Free Web NovelEleanor ran faster than Margaret.
This was not surprising.
Margaret's left shoulder was still wrapped in bandages, and the aftereffects of her internal concussion caused a sour, hot current to surge up from her stomach every three steps she ran.
Meanwhile, Eleanor von Schwartz, the woman who had single-handedly taken on three of Usar's main mechs during the border campaign at the age of seventeen, possessed physical fitness that far surpassed ninety-nine percent of the officers in the Imperial Army, even without the aid of any supernatural powers.
When the two of them rushed out of the side door of the Gendarmerie headquarters, the Gendarme on night watch didn't even have time to salute.
He only saw a dark shadow flash past the corridor, then the door was slammed open, letting in cold wind and snowflakes.
By the time he reacted, only a faint scent of military leather and gun oil remained in the corridor.
Along with two sets of wet footprints on the floor.
The snow was falling harder.
The streets of Eisenburg were almost deserted at this hour, with only the gas lamps casting dim yellow halos in the curtain of snow, like the fingers of a drowning person reaching out of the water for the last time.
Eleanor's military boots crunched sharply and forcefully on the accumulated snow.
She didn't look back to see if Margaret was keeping up.
She knew the other woman could.
Even if that woman were more severely injured than her, she wouldn't drop the ball at a critical moment.
This was one of the most annoying things about Margaret von Oppenheimer.
"The Iron Teeth Society."
Margaret's voice came from two steps behind her, its edges shaved off by the wind and snow, yet every word remained clear.
"Have you heard of them?"
Eleanor did not slow her pace.
"I've heard the name, but I don't know the details."
"Then I'll make it short."
Margaret's breathing was heavier than usual, but her speaking speed was unaffected.
Years of military life had taught her one thing: reporting while running was a basic skill; if you couldn't catch your breath, that was your problem, not the listener's.
"The Iron Teeth Society is an organization in the Imperial underworld that is almost nameless—no headquarters, no bylaws, no membership fees, and no formal leader."
The two of them turned a street corner at the same time.
The Gendarmerie headquarters was located in the central district of Eisenburg, about a twenty-minute walk from the Old District.
If they ran, ten minutes.
If they ran with everything they had, seven minutes.
"It's more like a mutual understanding. Ferrymen of the Way of Strength scattered across the Empire maintain a loose but effective network through word-of-mouth codes and irregular gatherings."
"There is only one condition for joining—you must be a Wayfarer of the Way of Strength."
Eleanor's brow twitched.
The Way of Strength.
Its core concepts were Instinct, Wildness, and the Inner Beast.
Her understanding of the Wayfarer system wasn't deep, but she knew the basic framework.
"What is their objective?"
"There are two."
Margaret reached out to push aside a steam pipe hanging over the road; the snow on the pipe was shaken loose by her movement, fluttering to the ground.
"The first: hunting. Hunting down high-sequence Ferrymen."
Eleanor's pace faltered for a split second.
Then she continued running.
"Low sequences hunting high sequences?"
"Sounds like madmen, doesn't it?"
There was a hint of a bitter smile in Margaret's tone.
"Because the Way of Strength has a characteristic that other Ways Back do not possess."
They dashed through a narrow alley where the buildings on both sides towered high, squeezing the already dim sky into a thin slit.
Steam pipes crisscrossed overhead, with occasional leaks spraying steam from the joints, condensing into white pillars of mist in the cold air.
"When a Wayfarer of the Way of Strength faces a threat far beyond their own in combat—a real, tangible, lethal threat—and still chooses to move forward instead of retreating under that pressure..."
"Their resonance with The Way Back will deepen drastically at that moment."
Eleanor was silent for a second.
She understood.
"Trading their lives for sequences?"
"Exactly."
Margaret said, "Using the fear, pain, and near-death experiences endured while hunting high-sequence Ferrymen to knock on the door of the next sequence—that is the very foundation of the Iron Teeth Society's existence."
