Terry County's urban layout stood in stark contrast to Kester City. Where Kester was a centralized megalopolis, Terry County sprawled in a fragmented pattern. On maps, it resembled a circle: Triumph Avenue, housing the Association and City Lord's Mansion, formed the dense urban core—what locals called the Inner City. Only the noblest few lived here due to its limited space.
Beyond lay the vast Outer City, a cluster of villages and towns orbiting the Inner City like stars around a moon. These settlements beyond the Inner City walls, dismissed as "the countryside," fell under a municipal guard force. Their first stop, Benning Town, lay on Terry County's southern frontier—the very edge of the territory.
Yet Rick and the others hadn't even left the Inner City. Near the city gate, Moya's secondhand insect cart chugged along. Its body was armored in overlapping insect scales; inside, thumb-sized porter insects tirelessly pushed gears and chains, while grain-sized lubricant insects in a drum secreted fluid to coat every crevice.
"This cart is slow as molasses." Rick yawned in the back.
"Slow is steady. As the saying goes, 'a long journey tests a horse's strength.' You'll appreciate my choice." Moya had claimed Don Quixote's map, now scribbling on it with a pen between his teeth.
"I just want this damned mission over. I want to be a normal hunter—no more forbidden zones!" Rick groused at the mere mention of "forbidden zones."
"Quiet!" A hand rapped on Rick's window. "It's Shust. Weirdo—rides on the roof instead of inside." Rick stuck out his tongue but fell silent.
Soon they reached the city gate. Terry County enforced a night curfew; exiting required a pass from the City Lord or President Nanze. "We need the permit." Fera called back.
"Luckily I prepared." Rick heard Don Quixote mutter, watching him pull a stamped note from his pack and hand it to Fera.
Fera frowned: "As the mission leader, you should handle this!"
"I'm tired. Can't you do it?" Don Quixote pulled his hat over his face, voice gruff.
With a scowl, Fera stepped out. Just then, a City Lord's Guard unit on ground wolf insects approached—the officer in charge was the same one who'd spoken to Fera and Ross at the square. "Dammit, it's Moncton." Don Quixote ducked, panicking—another oddity that piqued Rick's suspicion.
Outside, Fera chatted with Moncton, who even glanced at their cart. Though smiling, Rick sensed underlying intent. When Fera returned, Rick asked: "Who's that officer?"
"Moncton. Why?"
"Nothing." Rick eyed Don Quixote's strange demeanor. "What did you talk about?"
"..." Fera tensed, forcing a smile. "Just small talk. He's patrolling outside the city."
"Hmm..." Fera heard a noise by the window—Shust's head poked in, grinning with a chilling gaze. Did he notice? Fera's heart skipped a beat. Before he and Ross could panic, Shust withdrew, as if he'd never been there.
As the two conspirators calmed, Rick clapped their shoulders: "That guy's a spook. He'll give us heart attacks with his sneaking." They nodded vigorously.
Clearing the gate, the cart chugged down a narrow country road. Under the bright moon and stars, Rick almost forgot their deadly mission—until Moya looked up from his map: "I think we're lost."
"Lost?" Rick and Don Quixote peered out. "To Benning Town, we take the path. Why the main road? Is this a detour?" Moya glared at Don Quixote.
"Not my idea!" The man waved his hands.
"The path is under repair. We have to take the main road. The iron bridge isn't much farther." Fera explained nervously, flinching when Ross shot him a look—details Rick and Moya missed. The explanation seemed plausible, so they dropped it, though Don Quixote mused: Road repair? Grandpa didn't mention that...
Near dawn, they'd left the Inner City far behind. Apart from the cart's groans, silence reigned—even summer insects were mute. Inside, Moya and Don Quixote slept, but Rick felt uneasy. The eerie quiet set off alarms. He shook Moya: "Wake up. Something's wrong."
"Leave me alone, I'm tired!" Moya swatted him away.
"Hey, you—" Rick stopped as Ross turned: "Let him rest. He's weak from the egg implantation."
"Right..." Rick nodded, then frowned. Wait—these two got thrashed by me. Why are they being nice? Why care about Moya's condition?
Rick eyed Fera and Ross suspiciously. In the driver's seat, Fera stared at the rearview mirror, sweat dripping—Rick's skeptical face reflected back at him.
"Here we are." Ross elbowed Fera. Jerking from his daze, Fera saw the iron suspension bridge ahead, relief washing over his face. The cart suddenly surged forward, jolting Moya awake. He gaped at the dark bridge: "Why speed at night? We could plunge into the river!"
Fera and Ross ignored him, flooring the accelerator. Their odd behavior set Moya on edge. "What's your game? Stop!"
Rick lunged for Fera, but the moment he stood, Fera and Ross flung open the doors and leaped out. "Fuck!" Realizing the trap, Rick vaulted to the front—only to remember he couldn't drive. "Shit! I can't drive either!"
The cart careened out of control. "Pull the brake! Press that button to stop the porter insects!" Moya shrieked, white-faced, flailing in the back. Rick yanked the brake and pounded the dashboard.
After a ear-piercing grind, the cart fishtailed, slammed into a bridge pier with a boom, and finally stopped. Rick and Moya were dizzy from the spin, but Don Quixote blinked awake, wiping saliva—accidentally smearing half his fake beard off.
