Curselock

Chapter 97: Report

“What do you mean ‘three kids killed Banks and Ori!?’” the Huntress heard a voice shout.

She shifted slightly at the volume, shuffling into a tighter form to remain hidden. She couldn’t see the speaker, but from the pure booming power oozing from his annoyed tone, she knew him to be quite the opponent. She’d have to be careful, she never expected a person of such caliber to be in such a seemingly random place.

But maybe that was the point.

Criminals, especially the infamous kind, tend to be either secretive or blatantly out in the open. Or at least that had been the Huntress’ experience. She stifled a shudder thinking about a previous case where a shady politician was running a kidnapping ring. More specifically, she thought about the pure unadulterated gall the man had.

She was glad to be hunting a secretive criminal. There was less headache that way.

But could she really call this secretive? She had found the poacher’s camp almost as soon as she started looking. The trail up the mountain and through the snow was clear as day, something she honestly was not expecting. Usually there was a bit more tact from the criminal. But that was the problem with having hired or apprentice help. They leave trails no matter how many precautions were set up.

From her hidden position, the Huntress leaned a bit, activating a Legacy ability that allowed her to see her focus easier. She peered through the walls of the low-ceiling cabin, past the dozens of pristine pelts, and through multiple mantles housing many different monster bust trophies.

The man was obviously proficient in his craft, she recognized some of the stuffed monster heads as incredibly rare or incredibly dangerous. But that wasn’t what she was looking for. She looked directly at the man in question, finding his angry posture telling. Broad shoulders. Thick neck. Plenty of scars on his heavyset muscles.

A “W” brand across his forehead.

Now, if Isobel was a few decades younger and still floating the wake of her first few massive successful cases, she would have killed the Witch from an ambush unprompted. The man would be dead and his lackeys would be on the floor hiding from a hail of arrows. She’d be reprimanded by the Queen and docked pay, but her renown wouldn’t tank.

She let out a silent sigh, the Inquisitors rules were put in place for a reason – to lower the rate Inquisitors went rogue. It happened, she supposed. People like her, people with unimaginable power, get a taste for gold, drugs, or maybe even the thrill of the kill. It was a slippery slope, the path to becoming a Witch, especially for those in her line of work.

She’d been on her fair share of rogue hunts. She’d killed people she previously called comrades. She’d wanted to refuse orders, she’d wanted to tell the Queen “no.” But it was the job she signed up for. It was the only job she’d ever known.

On jobs in the past, she’d skirted the rules pretty significantly. Back when she was weaker. Where if she went rogue, killing her would have been simple. Now? Some of the Inquisitors rules were more set in stone, specifically around killing unprompted.

She felt she could talk her way out of trouble for killing the man before her. After all, he did create a blizzard above a town. Well, he didn’t, obviously, but his lackey did. And she could bend that narrative to suit the kill. But if there was some overzealous Inquisitor looking to make a name for themselves, which there always was, then leaving such a troublesome mess could be problematic.

While this route to a successful mission was longer and held more room for error, the headache of doing it by the book would outweigh the potential consequences.

So, she waited. She watched. She prowled and stalked. She would go unnoticed, she would learn everything she could about the Witch and set up a trap to isolate him from his poacher friends.

And friends there were. From her vantage, Isobel counted nearly fifty-odd personnel in the encampment surrounding the Witch’s cabin. Each was obviously attuned with their life as criminals in the mountains. The sheer number of monster parts being skinned or deboned was honestly astounding to the Huntress. Although the live monsters being locked in cages were more pressing.

She had to hand it to them, poachers were fast and efficient. Even if they were dealing with deadly beasts.

“Y-yes sir,” a female voice said to the Witch. “Three young males intercepted Banks and Ori on Frostford’s island while—”

The Huntress tuned the girl out. The report had been made to three different people at this point, each a bit higher on the totem pole than the last. She was starting to believe they weren’t going to involve their leader. Although she supposed the report was quite interesting.

Three young men, assumed twenty to twenty two, killed two relatively rooted poachers while a blizzard stormed overhead. What was more interesting, was the small monster the two poachers had allegedly been chasing. What was even more interesting was the fact a dungeon entrance was found after tracking the deceased poachers to their place of rest.

And the candle on top was that the dungeon was active.

If the Huntress gambled, she’d bet a year’s pay on Leland, Jude, and Glenny being the three young men. Just thinking about the situation brought a smile to her face. She had trained them so well. Of course they’d kill some lousy poachers…

… Of course they’d enter a dungeon. Her smile faded at the realization. While she wasn’t one to delve, she knew of those who did. And well, she disliked the type. Spending months, sometimes years, inside a dungeon was for the psychopathic adventurers of the world. Not for someone as prime and proper as a Royal Inquisitor.

Were the boys going to come out anytime soon? She didn’t know. Was the dungeon too tough for them to handle? She didn’t know. It was, after all, a dungeon hidden deep within a remote island only accessible once a year during a small town’s festival. Surely the boys wouldn’t just die, right?

She grumbled at that, shifting her weight and kicking some snow that had fallen on the toes of her boots. If the boys randomly died, after everything she had done for them, she’d hire the Champion of the Lord of Healing to resurrect their ghosts and she’d personally excise them for wasting her time.

The Huntress refocused on the criminals’ conversation when the leader said something a bit unexpected.

“If they entered the dungeon, they are as good as dead,” the Witch said.

“How do you know?” a new voice asked.

“The final boss is a bear, a mighty bear. It’s the beast that took my right eye.”

The last words were seethed. Pain and resentment reached the Huntress. She made a mental note, categorizing the Witch’s mental state and ticks. The man was going to be hard to put down, she’d need every advantage she could gather. A blind eye was a good start, but she’d need to know plenty more if she was going to set a trap to get him alone.

“That’s where Frostford’s Guardian Spirit Beast is from? A dungeon?” the new voice asked.

“Correct,” the Witch spit. “Why do you think I set up operations here? To eventually reenter and repeatedly kill that monster for every trophy it has.”

The new voice snorted at that. “My father always said you were passionate.”

“Your father was a fool.”

“And your brother, remember that when you insult him. Family is family.”

The Huntress could practically feel the Witch’s eye roll. The man continued, “Right. Family is family. Well, nephew, I have a job for you.”

“Kill the brats?” the voice asked.

“That, and secure the dungeon entrance. I need a week to prepare.”

At that, the conversation started to dull. Details were hashed out by the leader and his nephew while the girl and her partner left the cabin. The Huntress continued to listen but nothing of substance was said. Well, nothing that would help her.

The Witch was smart. He sent his lackeys to do his bidding while he stayed in the comforting anonymity of the mountain. He never left the cabin without a weapon, and he never turned his back on those he spoke to. The chance of a mutiny was low, even if the Huntress started leaning on the lowly poachers.

She supposed she had a week to fully come up with a plan. The leader, while important, was not what she needed to focus on. The nephew was currently gearing up for the trek down the mountain. She watched him, finding his appearance unassuming and frankly bland. The man would blend in well with a crowd, easily taking on the role of a young farmer.

Yet, the Huntress saw right through his game. She’d stared hardened killers and criminals down countless times before. She knew what hidden strength looked like. But the question was, just how much stronger is he than the boys.

Did they have a chance if she didn’t intervene? That was a tough call. One she thought about as she followed him back to Frostford.

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