"Of course, not everyone survives to knock on that door, so the turnover rate of the Iron Teeth Society is extremely high. Many die, and many are replaced. There are always desperate low-sequence practitioners of the Way of Strength across the Empire willing to gamble their lives for a stronger future."
"But those who survive—"
She paused, as if weighing her words.
"Without exception, they are stronger, faster, and harder to kill than other Ferrymen of the same sequence, because every level of their sequence was earned with blood—either their own, their prey's, or both."
The two of them ran out of the narrow alley onto a relatively wide main street.
At the end of the street, the outline of the Old District loomed in the snow curtain, the low clusters of buildings looking like a pack of beasts crouching in the dark.
Eleanor's gaze swept over that darkness.
There was no crimson light anymore.
Nor was there any ghostly blue light.
This caused her heart to sink.
The disappearance of the lights meant two possibilities: either the battle was over, or both sides were stalking each other in the dark.
She didn't dare think about the former.
The latter made her even more uneasy.
"You said there were two objectives. What's the second?"
"Purification."
Margaret's tone became subtle.
"To them, this objective might be even more important than the hunting itself."
"High-sequence Ferrymen, especially those above sequence iv, generally have unstable mental states."
"The price of erosion leaves many of them wandering the edge of sanity and madness."
"The destruction an out-of-control high-sequence Wayfarer can cause far exceeds any conventional weapon."
"So the Iron Teeth Society believes they are doing something righteous—clearing out potential sources of disaster before the disaster happens."
"Using collective strength to hunt down a lone prey, using numbers to bridge the sequence gap, and using tactics and coordination to offset the opponent's individual advantage."
"With every successful hunt, the participants' compatibility with the Way of Strength rises a level."
"With every successful hunt, the world loses a potential source of disaster."
"This is their creed. This is the meaning of their existence."
Eleanor finished listening. freeωebnovēl.c૦m
She didn't judge whether this logic was right or wrong.
She only asked one question.
"How many of them are in Eisenburg right now?"
"According to Gendarmerie intelligence, at least three hunting squads, with five to eight people per squad. Their sequences are concentrated between II and III, with possibly one or two sequence iv captains."
"About twenty people in total."
Eleanor's jawline tightened.
Twenty madmen trading their lives for sequences.
Every one of them stronger, faster, and harder to kill than an ordinary Wayfarer of the same sequence.
And Pavela's current physical condition—
Eleanor's speed increased once more.
"The Gendarmerie knew the Iron Teeth Society had infiltrated Eisenburg?"
"Not just knew."
An emotion Eleanor wasn't quite familiar with appeared in Margaret's voice.
If she wasn't mistaken, it was chagrin.
"The Gendarmerie fed the Iron Teeth Society false intelligence—that there were signs of high-sequence Wayfarer activity in Eisenburg's Old District."
This time, Eleanor's footsteps truly stopped.
She turned around.
Snowflakes swirled and fell between the two of them.
Margaret stood three steps away, the edge of the bandage on her left shoulder fluttering slightly in the wind, her dark green eyes appearing exceptionally deep in the halo of the street lamp.
"You set the trap?"
"I set the trap."
Margaret did not deny it.
"The Iron Teeth Society has been operating across the Empire for two years. The Gendarmerie has been chasing them for just as long, but we've only caught small fry on the periphery. The core hunting squads are elusive and never stay in one place for more than three days."
"But they have one fatal weakness—they cannot resist «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» the temptation of high-sequence prey."
"So I set a trap in the Old District. False intelligence was spread through three different channels to ensure the Iron Teeth Society would receive the news from at least one of them. At the same time, I set up Containment Arrays specifically targeting Ferrymen at key nodes in the Old District."
"Once the array is activated, the entire area will be sealed off. Those inside won't be able to get out, and those outside won't be able to get in. All Ferrymen within will also lose the power of their Way Back. Then, the Gendarmerie's Special Operations Group will move in to close the net."
"And tonight is the scheduled time to close the net."
"So," Eleanor's voice was very soft, "you set a trap in the Old District specifically for Ferrymen."
"Yes."
"And Pavela is in the Old District right now."
Margaret closed her eyes.
...Yes."
