters would leave.
"One more question: Why did he give you the dagger?"
"Because... I showed him the way. I swear I didn't know what he'd done or the dagger's significance." Moya felt a chill.
"I see." The silver-haired man turned to the crowd. "Ross, Fera—stay. The rest, follow me."
"What about them?" Ross asked.
"Forgot our creed? That kid killed Boulder, and the other might be Shust's accomplice." The man decided without hesitation.
"You bastard! How can you say that?!" Moya despaired, shouting hoarsely.
"Scram, bug!" Ross backhanded Moya, sneering: "Might makes right. The weak's fate is decided by the strong."
The silver-haired man led the hunters downstream. Only Ross and Fera—a gangly man with abnormally long arms—remained.
"Only one fighter. How do we split them?"
"Draw straws." They casually decided Rick and Moya's fates.
"Haha, lucky me." Fera laughed, stalking toward Rick.
"Don't slip up—remember Boulder," Ross called.
"Pft, I'm no idiot." Fera sauntered to Rick, crooking a finger. "Kid, nice slash earlier. Let me try."
Rick still hadn't regained clarity. Sensing danger, he hunched like a wounded leopard, retreating as Fera advanced. In truth, Rick was in peril: emotional upheaval had reactivated his unstable cells. He thought his cells had fully merged with the wild sickle insect's after the last backlash, but the balance had broken. The insect's feral instincts were overwhelming his reason—if he lost control, he'd cease to be human.
No one knew this, not even Fera, who only found Rick's state odd. "Scared now? You were tough earlier. Growling won't save you."
Fera snapped his arms, his body engulfed in a dark green exoskeleton.
"Sickle insect!" Moya gasped. Fera shared Rick's combat insect but had reached Third Stage of Insect General—an entire realm above Rick.
"Impossible... Rick can't win..." Moya staggered forward, but Ross grabbed his arm. "Don't be stupid. Watch quietly—your turn's next."
"No... Don't kill Rick! He's good! Take anything—please..."
Moya pleaded desperately, but Ross only sneered.
"Care about yourself before others."
Ross's coldness shattered Moya's last hope as Fera prepared to strike. Though using the same insect type, Fera's higher realm and combat experience made him overconfident. He charged for close combat, mimicking the exact move Rick used to kill Boulder—blinding afterimages, lightning-fast slashes. Ross cheered, certain Rick couldn't dodge.
But the impossible happened: as Fera's blade neared, Rick kicked off, rocketing into the air.
"How?!" Fera halted, feeling a chill on his brow. He rolled instinctively, seeing a serrated sickle graze his cheek. A second slower, his head would've joined Boulder's fate. Suppressing panic, Fera somersaulted into a fighting stance, shocked by Rick's follow-up speed.
A green blur flashed—Rick's sickle arced toward him. Fera blocked with both blades, sparks flying as they rebounded, rolling to absorb the impact. The first clash lasted mere seconds, but its danger seared into both fighters.
Fera couldn't believe it: a full realm higher, yet he'd lost the first exchange, his right sickle notched. He cursed the Hunter Association—how was this kid only Brass Star rank?
Rick, meanwhile, felt his heart leap to his throat. Unlike Fera, he was an observer in his own body, controlled by sickle insect instincts. The blur of moves sickened him, especially with his life on the line.
The clash changed the spectators' expressions: Ross frowned, grave, while Moya, unable to track the fight, prayed with sweaty palms, grateful Rick still stood.
"Ross..." Fera called, keeping his guard up.
Ross's scowl deepened. Fera only called for backup when unsure. Unbelievable—a kid forcing them to team up. He shrugged off his coat, yellow-black stripes rippling on his arms.
Moya realized their intent. He rushed forward, hugging Ross's waist: "Rick, run! You can't beat both!"
"Annoying bug!" Ross's knuckle bones sprouted a black stinger, jabbing into Moya's arm.
"Poison... wasp..." A cold chill raced through Moya's veins, blood seeming to reverse. Agony threatened to black him out. His face turned purple; he staggered, spitting black blood before collapsing. "Run... quickly..."
