As evening fell and the sun dipped below the horizon, the bustling streets of Terry County gradually quieted. The queue outside still stretched long, and when Rick and Moya passed by, eyes turned their way, whispers following. Their attention fixated on the feeble Moya, whose left wrist was wrapped in layers of gauze, crimson blood seeping through.
This was the aftermath of egg implantation. The first half-day was the Run-in period —human bodies endured the egg's destructive force, with general weakness the most common symptom. "Hang in there. Everyone's watching," Rick said, trying to distract Moya.
"I'm fine. Just wondering what egg Nanze gave me—it's unlike any I've seen." Moya's face paled, voice faint.
"Er... Not sure. Nanze didn't explain." Rick paused, reassuring him: "Must be powerful. The cute girl fetched it from the third-level freezer—pretty high rank."
"You saw the third level? Damn! Those are all auxiliary eggs! Why can't I get a combat insect?" Moya wailed.
"Don't freak out. I asked, but she ignored me!" Rick sighed, switching tactics. "Not everyone suits combat eggs. The Hunter Manual says it depends on one's nature..."
"Because you're better-looking?" Moya cut in.
"Hehe, you flatter me." Rick scratched his head, then sobered at Moya's glum face. "I'm naturally aggressive, so combat eggs fit. You're more gentle—auxiliary eggs suit you."
"Enough. Let me be." Moya sighed.
As twilight deepened, Rick shouldered Moya and quickened their pace. Lost, they reached Triumph Avenue after nightfall. Following the insect-lantern-lit house numbers, they stopped before a dilapidated apartment.
"99 Triumph Avenue. Why meet here, you old fox?" Rick scratched his head. Before he could knock, a lanky figure in a hat pushed past him.
"Shust!" The unique chilly atmosphere gave him away. Rick stepped back as Shust glanced up from under his brim, flashed a cruel smile, and entered.
Swallowing hard, Rick and Moya hesitated. "Go in? That murderer's look gives me the creeps." Rick wavered.
"Sigh... Our WANTED posters will plaster the city tomorrow. Do we have a choice?"
"Fine, let's go." Rick steeled himself. "He wouldn't dare touch me!"
Inside, a creaky wooden staircase led to the second floor, where heated arguing echoed. Rick climbed the 'groaning' stairs and opened the door—just in time to dodge a flying teacup that smashed against the doorframe.
"Stop arguing!" A thunderous roar pierced the air. A short man with muttonchops stood on the table, waving another teacup at Shust, Ross, and Fera, who were squared off. Noticing Rick and Moya, he awkwardly hopped down. "You left the Association ages ago—why so late?"
"I... didn't know the way." Rick frowned. "How did you know when we left?"
"Ah?" The man laughed awkwardly. "Your whereabouts are under President Nanze's control. As your supervisor, of course I know."
"Damn old fox!" Rick muttered, helping Moya to a chair. Ross and Fera shot hostile glances at Rick.
"Rick, they want trouble?" Moya tensed.
"Fear not." Rick glared at them. "Itch for a fight?"
"Fuck you!" Ross and Fera stood, ready to brawl.
"All sit down!" A shrill scream deafening, leaving everyone dazed. The dwarf leaned on the table, panting with anger.
"Hmph!" Being Nanze's man, Ross and Fera relented, shooting Rick a throat-slitting gesture before sitting. Rick replied with a middle finger.
Though tension hung thick, the dwarf finally got a word in. "I am your... ahem... mission supervisor, Don Quixote."
"Ha ha ha..." Shust suddenly burst into laughter as if recalling something amusing.
"Mr. Shust!" Don Quixote slammed the table, scowling. "Remember, President Nanze injected you with venom from a Mystic-Rank poisonous insect, and I hold the antidote!"
"Haha!" At Shust's misfortune, Ross and Fera whistled mockingly.
"Keep laughing and see what happens." Shust's cold gaze swept over them, murderous, silencing them like fishbone stuck in their throats.
"Enough! I won't meddle in your grudges, but if this mission is compromised, you'll pay!" Don Quixote threatened, waving a fist—Rick noticed its small, pale size, unbefitting a man's hand.
"Weird..." Rick mused as Don Quixote unfolded a massive map to brief them. Striking a self-important pose, he pointed to the Armance Wasteland. "This is our destination: the Armance Wasteland." Noting their blank stares, he coughed awkwardly. "We must reach it swiftly because—"
"Why rush?" Rick interrupted. "President Nanze gave us a year."
"Terry County isn't the only one eyeing Armance. The Three Forest Cities—Kester and Iso—and countless other city-states are exploring it. Time is scarce." Don Quixote glared. "Remember, I hold the only bail document! No more interruptions."
Barely veiled threats. Rick sighed, rubbing his forehead.
Satisfied, Don Quixote continued: "We leave tonight after gathering supplies, heading north through Benning Town, Tanzan Desert, Iso City, Eternal Glacier, and Forgotten Strait..."
"Why this route? The trade path is faster and safer. This is risky—unknown territories and a huge detour." As a seasoned guide, Moya spoke up.
