Volume II: The Youth with a Thousand Faces, Truth and Illusion Chapter Sixty-Six: Eddie’s Call

If rain is the tears of God, then God must be sobbing uncontrollably, for the thunder’s deafening roar cannot drown out the tumultuous sound of the downpour.

The drainage system in the colonial district of New Delhi had always been exceptional; even when rainfall reached nearly a hundred millimeters, the water would rush at the fastest speed toward its ultimate destination—the sewers.

Water flows downward, but people walk upward.

Kastan was furious, angry that his credit had been stolen. Originally, he intended to report the news and hoped to lead his troops immediately to eradicate the Ultimate Entity—a feat that would bring him tremendous glory. Yet he had never imagined that a mere Level Three Hunting Squad like theirs could have the audacity to claim the right to hunt the Ultimate Entity.

He had considered, however, that if some elite forces were dispatched from above, he could accept it—so long as he received credit for discovering the Ultimate Entity. After all, even a mosquito's leg is still meat. This way, he could avoid much danger and trouble; wouldn’t that be delightful?

But never did he expect that someone claiming to be a student from Bancroft would say the task was theirs. He had no doubt about the truth of this, for who would be foolish enough to impersonate a student just to hunt such a dangerous calamity? So the matter was real; only the notification hadn’t arrived, but those students were already here.

This, he could absolutely not tolerate, because the moment the task information was handed over from the Hunting Squad to Bancroft, the executor of the mission belonged to another system. No matter how great the credit, none of it would be associated with Kastan, not even the merit for discovering the Ultimate Entity.

Yet greed clouded his mind once more, making him forget that the discoverer of the Ultimate Entity was a survivor from a merchant caravan that nearly perished in the desert—not Kastan. This matter was never something a small captain of a Level Three Hunting Squad could participate in.

Word came that those students were making trouble outside headquarters. Kastan resolved that a simple refusal was not enough; he had to personally teach those brats a lesson.

The two soldiers dared not stand before Hoy any longer; his strength could very well kill them in an instant. They would not remain at the entrance and invite trouble—if he wanted to enter, there was no way the two of them could stop him, so why insist on a beating?

Hoy had understood the petty calculations of this Level Three Hunting Squad leader thoroughly. After all, he was the eldest son of the Grand Captain’s family, accustomed to such intricacies since childhood. After explaining everything to the others, Kastan emerged from headquarters.

Kastan’s appearance was a classic Southeast Asian type: short and stout, with a bulging belly and unsteady gait, clearly someone who spent his days sedentary in an office and his nights searching for a place to sleep amid the red-lit streets, rarely moving all night. He barely had time to take in the faces of those before him before he spoke rudely: “Hey, listen up, you bunch of self-important brats who think you’re God’s favorites! This is the Hunting Squad—do you know it’s a government department? If you dare make trouble again, do you believe I’ll—”

Just then, something brilliant and blinding caught Kastan’s eye: a uniform, the Hunting Squad uniform, a badge—the badge of the Death God Hunting Squad, their superior, whose very name his small, nameless Level Three squad reported to. And the owner of that badge appeared to be the student he had just insulted.

“Well, what exactly will you do to us? Go on, say it,” Hoy remarked, knowing full well the effect his badge had. He was both annoyed and amused, and couldn’t help but want to make Kastan even more uncomfortable.

“I’ll…” Kastan was stunned for a long moment. “I’ll invite you all in for tea. Please, you’ve come a long way, you must be thirsty. Come in, please, quickly.”

Kastan adopted a respectful posture, ushering the six guests inside headquarters.

Hoy didn’t even glance at him again, walking straight past without acknowledging him, for as he had said, from the moment the calamity appeared, every second could mean innocent lives lost. All time must be saved, and such a person wasn’t even worth Hoy’s attention.

The others followed, equally uninterested in Kastan.

Kastan’s right hand clenched tightly into a fist, but he dared not utter another word.

Meanwhile, a phone call came through to the captain’s office on the third floor of headquarters. The captain was nervous, for the caller ID showed it was from the Death God Hunting Squad. Whoever called, he must treat them with utmost respect, because he was from a Level Three Hunting Squad, and the Death God Squad directly governed them as Level One. Rank and military grade didn’t matter—only the squad’s level determined who was the superior, a strict hierarchy.

“Hello, this is New Delhi’s Forty-Third Hunting Squad. May I ask who you are?” the captain asked cautiously.

“Eddie Holles.” The voice on the other end was calm, yet carried immense authority.

Thunder crashed.

The captain nearly fell off his chair, sliding to the floor and dragging paperwork down with him, scattering sheets everywhere. But he scrambled up, hurriedly picking up the phone again.

“Oh, sorry, it thundered suddenly, and I dropped the phone.”

Of course, the captain would never admit he himself had hit the floor. Even saying he was startled by lightning was better than admitting he was frightened by a name.

He asked nervously, “Sir, do you have any instructions?” He was terrified the other might reply with something like, “Why do you think I’m calling you?”

But Eddie did not. He spoke crisply, “The Ultimate Entity incident you reported has been assigned to Bancroft. Among those arriving are my son and daughter. Don’t give them special treatment, nor let others know their identities. If they have work-related requests, try to fulfill them. Assist them with all you have. The rest is not your concern.”

Eddie always handled business this way. If he were long-winded, how could he manage the military and civil affairs of three colonies? He was no useless government parasite—he did his job with all his strength.

The captain nodded repeatedly, though he did not know if Eddie could hear it. “Yes, yes, understood. I’ll do everything as you instruct.”

The call ended. The captain exhaled deeply; it was terrifying to speak with the Black Death God, as if invisible hands were choking his throat, making it hard to breathe.

The captain, frazzled, wondered how to discreetly show warm hospitality to Commander Holles’s heirs, hoping to pave the way for his own future career. Just then, he recalled someone had reported earlier that Kastan, the captain of the third battalion, had blocked a group of students at the gate, and now those students were causing a commotion. Could it be?

The captain couldn’t bother with the mess of papers on the floor, trampling them as he rushed out the door. His shoes were muddy, and an important document stuck to his sole. He shook his leg hard to dislodge it, then dashed downstairs.

When he arrived, he only saw Kastan there, gnashing his teeth and muttering to himself.

“Damn brats, so what if they’re from the Death God Hunting Squad? Just wait!”

Without a word, the captain slapped him sharply across the face—a crisp, resounding slap!

Hoy and his companions wandered through the Hunting Squad headquarters. The structure was complex, without any signs, and they couldn’t find the captain’s office. Simply put, they were lost.

After a while, Relimi couldn’t help but ask, “Big brother, are we—”

“Shut up!”

“Yes, sir.”

The three girls burst out laughing, delighted at their predicament.

Beyond the colony, in the disaster-ravaged wilds, the sun was sinking westward, and the desert’s temperature began to plummet.

The specific heat of sand is extremely low, so its temperature changes easily. Under the sun’s daytime blaze, the desert heats up, becoming a furnace of hell. But at night, when day yields to night, the sand rapidly releases its heat. With the desert’s dryness and hardly any clouds to retain warmth in the air, this creates extreme cold after sundown.

A man walked barefoot, stumbling through loose sand. A single horn rose from his head, and his gaze was fierce, like a volcano about to erupt.

“Damn it, damn it, damn it, too damnable! That Hill fellow only became one of the Twelve Calamities by luck, and now he dares to flaunt it before me. Just wait! One day, I’ll return to the main disaster wilds and become a higher-ranked member of the Twelve Calamities. Then I’ll twist that guy’s head off and kick it away! Let’s start with ten thousand repetitions!”