The special alloy gate rumbled shut behind him, severing the IGO base's artificial light and bustle.
Shun stepped into the Eighth Courtyard, where a clean breath of earth, cut grass, and far-off wildflowers washed over him—sharp contrast to the metallic tang of the entry tunnel.
The land rolled into low hills.
Underfoot: soft soil and sparse turf. Across the slopes lay gray-brown rocks of all shapes and sizes, scattered like pebbles shed by a giant beast.
The view ran wide and open; this zone was relatively dry and poor.
He lifted his gaze past the hummocks. Beyond them, a broad sweep of living green unfurled—a sizable prairie—hemmed on one side by thick woodland.
It was obvious the planting here had been engineered: vegetation laid out from sparse at the edge to dense toward the middle, a deliberate gradient from outer ring to inner core.
Shun's eyes locked on the courtyard's heart.
Unlike these scruffy hills, the center looked like a lung of the whole preserve—trees towering, vines twining, shrubs layered into their own lush oasis.
Given his recent runs, the Rainbow Fruit should be right there.
Target fixed, he moved—arrowing for the green core.
The Eighth Courtyard held plenty besides the crown fruit.
On the way, he plucked a few Char Siu Leaves—flat, glossy fronds that breathed a unique meaty aroma, a rare natural seasoning. He stowed a handful in his system pack for future dishes.
He kept on, drawing out a Banana Cucumber he'd foraged and rolling it in a Char Siu Leaf with easy practice. One big bite—he nodded, pleased.
"Mmm. Char Siu Leaf with Banana Cucumber. Wild pairings always slap."
He ate and walked, feet light through the courtyard's varied terrain.
Then, skirting what looked like an ordinary stone pit, the instant his sole touched the rim his senses flared red.
A hunter's warning—experience and commander's instinct fused into a single jolt.
"A trap?" His brow ticked up. No panic.
He didn't even spring. He simply shifted his waist and shoulders in perfect concert; at the very last instant, as his balance tipped forward, he changed angle and pushed off.
The spot where he'd stepped gave way with a crunch, a deep shaft yawning open—
Dust hadn't even settled when a vast shadow plunged from a nearby ledge!
It hit with four arms spread wide—each fist clutching a boulder.
A Troll Kong—face twisted, dropping like a meteor—hurled the stones down in a brutal crossfire.
Shun skimmed his eyes across it and ghosted left-right in two small flickers.
The boulders screamed past his clothes' hem and slammed into the earth—thump, thump—without so much as a brush.
As the beast appeared, the Ingredient Compendium flashed its profile across Shun's mind:
[Troll Kong] (Mammalian)
Capture Level: 9
Habitat: Primarily inside IGO Courtyards
Height: ~4.5 m
Weight: ~2 t
Market: Meat inedible; brain matter only trades at ¥5,500 / 100 g
Notes: Social predators of the IGO preserves. Though their muscle flesh is not edible, their distinctive brain flavor has a niche following. Besides innate arm strength, they retain high simian intelligence and fight with traps and tools, favoring cunning strikes over brute force. Clear hierarchies govern each troop, with absolute obedience to the leader—though exceptional individuals (odd coats, etc.) may be respected. In many ways they mirror human social order.
As expected, the Eighth Courtyard's main threat was indeed Troll Kong.
But they're pack hunters—so why had only one shown itself?
He had the answer a heartbeat later.
Having missed, the Troll Kong bellowed in fury. It lunged, jaws gaping; rancid saliva sprayed as it came straight for Shun.
"Spitting? How crude." Shun's tone held a sliver of disgust as he slipped aside with a feathered shift.
Right as the reek was about to splash his face, his right hand flashed—index and middle finger pressed as one—intercepting the beast's line of charge.
He tapped a precise point on the side of its neck—an exact spot along the flow of its vital energy.
Dim Mak—Point Press.
The touch looked weightless, but behind it lay his Food Honor-trained mastery of living energy currents.
At contact, a needle-bright surge speared inward.
The charging brute froze mid-pounce.
For a breath—the whole two-ton mass went rigid.
Then—thud. It toppled like a felled column, staring wildly; only the eyes could still roll, the body locked tight and useless.
Pointwork—mandatory craft for a professional Gourmet Hunter. Not just for beasts; it finds uses in a thousand places.
Hard for most to learn with any precision—but for Shun, steeped in advanced Food Honor, the technique had started to sing.
In barely a month, he'd reached small attainment—enough to pacify a Troll Kong cleanly.
He eyed the downed beast and nodded. "Good response. Precision's up again."
He didn't finish it. The strike only cut its movement for a few hours; it would wear off on its own.
Troll Kong meat wasn't edible, and taking only the brain was needlessly cruel. More importantly—any wide slaughter here risked collateral damage to the Rainbow Fruit. That, Shun would not accept.
Leaving the neutralized ape behind, he moved on.
The terrain felt familiar under his feet, as if his sense for the place ran native. Details had shifted since the records, but his bearing stayed true.
He slipped through a rocky defile. The air sweetened—the clean, candied scent unique to Rainbow Fruit swelling stronger with each step.
At the same time, a crush of musk—many beasts at once—rolled toward him.
"Almost there, then."
He murmured and pressed forward.
(End of Chapter)
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