"Huh?" Rick rubbed his eyes. "What happened?" Don Quixote yawned, oblivious to his beard. "No idea, but it's bad. Get out!" Rick kicked open the dented door, dragging Don Quixote out.
"Where the hell did those bastards go?!" Rick seethed, scanning for Fera and Ross—nothing. "Rick..." Moya tugged his sleeve. He turned, words dying in his throat.
Down the road, a squad of ground wolf insect cavalry stood silent as ghosts, their killing intent chilling the summer night. "It's Moncton!" Don Quixote hid behind Rick like an ostrich.
"What do they want?" Rick whispered to Moya. "Beats me," Moya shrugged. "Go ask." "Me?" "I'm injured!" Rick eyed Don Quixote's cowardice and stepped forward, forcing a smile: "Honorable Captain, we—"
"I received word of bandits. No one passes." Moncton towered on his burly ground wolf insect. "Bandits?" Rick nearly laughed. Returning to Moya, he hissed: "It's a setup—they're blocking our retreat. What now?"
"Forward, I guess." Rick eyed the mist-shrouded bridge: "Feels dangerous. Maybe fight our way back?" "Are you mad? City guard captains are as strong as top hunters here!"
"Right." Rick shrank back. "Someone's coming from the bridge!" Don Quixote shrieked, voice oddly shrill. Through the purple fog, shadows advanced. "Hostile!" Rick snapped his arms—emerald exoskeleton clicked up to his shoulders. "Get in the cart!"
Moya and Don Quixote dove inside, leaving Rick alone at the bridgehead. Recalling Fera and Ross's secret chat with Moncton, Rick finally understood: trapped on this iron bridge over the river, with cavalry behind and enemies ahead. Jumping seemed the only way out—but the churning black tide and jagged rocks below killed that idea.
"Fuck! This is ruthless!" Rick wiped cold sweat. He couldn't take on so many, not with Moya and Don Quixote to protect. As the figures drew near, Rick made out a mane of silver hair whipping in the wind.
"It's you!" He recognized the man who'd brought him this cursed fate.
"We meet again." The silver-haired man wore the same eerie smile, eyeing the insect cart behind Rick. "Where's Shust?"
"No idea. Haven't seen him since earlier." Rick edged toward the cart, a bad feeling gnawing at him.
"Figures... Those idiots Ross and Fera!" The man lost interest in Rick, turning to his men. "Main target's gone, but killing small fries works too."
"Fuck, not again!" Rick cursed. He couldn't fathom why this handsome man hounded him.
The crowd closed in. Rick glanced at Moncton's guards—they showed no sign of intervening, grinning like they were at a circus. With no choice left, Rick braced for battle.
Just then, the river below exploded. A shadow shot up, trailing water, landing on the bridge railing like a phantom. It tapped the rail, and afterimages flashed through the crowd. Two heads flew up, blood spraying three meters high.
"Damn!" Rick gaped at the clean kill—he hadn't even seen the move.
"Shust!—" The silver-haired man spotted him too late, watching his men fall.
"Looking for me?" Shust stood on the suspension chains, shaking wet hair. His murderous gaze swept over Moncton's men. "The Wolf Pack sure spends big!"
"Hmph! Arrogant! You walk into my trap—do you think you're truly Nirvana?" The man's eyes chilled, silver keratin spreading over his body.
"Kashin the Silver Wolf?" Shust frowned, yelling at Rick: "Fight!"
Jolted into action, Rick swung his sickles at the nearest man. Caught off guard, the man flew back, spitting blood through the crowd. Rick dashed through the opening—only to be surrounded again by the Wolf Pack's elite, who quickly reformed their formation.
With Shust as the primary target, most charged him, leaving three to block Rick. Shust faced the horde fearlessly, springing up on the chains. Mid-air, invisible silk shot from his palms. Sparks flew as he crossed paths with the wolves. Landing, he smirked, yanking his hand—one man's throat split, blood erupting.
"Spider silk... Demon-Rank Sky Wolf Spider." Kashin sneered, his arms morphing into barbed whip-like appendages, knees sprouting spikes that spread to form insect limbs. A fine keratin mask covered his face, framing silver hair—sinister and terrifying.
"Insect General Peak Realm!" Rick gasped. One step from Insect Master, the realm of eternal insect life—Rick's dream.
"King-Rank Sky Ox Insect..." Shust's expression darkened. Though King-Rank was lower than his Demon-Rank, Kashin's Insect General Peak Realm bridged the gap. Higher-rank insects were harder to master, slowing realm advancement.
Shust, a 2nd Stage Insect General with a Demon-Rank spider, could unleash only 60% of its power. Kashin, at Peak Stage, wielded 90% of his King-Rank ox's might—their odds were even.
Shust flicked his arms, the spines on his forearms "snapping" into spiral blades. He rarely fought in full form, but Kashin demanded it.
As the powerhouses faced off, the air seemed to freeze, crushing onlookers.
BOOM—!
Blurs collided at the bridge's center. Kashin's silver whip coiled around Shust's bladed arms. His carapace wings beat invisibly fast, launching him like an arrow. The whip, rigid as a lance, aimed for Shust's face.
Too fast to dodge, Shust blocked with his blades—only for the whip to soften, curling around the blades to pierce his shoulder from behind.