Chapter 1 A Pleasant Cooperation

“Let me think… how did this story begin?” The Hunter spoke in his deep voice, betraying not the slightest trace of emotion.

“The old bastard’s finally agreed to tell us what happened back then!” a young hunter exclaimed excitedly.

“I told you, I just want to tell a story—a story I’ve known for a long time,” The Hunter repeated, stressing that it was merely a “story.” But no one noticed the slight tremor in his hand beneath the table, nor how he kept instinctively reaching for the revolver at his waist.

“Alright, alright, just—just get on with it, hic~ Is it really—really true, like they say? Come on, old—old man, spare us the details,” slurred a potbellied hunter, slouching against his chair, drunkenly pouring himself another drink as he spoke.

“You’ll know when you hear it.” This time, the old hunter didn’t bother stressing that it was just a “story.”

A few years ago, in Louisiana, a young monster hunter came to me. By then, I’d taken part in many hunts and had built something of a reputation. When that greenhorn found me, I was sitting in a tavern, drinking.

“Hey, old-timer. I hear you’ve been on plenty of monster hunts. You must be pretty handy with those guns,” he tried to strike up a conversation, wearing a harmless, boyish grin. I kept drinking, barely glancing at him from the corner of my eye. The rookie looked haggard—a coarse long-sleeved shirt, bandoleers strapped over his shoulders, a Nagant M1895 revolver tucked into his belt alongside a first-aid kit, Knuckle Knife, and a dagger. Old cotton-linen pants tucked into boots. His eyes sparkled with the greedy gleam of profit and the ambition of landing a big score. He had none of the gloom or cunning that marked seasoned hunters. He reminded me of my younger self.

So I didn’t take the bait. But his next words made me stop drinking.

“We found a Blood Bonds in a house at Stillwater Bayou. It’s a bit tricky to get to. You interested?” Blunt, direct, no pretense—he cut straight to the chase.

“Are you out of your mind? That’s AHA property,” I said, trying to sound “friendly.”

“We know that. We checked—no AHA men around when we found it. Just us. And the most important thing is, we picked this up outside the place.” He pulled a Blood Bond from his coat and flashed it at me. The moment he did, I felt its strange power. It was real.

“You keep saying ‘we.’ How many of you are there?” I was tempted, but something felt off.

“Three,” he said, tucking the note away.

“Why not just keep the Blood Bond for yourselves?” I asked, cutting to the heart of it.

He sighed. “The three of us just registered with the AHA. No one wants to take us along for bounties. Our most experienced guy just knows to lead us around hellhound. If we run into an immolater and a hive, he’s useless.”

Lack of experience—their fatal flaw. But having a cautious leader had kept them alive this long, which was a miracle in itself.

“The place where you found the note—what’s it like? What’s in there?” It was obvious something inside was too much for them. They came to me because of my experience. But there were plenty of seasoned hunters. Why me? That was my next question.

“We found the note in a church. Circled around outside—it’s full of Armoreds and hives. On the northeast side, by the tool shed and the small warehouse, there are two Meatheads blocking the way with their leeches. And from the middle of the church, there’s this dull, crawling sound of bugs.” He shared everything he knew, but it still wasn’t precise enough.

“Why me?” I raised my glass to get his attention, my other hand inching closer to the holster under my coat. If his answer hinted at any kind of trap, I wouldn’t hesitate to put a hole in his head.

“We asked around. A lot of hunters who’ve worked with you remember you well. They say you’ve got plenty of experience, and you always make it out of those foul places alive. Hunters who always come back aren’t common. And those with a good reputation are even rarer.” He ordered himself a glass of rye whiskey as he spoke.

“But they exist,” I said, still wary.

“We’ve asked others. Truth is, you’re not the first we’ve invited. But I hope you’ll consider my proposal. Come with us. Claim the Blood Note.” He took his drink from the bartender.

“And the payment? I like to have things clear upfront.” I took a sip, my hand still near the grip.

“We take three shares. The remaining seven are split among you. Whether it’s Blood Bonds or hunt dollars.” He spoke slowly, a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

“Are there other hunters?” So they’d invited more than one outside gun.

“Counting us three—if you come, that makes twelve of us.” He sounded almost relieved.

“Don’t you think that’s a bit crowded?” I let go of the grip and ordered another drink.

“There are too many monsters in that church. And we don’t know how many more we’ll find after crossing the cemetery into the church—let alone that giant bug making all the noise. The more people, the safer, right?” At that moment, their inexperience showed again.

“And what if someone doesn’t make it to the end?” What I really meant was: What if one of you three doesn’t come out alive? What if someone puts a bullet in your back?

“Then we split their share among everyone left,” he said lightly.

A fair-sounding answer. But this was Louisiana. The Sculptor’s corrupted land. Everything was falling apart. Everything was fragile. That answer was foolish.

“Alright,” I said casually, extending my hand for the first time, offering an active gesture. “Pleasant cooperation~”

“Aha! Pleasant cooperation~” He shook my hand happily, grinning. His smile was the eagerness of soon-to-be wealth. Mine was a silent farewell.