Fifteen kilometers away from Apocalypse, at the edge of an abandoned lumberyard.
Fenrir stood before three informants who had collapsed to the ground, his current appearance different from usual.
A crude wooden mask covered his face, he wore an obviously ill-fitting, tattered leather armor, and he had even specifically found a machete to wield.
He dressed this way to conceal his identity as Apocalypse's deputy leader, while simultaneously making it obvious to the enemy that this was a deliberate disguise.
This would lead the enemy to conclude he was an assassin from Apocalypse, perhaps even the deputy leader himself.
The three looked at Fenrir, fear in their eyes.
Especially upon seeing the cold, predatory gleam in Fenrir's eyes and the undisguised aura of danger surrounding him, the three on the ground felt as if they had fallen into an icy abyss.
According to the original plan, they were only supposed to be acting.
Fenrir would pursue, they would flee in disarray, and then at the precisely right moment, they would be rescued by the precisely right faction, forced to reveal the top-secret that Apocalypse had no SSS-Rank Hunter.
But now... this was no act! This was clearly turning the feign into reality!!!
"Wait! Lord Fenrir! Didn't we agree..."
One informant struggled to scoot backward, his voice distorted by fear.
But his words were cut short. Fenrir's figure vanished abruptly, reappearing at his side in the next instant. The machete in Fenrir's hand whistled through the air—not aimed at a vital spot, but chopping viciously toward his thigh!
"Thwack!"
Blood sprayed. A wound deep enough to show bone split open. Excruciating pain tore an inhuman scream from the informant.
"Too fake."
Fenrir's voice came through the mask, icy and devoid of all emotion.
"Fear must be real. Wounds must be lethal-looking. Fleeing must be desperate."
As Fenrir spoke, his movements never ceased. The machete struck like a venomous snake toward the other two.
Each attack avoided immediately fatal areas, instead targeting the most painful, mobility-impairing, and visually gruesome spots.
Shoulder blades, knees, ribs—the blade flashed, flesh and blood flew.
For the trio of informants, there was only pain and the twitching corners of their mouths.
Look, just look! Was this even human language!
If they hadn't each been given in advance a potion capable of fully healing all injuries for an E-Rank or lower Reincarnator, plus a reward of one thousand Points afterward, they would rather have killed themselves than endure such torture.
Before, they thought they had struck it rich. After all, that single potion was worth a thousand Points, enough to save one's life in a single mission world.
If the injuries weren't severe, they could have saved it. But now it seemed, if they saved it, they wouldn't live to see tomorrow!
"Aaaah—! You lied to us! Apocalypse is silencing us!"
Another informant roared, the initial hope of merely playing along in his eyes completely replaced by genuine terror.
Even though they knew they had life-saving items, the terror in their eyes couldn't be faked.
The blade was practically at their necks! If their allies didn't arrive soon, they were truly afraid of dying at Fenrir's hands.
Especially after seeing the utterly indifferent, predatory look deep within Fenrir's amber pupils. Fenrir wasn't thinking about acting at all!
"Correct."
Fenrir whispered, his voice audible only to the nearest informant.
After speaking, Fenrir suddenly increased his force. One slash severed an informant's arm as he tried to block. Another kick slammed viciously into another's chest; the sound of cracking bones was clearly audible.
The three informants were sent flying like ragged dolls, crashing heavily into a pile of dead leaves. Blood quickly soaked the ground beneath them.
The light in their eyes rapidly dimmed, leaving only the despair of the dying and a searing hatred for Fenrir and the entire Apocalypse organization.
This hatred was utterly genuine.
Now was the time.
A sharp glint flashed in Fenrir's eyes. He raised the machete high, aiming at one informant's neck as if to cleave it, his killing intent condensing into something tangible!
"Clang—!"
A heavy alloy warhammer whistled out from the woods to the side, smashing precisely into Fenrir's machete!
