The air was wet, hot, and close. It smelled of dirt and decay, a thick, earthy rot that never fully dispersed. The stagnant, dark brown water covered the ground to the shins and refused to move, reflecting the dense canopy in a distorted, murky mirror.
Heavy, dark trunks of cypress and swamp maple rose directly from the water. Their roots, massive and exposed, were hidden trip hazards. Everywhere, sharp cypress knees spiked the mud floor like blunt, gray teeth, specialized growths designed to drag air down to the suffocating roots below.
The sun was completely locked out; the swamp was a place of constant twilight, the humidity clinging to white mask's skin like a shroud.
The sucking mud and the viscous resistance of the deep water. Patches of surface water were unnaturally frozen—a telltale sign of his presence and recent movements—and snapped trees hinted at past conflicts, either between beasts or with other hunters. The silence was broken only by the relentless buzz of insects and the isolated drip of condensation falling from the saturated leaves.
Then, the heavy silence was shattered. A massive THWUMPH and a torrent of splashing. A headless giant spider, nearly three meters across, tumbled into the murky pool right in front of him. The water briefly erupted before settling back into its oppressive stillness.
Mr. White Mask sat on a thick branch overhead, calmly observing the ripples spread out. He held a small, green crystal, the monster's Mana core, between his thumb and forefinger, twirling it idly.
He channeled raw Mana into the storage at his index finger, creating an airtight seal around the core.
Last on the list, he thought, dropping gracefully from the branch.
He landed silently next to the massive, bristly corpse. Always choose the most efficient route. He placed his left hand flat against the spider's chitinous shell. In a subtle flash of blue light, the body—hundreds of pounds of legs and abdomen—vanished, cleanly stored on the spatial ring at his pinky finger. The ring was heavy with corpses—this trip was successful.
With the corpse gone, Kael didn't bother wading through the muck.Mana flowed from his inner core, down through his legs, and out through his boots, instantly freezing the surface of the water into a temporary, slick sheet of ice.
He began to walk out, the ice crackling softly behind him.
He stretched his shoulders, feeling the tension ease.
The haul should be worth exactly a thousand credits.
He began the mental calculation, a habit drilled into him years ago.
The group takes a flat forty percent cut for logistics, security, and access to this hub.
That leaves me six hundred credits, Six hundred credits. It was decent, enough to keep him running for a week, perhaps a two if he was frugal.
But what should I do with it? He frowned slightly beneath the mask.
I'm running critically low on dried travel rations and basic preservation salts.
My current training equipment—the weighted gravity bracers—are nearing the end, They won't last any longer.
Suddenly, a shift in the air. A massive one-meter frog with vibrant blue spots on its slick green skin exploded from the bank, its target Kael's exposed back. It was fast, an E level swamp amphibian.
Kael didn't even turn his head.
A low, freezing pulse of Mana left his extended hand.
A sharp, spear-shaped ice construct materialized instantly, moving faster than the frog could react, and impaled the creature through the chest, pinning it mid-air to a thick tree trunk nearby.
Kael stopped and examined his kill. The blue spots meant the meat was edible, if properly treated.
He withdrew the ice spear, and the frog dropped with a soft, wet thud.
He bent down, picked it up by a hind leg, and examined the wound. Clean kill.
He adjusted the frog carcass on his shoulder, gave a small shrug, and muttered, "Dinner."
The transition from the swamp to the civilized world took almost an hour of constant freezing and walking.
Finally, he reached the edge of the wetlands and, a short time later, a beaten-down road that led to a collection of run-down buildings, centering around a poorly maintained structure marked as a bar.
The bell above the door jingled sharply as White mask entered.
The immediate sensory assault was total: the cacophony of clinking glass, the loud, slurred voices of men bragging about exaggerated achievements to bored-looking women, and the heavy, sweet scent of cheap Ale and stale wood smoke.