"Touching loyalty," Ross stood with Fera, blocking Rick. "You'll join him in hell soon."
But Rick teetered on mental collapse. Moya's fate drove him mad—he refused to let the insect's cold instincts rule. Like a caged beast, he slammed against his mental prison.
Gradually, sensation returned to his hands, then his entire body. He tore free, reclaiming control. This mental turmoil hyper-activated his cells, triggering a breakthrough: human cells outpaced insect cells in activity and intensity, achieving their first true fusion.
The fusion happened in a fraction of a second. Rick didn't feel it, only that his blood boiled, his body surged with explosive power. Eons of sickle insect battle instincts branded into his mind. He felt reborn—like a moth emerging from its cocoon, with unprecedented coordination and reflexes, mistaking himself for a half-insect.
None of that mattered now. Only one thing did: killing the men before him—avenging Moya, his first true brother.
"You will regret what you've done!"
Rick's voice was as eerie as a netherwind from hell. Unleashing his killing intent, he spread his hands, and suddenly, the clatter of carapace echoed. To Ross and Fera's astonishment, Rick evolved mid-battle. The green exoskeleton that had covered only his shoulders now surged to envelope his entire upper body, like a half-body armor.
"Insect General Rank 1!" Fera, using the same insect type, recognized the iconic armor of breaking through to Insect General. This sudden breakthrough left Fera and Ross staring at each other—Rick had been formidable enough as Insect Soldier Rank 3; how powerful would he be now?
Uncertain, they first felt even their combined strength might fail. "Fuck, we ran into a monster today. The second-in-command really gave us a great job..." Fera wiped cold sweat from his brow, eyes glued to Rick's movements, fearing those serrated sickles would take his head.
"Come on... let's see how fast you are now..." As Fera muttered under pressure, Rick moved—their bated breaths turned to action.
Fera, a fellow sickle insect user, knew Rick's burst speed. His plan: circle and engage, letting Ross strike fatally. A perfect tactic normally, but this time, Fera miscalculated. He had no chance to circle—despite being two ranks higher, the speed gap was staggering.
Before he could see the afterimage, Fera's eyes widened. I'm done, flashed through his mind. Then searing pain in his chest—he heard his carapace crack and ribs snap. As he flew backward, he wondered why Rick hadn't used his sickles.
The answer came: Rick had disabled him with a leg strike, then used Fera's chest as a springboard, doubling his speed toward Ross, who aimed to stab Rick's back. Ross never expected this tactic—confident his stinger would win, but reality was brutal.
Ross saw only ferocious sickles, no time to dodge. His vision turned red. In mid-air, two severed black stingers spun down, shattered carapace flew, and blood rained...
"Am I dead?" Ross thought as he hit the ground, glancing back. The green blur glided mid-air, but a golden figure seemed to latch onto Rick's back. Hallucination?
Before he could wonder, his body crashed, consciousness fading. But it wasn't a hallucination—Rick sensed the approaching threat, twisting to strike.
"Hmm?" A surprised voice sounded. Rick's sickle was caught by hands like iron vices, then snap—his shoulders were dislocated. "So strong..." Rick fell headfirst, struggling to stand before a powerful hand gripped his neck, lifting him.
"Who are you?!" Rick roared.
"P-President..." Fera, mortally wounded, gasped.
"I knew Silver Hair would mess up. How many times have I warned you—don't treat lives like nothing! Think you're invincible? Are you really that strong?" The harsh rebuke silenced the arrogant Fera.
"Idiots. Shust used these kids to distract you, hiding nearby—and you didn't see it. The Wolf Pack really is declining generation after generation." With a sigh, Shust, tied up like a pretzel, was flung at Rick's feet.
As Rick gaped, a voice behind him said: "Kid, I know you're wronged, but behave. In return, I'll save your friend. So... take a nap."
Hearing Moya could be saved, Rick tried to ask, but a pressure on his neck sent him into darkness.