Snapping at the constant interruptions, Don Quixote slammed the table: "I choose the route! I'm in charge here!" Noticing their skeptical looks, he quickly added, "It's... a secret mission. We must slip out unnoticed, understand?"
"Secret mission?" Rick balked—their WANTED posters hardly screamed "secret."
Though the explanation strained credulity, Don Quixote was in command. Moya analyzed the route: "Benning Town offers basic supplies. Crossing Tanzan Desert requires navigating 30,000 miles of no-man's-land. In Iso City, we can't openly buy supplies—only small batches. Villages might yield some food and water, but then comes the Eternal Glacier. And even if we survive, the Forgotten Strait lies ahead—swim across?"
Moya's analysis left Ross, Fera, and even Shust (who nodded in approval) stunned. Don Quixote panicked, pulling out a pouch of golden beetle coins: "Maybe we can buy more from the Association."
"Damn, rich!" Rick's eyes lit up at the coins.
"Money isn't everything without proper gear." Moya sighed, eyeing the bumbling leader. Why had Nanze sent such a rookie to lead this motley crew?
In the supply room, Don Quixote said, "Take what you need. I'll note shortages."
Rick charged in, stuffing everything into his pockets. Moya smacked his head: "Idiot! Think about the journey. Why carry so much? Do you want to be crushed? What's with all these insect hooks—hunting or fishing?"
"Then what should I take?"
"This insect-hide jacket has built-in water bladders—holds 5 liters. Crucial for Tanzan." Rick snatched the only jacket, glaring at Ross and Fera.
Moya continued: "This wild silk rope with hooks is great for climbing. That soap insect ointment prevents frostbite. And this—"
For half an hour, they ransacked the room. Rick, guided by Moya, grabbed most useful gear. Ross and Fera took familiar tools. Shust stood out, choosing only lethal weapons, mostly poisoned.
"Why so many weapons? We're exploring, not waging war." Rick asked.
Shust drew a serrated dagger, licking the blade with his red tongue: "Dead men don't need supplies."
Silence fell, broken only by Ross's swallowed saliva and Rick's pounding heart.
"Looks like we need to watch out for this killing fiend."
Rick instinctively pulled Moya away from Shust. The latter merely chuckled, ignoring them.
Supplies and equipment were divided, but as Moya had warned, something crucial was missing: transportation for the 100,000-mile journey, essential medical supplies, and even basic rations! Moya looked resigned, while Don Quixote, scribbling furiously on paper, sweated profusely—apparently, he'd never considered an expedition needed so much.
"I... I'll buy them now." Don Quixote said awkwardly.
Shust sneered: "The Association is closed at night."
"..."
Watching Don Quixote's near-petrified expression, Moya sighed: "Go to the black market. Quality's worse, but it's our only option if we leave tonight."
"But... that place is illegal." Don Quixote hesitated at the mention of the black market.
"Seriously? Are you even a hunter?" Rick, the rookie, couldn't help interjecting.
Though nominally illegal, the black market was every hunter's go-to—cheaper than the Association, despite poorer quality. Rick himself had sold a pouch of leech eggs there before getting his hunter badge.
Bullied by Rick, Don Quixote relented, pulling down his hat: "I don't know the way..."
Terry County's black market—led by Ross and Fera, they arrived at this haunt of destitute hunters. No different from Kester's, it teemed with messy stalls, dilapidated shops, and reeking, drunk low-rank hunters. Their tidy group drew stares, nearly crushed by peddlers.
Pushing past slobbering vendors, Rick broke free—only to find their "leader" clinging to his shirt like a lost child. "Hey, we're both men! People will get the wrong idea!" Rick swatted away Don Quixote's hand, glaring at jeering drunks.
Don Quixote stamped his foot like a child: "As if I care!" He stormed past Rick.
"Huh?" Rick recoiled, recalling the gesture—and a faint fragrance wafting from Don Quixote. Eyeing the man's effeminate stride, Rick shivered: "Jesus, he looks like a girl!"
While Rick marveled at his discovery, Moya bargained with vendors, flanked by Ross and Fera. Experienced in supply runs from his days with Lant's team, Moya slashed prices ruthlessly. After a ten-on-one verbal spar, he bought a secondhand insect cart, mountains of rations, and medical supplies at rock-bottom prices.
After ordering porters to load the cart, Moya returned most of the golden beetle coins to Don Quixote. "So much left?" The man marveled—he'd spent ten times as much on the storage room items.
"This is Terry County. In Kester, I'd pay half." Moya preened, reclaiming confidence in his unique skills.
"Why not buy more?"
Moya stared at him like an idiot: "We might trek for months! Rations spoil. Overloading will kill us in Tanzan Desert. We need spare funds for on-the-road supplies!"
Chastened, Don Quixote boarded the cart, yelling: "Hurry up—let's go!"
"Tch!"
They climbed in, but Don Quixote dawdled. "What's wrong? Cart broken?" Rick peered from the back.
"I.." Don Quixote blushed. "I forgot I can't drive..."
"..."
"Can't drive? Get out of the driver's seat!" Rick hauled him to the back by his collar. Fera took the wheel.
Kuang!—Kuang!—Kuang!—
The bulky insect cart groaned like it would disintegrate, inching through the crowd toward the city gate.