Hunter Academy: Revenge of the Weakest

Chapter 504 115.2 - First Mission

"I'll keep that in mind," I said, directing the conversation back to him. "You must see a lot, driving around the city every day. Anything I should be aware of?"

The driver shot me another look in the mirror, his eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to gauge how much to share.

The driver hesitated for a moment, his gaze flicking back to the road before he finally spoke. "Lately, this city's been under a bit of a veil at night. Things aren't as safe as they used to be, especially after dark. If you're smart, you'll keep your head down and avoid wandering around alone."

I leaned forward slightly, feigning concern. "Why's that? Something going on?"

The driver glanced around, his fingers tightening on the steering wheel. There was a subtle tension in his posture, as if he were wary of being overheard, even within the relative safety of the taxi.

"Hard to say for sure," he muttered, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "But people have been hearing things. Screams… weird sounds creeping through the streets at night. No one's seen much, but you can feel it in the air—something's not right. A lot of folks are on edge, and some have even packed up and left."

He paused, his eyes shifting nervously to the rearview mirror, then back to the road. "There's talk, too—rumors about people going missing, strange shadows moving where they shouldn't be. The cops don't seem to know what to make of it, or if they do, they're not saying anything. But whatever it is, it's got everyone spooked."

I could see the fear etched in his features, the way his voice wavered slightly.

I watched the driver closely, my eyes tracing the subtle shifts in his posture and the tension in his grip on the steering wheel. His breathing had grown shallower, his gaze darting around as if searching for something lurking just beyond the edges of the road.

'So he has witnessed.' The way his muscles tightened, and the slight tremor in his voice spoke volumes. This wasn't just hearsay—he'd seen or experienced something firsthand.

'Classic signs of heightened anxiety,' I noted mentally, recalling my studies on body language and neuroscience. When someone's sympathetic nervous system kicks in, it triggers a fight-or-flight response. The increased heart rate, the shallow breathing, the heightened awareness—these are all evolutionary traits designed to prepare a person for danger.

But here, in the relative safety of a taxi, these reactions told me one thing: this man was genuinely afraid of whatever was happening in Veilcroft.

I leaned back slightly, careful to maintain a relaxed posture, projecting an air of calm understanding. "I appreciate the warning," I said, my voice steady and reassuring. "I'll make sure to stay alert all the time. It sounds like things have been tough here lately."

The driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror again, his eyes searching mine for sincerity. He must have found what he was looking for because he relaxed just a fraction, though the tension didn't entirely leave him.

"Yeah, tough… you could say that," he muttered. "It's not something people like to talk about, you know? But you hear things, see things… It gets to you after a while. Even folks who've lived here their whole lives are starting to get spooked."

I nodded, giving him the space to continue without pressing too hard. "I can't imagine what it must be like. Have you seen anything yourself?"

He hesitated, his gaze flicking away from mine. It was clear he was weighing whether to share more, his instincts telling him to be cautious. I kept my expression open and non-threatening, letting him know I was just a concerned outsider trying to understand.

"There was this one time…" he began slowly, as if unsure he should continue. "Late one night, I was driving back from a drop-off on the edge of the city. It was quiet, too quiet, you know? And then I heard it—this low, guttural noise. Like something was growling, but it wasn't any animal I'd ever heard. Gave me chills, man."

He shuddered, and I could see the memory was still vivid in his mind. "I didn't stick around to find out what it was. Just hit the gas and got out of there as fast as I could. Since then, I don't take late-night fares anymore. Not worth it."

'A growl…' That piqued my interest.

That was something to make a mental note of.

"I don't blame you," I said, nodding in sympathy. "I'd do the same in your shoes. It's good to know when to trust your instincts." Nôv(el)B\\jnn

The driver gave a short, humorless laugh. "Instincts, yeah. Those are the only things keeping people safe around here these days."

"Thanks for the heads-up," I added, keeping my tone light. "I'll be sure to stick to the safer parts of town."

He gave me a curt nod, his eyes back on the road, but I could tell he appreciated the understanding. I'd gotten what I needed without pushing him too far, and now I had more insight into what I might be facing.

The key was to remain subtle, to let the information come to me without raising the alarm. The driver had already provided more than he probably intended, and I could sense that pushing further might close him off completely.

After a bit more driving, the taxi slowed down as we neared my destination. The area wasn't in the bustling heart of the city but close enough to feel the hum of activity. The streets were lined with buildings that were more subdued than the ones at the city's center—functional, nondescript, perfect for blending in.

