Gulp. Gulp. Gulp.
Muherr lay on the sofa, silver hair flowing like moonlight, sharp elf-like ears poking through.
Dressed in a black uniform, the man drank straight from a wine bottle—an image that felt oddly out of place with his otherworldly appearance.
Muherr wasn't drowning his sorrows in alcohol.
As the commander of the support and interception squad left behind by the Beyond Exploration Team, he needed a pastime to kill time.
And time, when filled with waiting and patience, always moved slowly—like the old saying: a day feels like a year.
He propped his booted legs up on the table beside him and took another swig from the bottle. His eyes, however, remained fixed on the map of the sea hanging on the dull gray wall.
The core members of the Beyond Exploration Team had already departed days ago, leaving the transit base island behind as they journeyed toward the Boundary Gate—the place where the Gatekeeper awaited.
Muherr and the mercenary unit under his command had been ordered to stay behind.
Their mission was simple: to ensure the Beyond Team had support and a guaranteed path of retreat.
At the same time, Pariston had offered his usual smiling warning—predicting that the Hunter Association might soon send pursuers after them.
Muherr's mercenaries were to take advantage of their stronghold—the transit base island's natural defenses—and the abundance of weapons they'd left behind to hold off any incoming threat.
Ideally, they'd intercept the enemy ships at sea, sink them before they could land, and let the ocean drown most of the pursuers.
That would be the safest outcome.
He had no intention of letting the enemy land and turn the island into a battleground, where every key location would be fiercely contested.
Such a scenario would cost his mercenary force dearly.
Sure, Beyond and Pariston had paid a generous deposit—more than enough. They'd even promised future payouts that would guarantee a life of luxury for his troops and their families.
A future where every one of them could retire as millionaires...
But in the end, they were just mercenaries. Meant to charge in and bleed when the time came.
Still, if there was a safer way to stop the enemy, why risk their lives?
Muherr couldn't help but laugh.
Ring ring, ring ring, ring ring—
The phone on the desk rang at the worst possible moment, interrupting his pleasant daydreams of retirement.
Annoyed, he reached out and picked up the receiver, bringing it to his ear.
"What is it?" Muherr's tone was clearly impatient.
The voice on the other end belonged to one of his subordinates—nervous, slightly panicked.
"Captain, unidentified vessel spotted—it's approaching!"
So they really came.
Muherr instantly sobered up. "How many ships?"
"One."
"One?"
Muherr paused for a moment. Then it hit him—of course. Every ship on the New Continent had been destroyed.
For the pursuers to even get one working vessel was impressive enough.
One ship, though? That made things much easier.
"What type of vessel?" Muherr relaxed again, leaning back.
"Uh... it looks like a tourist yacht."
Muherr stared blankly for a long second.
Then he slowly took his legs off the desk and sat upright.
"The hell did you just say? What kind of ship?"
"A tourist yacht," the voice on the line repeated, forced to say it again.
"Sinking it." Muherr's face darkened. "No matter how you fire, sink it! What kind of joke is this... Use the special coastal defense cannons!"
"We're already using them…" the subordinate replied nervously. "But we can't hit it. That yacht is too agile."
"Have you all lost your minds?" Muherr burst out, standing up from the sofa. "Can't hit a single yacht? You've been lying on boats for so long you've forgotten how to fire cannons?"
"N-No… it's really agile, really fast. Our shells just can't hit it."
Can't hit it?!
How is that even possible?!
Muherr frowned deeply, thinking it over, then understood.
It must be a dozen or so Nen users with conjuration abilities, manifesting the ship together.
A ship like this — the "yacht" is only a shell; the real speed depends entirely on those dozen conjured Nen users.
If that's the case, the pursuer coming in on a sightseeing yacht makes sense.
"Let it get closer. When it tries to land, concentrate all fire and destroy it in one strike."
"Yes, sir!" The subordinate replied immediately.
After hanging up, Muherr felt uneasy. He paced back and forth on the creaky wooden floor of his room, worried.
Just as he was about to open the door and check outside, the phone rang again. He walked over and picked up the receiver.
"Captain!" It was the same subordinate, now even more panicked. "They've landed!"
Muherr's eyes widened in shock. It had been less than five minutes since the last call.
And the enemy had already broken through their defenses and successfully landed in that short time?
What kind of joke is this?
"Captain?" Hearing no response, the subordinate had to raise his voice.
Muherr indeed heard the constant sounds of gunfire and cannon blasts from his subordinates' side. It seemed they had already engaged the enemy.
"How many enemies have landed?" Muherr didn't have time to blame his subordinates for incompetence but quietly wondered.
Could it be Old Netero himself?
No way. Would he really ignore the Hunter Association and the survivors just to come personally and kill his own son?
Or maybe members of the Twelve Branches like "Chenlong" Potobai or "Yinhu" Guanxi?
Only Netero or some of the Twelve Branch members could have such a rapid and unstoppable landing speed, right?
His subordinate hesitated for a moment, then gave a number that stunned Muherr: "From observation, the enemy—there should only be four of them."
Muherr fell silent again. Finally, somewhat frustrated, he said,
"Hold them back. I'm heading to the front line now. You're not so useless that you can't even do that, right?"
Then, he slammed down the phone and immediately rushed toward the front lines.
Leading a squad out of the camp, he went down the stone steps, and soon he heard the intense sound of gunfire. It made him even more horrified.
They had fought their way this far? And all with just four people?
Muherr couldn't understand what was happening. He saw his mercenary troops constantly retreating, but their crossfire had not stopped.
On the left and right were two squads armed with guns and rocket launchers, while in the middle was their heavy firepower—several mechanical armors.
These mechanical armors were like the ones Pilaf and his gang rode in Dragon Ball—each with a member in the torso and both arms.
All the members inside were Nen users. They infused Nen into the armor, greatly enhancing the armor's mobility and the power of its shells to a terrifying level.
Muherr's mercenaries relied on this formation to win battles across different battlefields. Now, however, they were hired by Beyond and Paliston.
But even this elite, well-equipped unit was being slaughtered.
One mechanical armor after another collapsed and exploded.
The mercenaries either perished in the fire or were smashed into pieces by the enemy.
Cries of pain echoed continuously, and panic spread rapidly.
Muherr held the walkie-talkie, looking at the overwhelming situation before him, unsure where to give orders from.
Standing on higher ground, he clearly saw that there were only four enemies — and one of them was someone he never expected.
"Germain, the Rat."
Damn it, how is he even here?!
*******
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