Chapter 317: Waterhurst.

During the days of his hunting in the wild lands, Hunter and his group had stumbled upon their fair share of weird, dangerous, and downright miserable territories.One of those places was Waterhurst.

Waterhurst was basically a gigantic oasis plopped right in the middle of a scorching desert. It was nice if you liked palm trees, clear water, food scarcity and dry heat, but its biggest problem was saw worms. These things were gigantic, terrifying centipedes with mouths wide enough to swallow a whole two-story house in a single gulp. Worse yet, it didn’t matter if you tiptoed like a ballerina on the sand_ those monstrosities could hear a speck of dust land from three miles away.

Years ago, Hunter’s team would have been turned into worm chow if Dravin, the territory leader and his local boys hadn’t bailed them out.

Lucky for Hunter, he still remembered the coordinates in his head like the back of his hand.

Space distorted, and Hunter’s group materialized right in the middle of the territory, near the giant palm trees surrounding the central lake which was heavily guarded. Rightfully so, because it was the only source of drinkable water for miles.

Before the dust even settled, the metallic sound of a dozen weapons cocking echoed through the air.

"Freeze! Intruders!"

"Nobody move or we turn you into cheese!"

Hunter didn’t even flinch. He just raised a hand in a casual wave. Who else could say something stupid like turn you into cheese if not Dravin? That bastard said the most cliche and sometimes, unusual statements before he killed.

Standing at the front of the guards was a tall, hulking man whose skin was so deeply tanned by the desert sun that he almost looked charred. He blinked, staring at Hunter, then squinted.

"Hunter, is that you?" Dravin barked.

Hunter scoffed. "No, it’s your mother."

Dravin blinked again, took a step forward, and let out a loud snort. "Motherfucker! it’s really you." He burst into a booming laugh, striding over and slapping a heavy, sun-baked hand onto Hunter’s shoulder before pulling him into a violent, bone-crushing hug. "Look who decided to crawl out of the grave! Last I heard, you were pinned down in Cayman Valley and torn apart by a mad beast."

"I did the tearing." Hunter replied.

Dravin’s eyes glanced past Hunter, taking note of the Soul Maiden standing quietly nearby.

His men had also noticed her. But seeing that their boss was grinning, the Waterhurst guards let out a collective sigh and lowered their weapons. Just the boss’s old buddy. No blood bath today.

Hunter’s eyes roamed around the oasis. The place had changed a lot. There were new reinforced stone buildings, solar panels, and heavy defense systems. "Look at you, big shot. Upgrades everywhere."

"Yeah, no thanks to you!" Dravin growled, though his grin remained. "So, where the hell have you been, man? I haven’t seen your ugly face in six years! Six years!"

"Here and there." Hunter just shrugged, letting out a dry laugh. He didn’t offer a meaningful explanation.

Dravin’s eyes narrowed slightly. He knew Hunter too well; if the man was here, it meant business or trouble. He tossed his head toward a shaded canopy nearby. "Walk with me."

Under the cool breeze of the sun shed, Dravin leaned against a wooden pillar and crossed his arms. "Alright, spill it. You didn’t just teleport into my backyard to admire my palm trees, I am sure. What are you doing here?"

"I won’t beat around the bush," Hunter said, leaning in a little. "I need a favor."

Dravin’s eyebrows twitched. "A favor."

"I’ve got a group of people," Hunter explained smoothly. "I need you to take them in. Settle them down here in Waterhurst."

Dravin let out a long, agonizing wince, his lips folding into a tight, miserable line. He looked at Hunter like he had just asked him to adopt a pack of rabid wild dogs.

"Brother_ you have to be kidding me," Dravin sighed, rubbing his face. "You used to sell us top-shelf supplies. Then you vanish into thin air for six years, drop out of the sky without even bringing me a souvenir, and the first thing out of your mouth is ’Hey, take my refugees?’ That’s cold, man. Real cold."

"I know, I know. It’s unfair," Hunter nodded solemnly. "That’s why I’m not asking for charity."

Hunter reached for his beast pocket and opened it.

A small pile of high-grade hunting gear and other things clattered onto the wooden table between them. Weapons, medical kits, dry meat, and right on top, a lock gun.

Dravin’s complaining instantly stopped. His eyes widened, glittering like a greedy merchant in a crowded bazaar. "Hoooolllyyy shit."

He picked up the lock gun, balancing the weight in his palm, running a calloused finger over the chamber. "Where did you even get this? Even the military does not have these!"

"Take these people in," Hunter said, striking while the iron was hot. "And I’ll personally make sure Waterhurst gets regular shipments of this stuff. Free of charge."

Dravin winced again, but this time it was out of sheer agony over having to weigh a big reward against potential danger. He jotted his chin toward the two women standing near the entrance of the shed. "Is it them? What are they running from?"

Hunter rubbed his chin and shook his head. "No, not those two."

"Then who?" Dravin asked, his dark eyes sharpening. "Hunter, look at me. What are these people running from?"

Hunter stared back. Every instinct in his brain yelled at him to make up a brilliant, elaborate lie. Tell him they’re fleeing a tax collector! Tell him they’re running from authorities!

But Dravin was no fool. If Hunter lied, Dravin would find out the second the refugees stepped foot on the sand, and then he would throw them out.

Lowering his voice to a gentle, almost soothing whisper, Hunter leaned in close. "Look_ they’re reformed."

"Reformed what?"

"Cannibals."

The silence in the shed was deafening.

Dravin stared at Hunter for three full seconds. Then, he threw his head back and burst into a fit of belly laughs. "Hahaha! ’Reformed cannibals’! Man, you always had a weird sense of humor."