Chapter 88 – The Hunters' Guild
"Dean!!"
As Gideon pondered the situation, a heart-wrenching cry suddenly tore through the crowd.
He turned and saw a young woman in a pale gray dress, her face stricken with panic as she tried to push her way forward.
But several men dressed as hunters blocked her path.
"Nava! It's too dangerous by the warehouse—you can't go!"
"No… I have to bring him back!"
"Get a hold of yourself! Do you want Clive to be an orphan?!"
At that, a small boy darted from behind the woman. Tugging at her dress, he pointed toward the warehouse.
"Why is Daddy lying there?"
The onlookers turned away, unable to meet his gaze.
The young woman broke down, clutching her son tightly as sobs wracked her body.
In the South, when a hunter failed to overcome evil, it usually meant death.
"Damn… Dean only joined the Guild two weeks ago. He had such a bright future…" muttered a man in the crowd—the same one who had first spoken of "evil spirits."
Gideon stepped closer. "Sir, what exactly happened here?"
The man, Marshal, turned. The voice belonged to a young priest with a strikingly handsome, unfamiliar face.
"Oh… it was Bolton, the warehouse owner. He reported someone was keeping a magebeast here."
Marshal quickly relayed the events.
"The Hunters' Guild sent men to deal with it. But not long after they went in, gunfire erupted—loud, furious…"
The fighting inside had sounded fierce. Then came screams… and silence.
"Whatever's in there, it's tough. The hunters who went in… probably didn't make it."
Others had tried their luck, swaggering into the warehouse to investigate. None had returned.
"Even Guild Officer Belen is inside. If something happens to him, the sealing ritual will be in jeopardy…"
At the mention of the ritual, Gideon interrupted. "This Belen—he's that important?"
On their way here, Sadie had explained the Hunters' Guild: a coalition of true demon hunters from the South and West, united to hold back the spread of demons and spirits across the frontier.
They also handled bounties, ensuring remote settlements could remain relatively safe. It was their strength that allowed the profession of demon hunting to survive at all.
But not everyone bearing hunter garb belonged to the Guild.
Many in the crowd were little more than "freelancers" with decent aim—not true hunters.
Only those who had inherited a hunter's legacy, awakened the gift of Spirit Sight, or successfully completed a high-tier bounty on their own ever received an invitation.
Belen was such a man.
In the South, his ancestors had been among the first to stand against evil, even taking part in the original sealing ritual. Locals revered them as the "Brave Forefathers."
As their descendant, Belen carried their bloodline.
That blood was key—without it, the ritual could not receive the blessing and protection of history's fallen heroes.
But over generations, that lineage had nearly died out. Only a few families remained, and Belen Hernández was one of the last.
That was why his position in the Guild was so high—and why he was indispensable to the sealing ritual.
Gideon finally understood the grim expressions around him. Still, he couldn't help but mutter inwardly:
If he's that important, why not stay put in an office instead of wandering into a damned warehouse…
Marshal's voice cut in again, brimming with anger: "The Allard have gone too far! They've broken the pact and endangered all of Saint Fréyan!"
He shook his head. "The people of the South will never forgive—"
His words cut short. His eyes widened as he noticed the Aled family's eldest daughter standing beside the priest.
"…My apologies."
Sadie bowed her head slightly.
Marshal's expression soured, as if he'd swallowed a fly. He glared at Gideon, silently accusing him: And you couldn't have mentioned you knew her?
Gideon, of course, pretended not to notice.
Marshal gave a curt farewell and melted back into the crowd.
"Any news?" Gideon asked Sadie.
Another hunter stood at her side. When they'd arrived at the Dead Dog Tavern, she had offered to gather intelligence.
"The Guild has already sent for the tribal high priest," she said grimly. Then she gestured to the man beside her.
"My friend here believes there's some kind of psychic barrier near the warehouse. Anyone who gets close loses control of their body."
At her cue, the hunter stepped forward and extended his hand.
"Ralph Jenkins. I didn't know Sadie had made new acquaintances."
He deliberately framed his words to place Sadie and himself on the same side, making the priest opposite them seem like the outsider who arrived later.
Ralph had short brown hair and a burly frame.
Combined with his deep-set eyes and rough stubble, he carried the rugged air of a wild-west gunslinger.
"Gideon Black."
Gideon gave a slight nod in response, only to immediately feel the pressure from Ralph's grip.
So, he's treating me like a rival, huh… The corner of Gideon's mouth twitched.
But the holy oil he'd applied wasn't for skincare.
His expression didn't change, and he returned the pressure without hesitation.
As one of the Guild's strongest, Ralph had fully intended to put this young man in his place.
Yet the sharp pain shooting through his hand made his face stiffen.
Not wanting to lose face in front of Sadie, Ralph clenched his jaw and endured, his expression reddening by the second.
Just as Ralph was about to hit his limit, a sudden commotion from the warehouse saved him from further humiliation.
Someone had slipped past the safety line, trying to drag Dean—still collapsed at the doorway—out of the warehouse.
But the moment the man touched Dean, his body went rigid.
"Hel… help me…"
He turned his head with great effort, his face twisted in terror.
Then, in the next instant, his eyes rolled completely white, as though filled with some unknown substance.
From the warehouse came another sound—
a thick, fleshy tendril shot out of the window, lashing toward the man in an instant.
The next moment, everyone saw something horrifying:
the tendril drove straight into his skull.
With a sickening gurgle, his body began to shrivel and decay at a speed visible to the naked eye.
Bang! Bang!
The demon hunters on-site didn't hesitate, drawing their guns and firing.
But as the bullets neared the warehouse, they struck an unseen barrier, failing to reach the tendril at all.
Helplessly, the hunters could only watch as their comrade was devoured alive.
When it was done, all that remained was an empty human husk.
The tendril didn't stop there. Dissatisfied, it crept slowly toward Dean, extending a sharp, spear-like stinger.
"No!!"
A young woman cried out in despair.
Just as the stinger was about to pierce Dean's skull, it suddenly froze mid-strike.
It whipped around instead, the tip now aimed at the crowd—
hesitant, as if sensing a threat.
Confusion rippled through the onlookers.
Then, a priest stepped calmly out from among them.
"Heh, sharp instincts. Not bad," Gideon said, ringing his bell.
"Hey, get back here! You're going to throw your life away!" Ralph muttered under his breath, voice low but urgent.
For all his rivalry with the young man, he didn't actually want to see him die in vain.
"Don't worry—he's strong." Sadie's voice rang out.
Ralph froze. The woman he admired was looking at another man—her eyes filled with trust.
The blow to his heart was sharper than any wound.
Which only made him feel even more uneasy…
---