Ye Han lowered the spyglass. Lightning continued to tear through the sky, reflecting on his black steel helmet like echoes of a storm. The armor, cold and sinister under the rain, gave him a spectral presence. He was a figure that would make even the most rebellious children fall silent at once.
"Full equipment check," Ye Han ordered in a firm voice.
The Vespers activated immediately, checking ammunition, securing straps, adjusting helmets, and cleaning the mechanisms of their rifles. The metallic clicks of the weapons echoed among the distant murmur of the storm, marking the pulse of a unit that knew what was coming.
After receiving the confirmation signal, Ye Han began assigning the mission roles.
"V-12, find an elevated position with good visibility. Enter standby mode. You'll be our designated marksman."
V-12, a nineteen-year-old young man, nodded without a word. Despite his age, he had shown such precise aim during training and simulations that even Ethan had to double-check the results.
In one of the tests, using only iron sights, he had hit a target the size of a ball from twelve hundred meters, with a lateral gust of wind. It seemed his eyes saw beyond the normal, as if something in his body sharpened his senses to a superhuman level.
Intrigued, Ethan examined him personally. It wasn't until AION analyzed his retina that the unexpected emerged.
[Analysis Complete], AION announced in its interface.
[Atypical photoreceptor structure. Cone and rod density 310% above human average.]
V-12 could see with three times the clarity of an average human. The reason for this ability was unknown. However, AION detected something else—despite being classified as an individual without spiritual roots, his eyes harbored an exception.
Within them, small amounts of spiritual energy naturally gathered, as if his eyeballs were capable of absorbing and concentrating that energy without external intervention.
V-12 himself seemed unaware of his rarity. Ethan archived the finding for later; with his limited knowledge of cultivation and current technological constraints, drawing conclusions would be premature.
As V-12 faded into the darkness, moving with silent precision, Ye Han began issuing commands.
"V-6 and V-7, lateral coverage. Stay hidden, but maintain direct sight on the village's main entrance. If hostile activity is confirmed, intercept any escape attempts."
The designated ones nodded and slid through the underbrush, rifles in hand.
"V-8, V-9, and V-10, secondary line. I want eyes on alleys and alternate routes."
The mission wasn't a direct assault. They needed to confirm whether the supposed mercenaries were truly demonic cultivators, allow their presence to become evident to the village, and only then intervene. Showing strength at the right moment was key. Not just to complete the objective… but to leave a mark.
Ye Han reviewed every point of the deployment. The line was set, the shooter in position.
"The rest, with me," he said in a dry tone.
The remaining Vespers regrouped silently, forming a compact column. Without need for further words, they began advancing toward the village. Beneath the cloak of night and the distant murmur of thunder, their steps were shadows creeping across the earth.
The objective was to surround the inn where the suspicious group had lodged. They were not to act immediately. First, let the village see them. Let the tension rise. Let fear do its work. Only then, when the moment was perfect, would they intervene.
As they approached, they split into small groups, hiding. Watchful eyes. They awaited the signal.
The inn ahead was one of the few buildings dimly lit by oil lamps. Its flickering light cast long shadows across the street. The village wasn't large, but it served as a waypoint between cities, making it a common stop for traders and mercenary groups.
Through the windows of the first floor, a lively hall was visible, tables occupied by noisy travelers, waiters zigzagging with plates, and the unmistakable smell of cheap wine.
At one of the tables in the back, separated from the commotion, sat the target, a group of eight individuals. They dressed like mercenaries, with worn armor, travel cloaks, and weapons in plain sight. Their gazes were harsh, fierce—the kind of eyes that made drunkards sober up and customers look for another seat. They spoke among themselves in low voices.
They were different from the rest. Not just because of their silence, but because of the way they occupied space. There was something about them... a dense, almost tangible air that reeked of danger. As if their mere presence exuded a faint but persistent bloody aura, hard to explain but impossible to ignore.
Even the most seasoned among the mercenaries sensed it. Their instincts honed through years of battle screamed one thing—keep your distance.
At the back, at a table stained with wine and grease, a burly man—clearly the group's leader—raised his mug for the last time. He drank every last drop and let it fall with a dry thud onto the wood. His eyes, black as pitch, slowly scanned the room.
"It's time to act." His voice was rough, deep.
One of the younger members of the group, sharp-featured and with eyes as cold as steel blades, nodded without expression.
"I've confirmed it. There are no cultivators in this village. We can activate the formation whenever we want." His tone was as icy as his gaze, with no trace of emotion.
The leader nodded calmly and turned his attention to the only woman at the table.
"Prepare the formation. We'll handle the rest."
The woman, with a seductive figure, her hair tied in a high ponytail and lips red as fresh blood, held his gaze for a moment before rising. The fabric of her dark clothing billowed elegantly as she crossed the room, her footsteps making no sound at all. The smile she left behind was as charming as it was dangerous.
The leader followed her with his eyes until the inn's door closed behind her, and only then turned to the others.
"We move as soon as the formation is in place. Remember, no one must be left alive. The more blood… and more souls… the more blood beads there will be."
As he spoke those words, his tone turned almost fanatic, and in his eyes, a hungry, crimson, and unnatural gleam lit up.
The others looked at him with twisted excitement. One by one, they smiled with warped expressions, as if the mere thought of bloodshed brought them pleasure.
This was no longer a gathering of mercenaries. It was a congregation of demons.
The charming woman left the inn unhurriedly, walking along the cobbled streets with an unnatural calm. Her steps were silent, almost feline, and her silhouette gradually blurred into the night mist.
From the shadow of a nearby alley, Ye Han's eyes followed her intently. He didn't move a single muscle until she disappeared completely around a bend in the road leading to the outskirts of the village.
Then, he raised a gloved hand and gently rotated it in the air in a circular gesture, as if marking the passage of time on an invisible clock. He then extended two fingers in the direction of the vanished target, holding them rigid for exactly three seconds before closing them into a fist.
A clear, precise, trained signal: "Priority target, keep in sight." No words were spoken. None were needed.
V-12, hidden in an elevated position outside the village, caught the signal without hesitation. His trained reflexes and abnormally sharp vision were already tracking the woman's every step.
The sight of his rifle was perfectly aligned, centered right on the target's chest. His finger rested on the trigger with precision, unmoving but ready. His eyes, lit by a faint, unnatural glow, barely perceptible, remained open and fixed, as if blinking was a luxury he couldn't afford.
"Target locked," he murmured to himself in a low voice, barely a breath.
From his position, he was a silent god with the power to dictate life or death.
The hunt had begun.
But what the group of cultivators didn't know…
Was that the roles had been reversed.
The predator… had already been marked.
And unknowingly, had already become the prey.