Far away from the training grounds, from the sea of tents, a young man walked along the deserted roads leading to the Ark. A conspicuous set of rabbit ears frolicked as the wind blew; it was such a blatant disguise that no sane beastfolk would even suspect it.
Gemini took another left turn. Of course, this body right now was the clone that Paragon Ortega had destroyed a day ago, forcibly regenerated by paying a high price — but Gemini's main body was too valuable to risk in enemy territory, especially when it needed to recover from internal injuries. His eyes were focused on a translucent, blue screen that only he and another eleven individuals could see. As he walked down that road, a patrolling squad of soldiers turned onto the road he just left. Its leader glanced at the retreating silhouette briefly, before turning away.
It didn’t take long before Gemini entered the livelier areas closer to the Ark, the place the residents here called Ark City. He could taste an undercurrent of fear and uncertainty. Many people were still on edge, worrying that the ceasefire would not hold, and war would break out again. He would occasionally overhear whispers, worries that the ceasefire was going to let infiltrators in, only to be harshly rebutted by overly-confident drunkards that they would be easily sniffed out.
There was probably some irony in him hearing these words, but Gemini didn’t show it on his face. He was busy looking for something…someone. A person just like them, from another world.
By and large, the beastfolk weren’t that welcoming towards humans, especially given the events of the past war. But there were still some that stayed. His search list had dwindled substantially from the inhabitants of the entire city to the humans staying here.
And when he found them…
That day next year would be their death anniversary.
He ducked underneath a low-hanging pole as he entered a shophouse. War was good business for alcohol, and the crowded tavern was proof of that eternal axiom. Tossing a gold coin over to the stupefied bartender, he took a giant tankard of mead and brought it to an empty table. With any luck, he would look like a civilian who had lost multiple loved ones, even an entire family.
After all, that was technically the truth. But with such a disguise, he would be able to freely eavesdrop on the conversations in the bar. People complained a lot when they were half-drunk, and it went without saying that a favourite topic to hate upon would be humans.
Worrywarts, the whole lot of them.
The higher-ups would not bother about this last stronghold of the beastfolk for at least two decades. Having driven out most of them into the Wildlands, the overlords of the Southern Continent were finally ready to invade the Central Circle, the Eastern Territories, and the Western Holdings.
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The authorities of the Southern Continent just needed to make up their mind. Perhaps they would decide through trial by combat, or see which noble family paid the most money and act accordingly. That said, the knowledge that the Southern Continent’s civil war had ended could not be contained for too long. The higher-ups would make their choice within a year at worst.
As for him, a person personally summoned by the authorities of the Southern Continent, he just needed to listen to their orders. But he too, had orders from even higher beings.
Or else he wouldn’t have begged Capricorn to prevent teleportation from working here for the next three years.
“Damn bastard.” He spat at that pathetic memory, and took another swig of alcohol. At least the alcohol here was actually worth drinking, unlike the watered-down-with-piss product the Southern aristocracy loved.
As people continued to complain, the azure screen in front of him continued to update with new words. Surprisingly, there were at least sixty humans still living their normal lives here, despite the fact that their own kind had attacked this place just a day ago. But he didn’t need to check every single human here. The first thing to rule out would be humans with properties, like the owners of the general store, as well as anyone aged forty and above.
At the same time, anyone younger than twenty was out of the picture too, since the quest he had was targeted at a human who was at least twenty years old.
It was somewhat frustrating. The target’s parameters were clear enough to prompt him to take this quest, but they were just obfuscated enough that he would not be able to finish it within the next month or so.
He made a growling noise in his throat as the entire list he compiled shrunk by over ninety percent. Downing whatever that was left inside the tankard, Gemini got up and left the bar. He had three gang leaders on his list, and they were all situated in the slums.
His face twisted as he approached the slum areas, and for a moment, he thought back to the slum areas of Earth. No matter where he went, they always looked the same. Ruled by gangs of slightly stronger men, who lived off the blood of others.
Even if he didn’t have this quest, Gemini would still wipe out any gang he came across on principle.
He pushed open a wooden door, while energy flooded out from his body, stirring up the dust throughout the street.
Gemini squinted at the morning sun as he left the headquarters of the gang he just visited, leaving nothing but corpses in his wake. For the next few days or so, it was likely that no ruffians would go around the slums and extort money from the people there, creating a window of time where the slum dwellers could band together and form their own governing principles.
Irony was rather popular today, for Gemini. Helping a hostile nation with its stability…it was definitely out of character for him. His next destination…would be the sea of tents that took in homeless people. The chances of an otherworlder being there was just slightly lower than being in a gang, given that everyone like him had incredible fighting prowess.
For all he knew, his target could be a general by now. Killing such a personage would be a nice bonus to cash out on.
It was worth checking the military out.