Chapter 99: Busy, busy Greenwich.

It was beyond midnight and Ocean Belfast was still having a great time. He walked down the narrow stone street, swaying slightly, with his belly completely full of cheap boiled pork and sweet rice wine. He was happily patting his stomach, thinking about how smooth his last few hours had been and what he would have for breakfast the following days. He was pondering on how to make the mayor pay the bill when the suddenly his hound suddenly fell down and the world went pitch black.

A thick, smelly burlap sack was thrown over his head.

"Oh, no, no, no, no...", Ocean cried out, the alcohol high draining from his system instantly. Reality hit him like a bucket of ice water, he was being kidnapped. His mind immediately jumped to the worst possible option, Achilles.

His boss must have found uncovered his disguise. But how? He had changed it before moving out of the small room. Had they used a salamander or some other beast to sniff him out?

"Hey! Let go of me, you absolute degenerates! This is a crime; I am calling the cops. Help, someone help!" Ocean yelled. His kidnapper came to a stop, the sack was lifted, but mouth was muffled by a cloth and the sack quickly returned to where it had been before he could recognize his kidnapper. He tried to channel his internal energy, throwing a wild, backward elbow to smash his abductor’s ribs. He actually managed to kick someone in the shins, rewarding him with a satisfying yelp.

But Ocean wasn’t a grand martial arts master, he was an average hunter. A heavy, solid blunt object.... probably a very dense fist cracked against the back of his skull. Stars exploded in his vision. His legs turned to jelly, and he hit the dirt, losing consciousness before he could even finish cursing them out.

When Ocean finally opened his eyes next, he winced immediately. He was in a room, and it was bright; way too bright. It felt like someone had shoved two torches right in front of his eyes. He blinked rapidly, tears streaming down his face from a sting, trying to clear his blurry vision.

As the blurry white shapes melted away, he realized he was tied securely to a heavy wooden chair. And standing right in front of him, looking incredibly unimpressed, was his captor or one of his captors.

Ocean blinked again, his jaw dropping. He expected a giant, scarred mercenary with no teeth. Instead, he was staring at a woman with sharp eyes and impeccable posture. A woman he recognized.

"Wait... hunter Sheila Blue?" Ocean stammered, the shock wearing him like a heavy, winter coat.

Sheila Blue was not the kind you would expect to see lurking in dark alleys with dirty sacks. Ocean’s mind went into a frantic overdrive. What in the heavens did a hunter’s guild leader like her want with a guy like him? Had Achilles hired her?

"Why..." Ocean started, his throat dry and tasting like sour rice wine. "Why did you drag me here? Did Achilles send....."

"Shut your mouth and listen," Sheila cut him off, her voice like cracking ice. She didn’t have time for his guessing games. She stepped closer, her aura flaring just enough to make the air in the room feel heavy and suffocating.

She leaned down, looking directly into his terrified eyes.

"You are going to tell me everything," Sheila commanded softly. "Every single detail you know about Zyra Scorpion."

Ocean swallowed hard, his throat clicking. He looked at the ropes binding him, then back at her cold, beautiful face, and realized his night had just gone from a peaceful food coma to a total disaster. Sheila Blue was the most ruthless woman he had ever come across. Every second he was in her possession, he was closer to a grave.

Where would he begin?

****

At the same time, in that same town, Achilles was present. But the last thing on his mind was finding Ocean Belfast, even though he did have a few lackeys aimlessly combing the corners of the town for him. Achilles had much bigger fish to fry.

He marched into the private warehouse of the Thorn Guild and summoned Rocket, the vice-leader he always left in charge whenever he was not around.

Rocket practically sprinted into the room, wiping grease off his hands. He was a man carved from the last years of the apocalypse, lean, wiry and restless, with scars tracing his arms like maps of survival. His hair was cropped short, streaked with ash-gray, and his eyes burned with a sharp, restless light that made people uneasy. He had earned the name Rocket from speeding alone, whether it was in a car or on foot. Moreover, the man’s moods were explosive and unpredictable. He had a habit of launching himself into danger before anyone else.

The men in their guild liked to joke that he had a rocket engine up his ass.

"Boss! You’re back! Did you bring back....."

Rocket stopped mid-sentence. Achilles had just thrown open the lids of three large, reinforced cargo boxes.

Rocket gasped so loud he nearly choked on his own spit. He stumbled forward, his eyes bulging out of his skull. "Boss, what is this?!"

Inside the crates lay beast supplies. But the real showstoppers were the beast eggs resting in nests of soft dry grass. They were perfectly round, covered in swirling, patterns that pulsed like tiny heartbeats.

"I’ve never seen anything like this," Rocket whispered, his hands trembling as he hovered over a glittering blue egg. "The quality is insane! Boss, the first-class nobles will literally fight each other in the streets to buy these for their children! They’ll sell their own grandfathers for these!"

Achilles let out a rare, booming laugh, highly amused by Rocket’s face. "Exactly. That’s why we aren’t being charity workers here. We are going to sell them very, very expensively. If a noble doesn’t cry when he sees the price tag, you didn’t charge enough."

Rocket’s grin stretched so wide it looked painful. He began inspecting the rest of the stash.... bottles of purified harmonization liquid, life sap roots, and high-grade grooming brushes made from golden porcupine needles. With every single item he picked up, his smile grew wider and wider, practically radiating pure greed.

"Don’t sell these on the regular market," Achilles warned, his tone turning sharp and business-like. "Contact our highest-level suppliers on the black market instead. It would be an absolute waste of such resources to sell such rare stuff on the normal market where common merchants can gawk at them. Others can be sold in our auction houses. We must create an impossible demand."

"On it, Boss! Consider it done!" Rocket said, eagerly slamming the heavy cargo lids shut and locking them up tight. "I’ll make the calls immediately. We’re going to be filthy rich."

"Good. Now for the second piece of business." Achilles pulled out his phone, tapped the screen a few times, and sent a message over to Rocket’s device. "I just sent a list of names to your phone. I need you to use every information broker we have to find out everything about the men on that list. Their habits, their weaknesses, their bank accounts. Everything."

Rocket checked his buzzing phone, blinking at the names. "Who are these guys?"

Achilles replied coldly, with a grin that could chill the soul. "Dead men walking."