"Here we are," the driver announced, pulling up to the curb. I glanced out the window, taking in the sight of the building I'd memorized from the map on my smartwatch. Just as expected from the organization—plain and unremarkable, the kind of place that wouldn't draw a second glance from anyone passing by.

I nodded, handing the driver the fare and stepping out of the taxi. He gave me a final, wary look before driving off, the sound of the engine fading into the background as I turned my attention to the building ahead.

I walked towards the entrance, my steps measured and unhurried. The street around me was relatively quiet, with only a few pedestrians moving about their business. As I approached the building, I noted its unassuming facade—clean lines, simple architecture, nothing to indicate what lay within.

Reaching the door, I pulled it open and stepped inside. The interior was just as understated as the exterior—neutral tones, minimal decor, and a reception desk set against one wall. A woman in her thirties sat behind the desk, her expression polite and professional as she looked up to greet me.

"How can I help you?" she asked, her voice pleasant but with a hint of formality.

"I'm here to meet Warden Shanks," I replied, keeping my tone straightforward.

The moment I mentioned the name, her expression shifted. The polite demeanor was replaced by something more serious, her eyes narrowing slightly as she assessed me. She glanced at my smartwatch, and for a split second, I saw her right eye flash with a brief, almost imperceptible light.

She nodded, the tension in the air palpable. "Please follow me," she said, her tone now all business.

I did as instructed, following her through a series of corridors that twisted deeper into the building. The layout was designed to disorient, with turns that made it easy to lose track of direction.

But I kept my focus, noting the subtle details that marked the path—small signs, shifts in the lighting, the occasional security camera discreetly tucked into corners.

After a few minutes, we arrived at a sleek, modern elevator. The woman gestured towards a small scanner panel beside the doors. "Please scan your smartwatch," she instructed.

I raised my wrist, aligning the screen of my smartwatch with the scanner. There was a brief pause, and then the panel lit up with a soft green glow, acknowledging my credentials. The elevator doors slid open with a quiet hiss.

"This way," she said, gesturing me to step in.

With a nod, I entered the elevator.

"Good luck, Adept Astron," she said, her tone professional but with an undercurrent of something that I couldn't quite place.

With a final nod, she stepped back, leaving me alone as the elevator doors slid shut with a soft click.

The elevator began its descent, the motion smooth and nearly imperceptible. I could feel the subtle shift as we went deeper underground, the air growing cooler with each passing moment.

The faint hum of the elevator was the only sound, a reminder of the layers of security and secrecy that surrounded this place.

When the elevator finally came to a stop, the doors opened to reveal a wider space than I'd anticipated. The area before me was a sprawling underground complex, efficiently designed with a network of offices scattered around. The lighting was soft but bright enough to highlight the sleek, modern architecture.

I stepped out of the elevator, my footsteps echoing slightly in the open space. The air carried a faint scent of polished metal and something else—something more sterile, like the faint trace of antiseptic.

As I moved further into the space, I noticed that the offices were spread out in a way that maximized privacy. Frosted glass walls offered a glimpse of the figures working within, but details were obscured, maintaining an air of confidentiality. The layout was designed for functionality, with minimal decor and a clear emphasis on efficiency.

Several people moved about the area; each one focused on their tasks. They paid me little attention, their expressions serious and absorbed in their work. This was clearly a place where discretion was key, where everyone had a role to play and little time for anything else.

'Everything's in its place,' I thought, observing the smooth operation of the facility. 'Just as expected from the organization.'

I continued walking, heading towards a central hub where a large digital display mapped out various operations currently underway. It was here that I expected to find Warden Shanks or at least someone who could direct me to him.

As I approached, a tall man with sharp features and a neatly trimmed beard stepped out from one of the nearby offices. He carried an air of authority, his movements precise and controlled. Our eyes met, and I could tell from the way he assessed me that this was Warden Shanks.

"Adept Natusalune, I presume?" he said, his voice carrying the weight of someone accustomed to command.

"That's correct," I replied, maintaining eye contact. "I'm here to assist with the investigation."

"Hmm….." He looked at me from top to bottom and then gestured to me. "Follow me," he said, turning on his heel and leading me further into the complex.

It seems my first mission was about to start.

I am quite sick; caught a cold, prob. After resting a little, I will keep up with the pace.