The tremendous force shattered the shoddy machete instantly. Fenrir grunted, staggering back several steps, his gaze beneath the mask a mix of shock and fury.
"Who?!"
The woods rustled as five figures dashed out.
Leading them was a brawny man resembling a Brown Bear. He held the warhammer he had just thrown, sizing up Fenrir.
He was the deputy leader of the [Iron Wall Mercenary Group], an S-Rank Hunter renowned for strength and defense.
The aura of the four behind him was also formidable; they were at least A-Level Talent Reincarnators, all with combat-oriented talents.
Almost simultaneously, rustling sounds came from other directions. Two or three other small groups appeared at the forest's edge.
All were drawn by the earlier commotion and the informants' agonized screams. They were surveillance agents monitoring Apocalypse, representing many different factions.
"People from Apocalypse?"
The brawny man didn't beat around the bush, cutting straight to the point. His gaze swept over Fenrir's crude disguise, then landed on the three informants gasping their last breaths on the ground. A smile curled at the corner of his mouth.
"In such a hurry to silence them? It seems these little guys know quite a lot."
A two-meter-tall Hunter with S-Level Talent—other than Apocalypse's Fenrir, he couldn't think of a second person.
Fenrir seemed extremely wary of the other side's numbers, especially the imposing aura of the giant man.
He gripped the broken machete. Since he was exposed, Fenrir simply stopped pretending, letting out a blustering, hollow roar.
"Apocalypse is handling internal affairs! Outsiders, stay out of the way! These people are Apocalypse traitors and must be eliminated!"
"Traitors?"
The brawny man glanced at the [Raven's Eye] medals worn by the three and sneered.
"I'd say they're witnesses who know your Apocalypse's true situation, right?"
He took a step forward, placing himself between the informants and Fenrir, planting his warhammer on the ground.
"These people are under the protection of our [Iron Wall Mercenary Group]. Be smart and get lost. Otherwise..."
His companions stepped forward simultaneously, weapons drawn, their auras locking onto Fenrir.
People from the other factions also subtly closed in, their eyes glinting, clearly intending to get a piece of the action.
At that moment, one informant with a caved-in chest, blood trickling from his mouth and nose, used his last ounce of strength to rasp out.
"S-save... save us! We... we know Apocalypse's biggest secret! They don't have... don't have an SSS-Rank Hunter! It's all a lie! They're hunting us down... to silence us!"
These words exploded like thunderclaps in everyone's ears.
The brawny man's eyes blazed with intensity. The others also caught their breath, then expressions of wild joy and greed appeared on their faces.
Seeing this, Fenrir seemed to fly into a rage, roaring furiously.
"Seeking death!"
With that, he brandished the broken machete and lunged again, his target squarely the informant who had spoken!
"Hmph!"
The brawny man snorted coldly, sweeping his warhammer horizontally with immense force, the gust of wind howling past.
Fenrir barely managed to block, but the impact split the skin of his palms, the broken machete flew from his grasp, and he was sent flying back in a pathetic heap, only stopping after crashing through a small tree.
He struggled to his feet. His gaze beneath the mask swept venomously over the brawny man and the informants on the ground, then shifted warily to the growing number of figures arriving on the scene.
Finally, with apparent reluctance, he turned and fled in panic deep into the dense forest, disappearing from sight.
Fenrir retreated cleanly and decisively, even somewhat frantically, perfectly matching the reaction of a pursuer whose mission had failed and whose tracks were exposed.
The brawny man didn't give chase. His attention was completely captured by the informant's words.
He crouched down, ignoring the informant's dying state, roughly grabbing his collar. "What you just said, is it all true? Apocalypse has no SSS-Rank Hunter?"
"A-a thousand percent true..."
The informant's breath was faint, his eyes holding the madness of a narrow escape and the glee of revenge.
Damn it all, it's because you idiots didn't take the bait that we had to endure all these cuts for nothing.
At this moment, the madness and desire for revenge in the trio's eyes solidified into something tangible as they burst into maniacal laughter...