Still the same, he mused, he moved to the long counter and waited for the bartender, a hulking man whose arms were thicker than White mask's neck.
"Code," white mask said, his voice flat and low. "I'm sleek in the snow."
The bartender's tough exterior cracked, replaced by a practiced, secretive smile.
"With the grace of a wolf, welcome good sir. This way, please," he said, gesturing toward a plain wooden door behind the bar.
White mask simply gave a small nod and walked straight at the door.
He didn't open it. As he approached, the wood seemed to ripple, blurring the edges of the frame and dissolving entirely.
White mask stepped through the space—it was nothing but an elaborate illusion covering a permanent portal.
He stepped out under a sky that was immediately darker and clearer, the moon high and sharp. The air here was cool, filtered, and smelled of ozone, typical of high-traffic portal hubs. Behind him, rows of shimmering, iridescent portals stood humming silently.
He was no longer in the humid lowlands, but in a secure, hidden snow covered facility, the temperature is at least at a minus Kael mused internally.
He took in the immediate area: uniformed guards patrolling specific routes, armored soldiers stationed rigidly at the gates, and the outlines of tall, functional buildings dominating the skyline ahead.
This was the headquarters of the Snow Wolf Mercenaries.
The Snow Wolf Mercenaries, his thoughts resumed, the silence of the hub allowing for deeper reflection.
A small-time group here, defined only by reputation and ruthless efficiency. He approached the main, fortified gate, slowing his pace.
"State your identity," the brown-haired guard began, his loosely held loosely but ready.
"Code name: White Mask," white mask replied.
Without further delay, the heavy iron gates rolled open.
Kael walked through, his eyes fixed on the tallest building. His destination.
Channeling a small amount of Mana to his legs. The surrounding area blurred into streaks of light as moved at high speed. Thirty seconds later, he had crossed the vast compound and stood before a huge wooden door made of thick, heavy oak, the main entrance to the mission hall.
He pulled it open.
The noise and atmosphere inside were only slightly more controlled than the tavern: a controlled chaos of mercenaries arguing over maps, clanking equipment, and exhausted hunters waiting in line.
Men and women were clustered at counters, either taking missions from glowing terminal screens or submitting completed objectives.
Kael joined one of fourteen available lines.
Suddenly, a loud commotion broke out near the middle.
A dark-haired man and a brown-haired man erupted into a shouting match over the division of mission spoils, throwing punches and gear.
A large crowd immediately swarmed the fight, either to join or to separate the fighters, he just gave a glance then thought internally, doesn't matter it's better for me anyway if I stay on queue.
The distraction significantly reduced the queue for white mask, and within moments, he was at the head of his line.
He approached the counter. The attendant was a blue-haired woman with striking green eyes. Her name tag read Julia Grey.
Kael didn't speak the pleasantries used by the other mercenaries.
He slid the full pinky finger ring across the counter toward her, pulled the crinkled mission poster from his inner jacket pocket, and stated, "Mission complete, Julia."
Julia glanced at the poster—a simple retrieval of monster bodies from the lower various zones.
She picked up the ring, then subtly channeled Mana from her palm into the storage device, confirming the substantial haul inside. Her lips curved into a professional, yet genuine, smile.
"As cold and punctual as ever, C- ranked mercenary Kael the White Mask," she said, her voice low and efficient. "Six hundred credits claimed, minus the mandatory forty percent tithe. I assume you have something for me this time?" Giving him a wink.
Kael knew her role perfectly.
Julia Grey---- his intelligence broker in this group. She feeds me the high-reward, low-competition contracts that are posted internally, the ones with guaranteed core counts and generous bonuses.
"Four hundred for me" Kael replied, straight and quick, referring to his usual optional payment.
Julia's grin widened, no longer professional. "As expected of my most generous customer." She picked up a separate terminal, quickly logged the transaction, and slid the storage ring of before which now contains Kael's pay towards him.
"I'll inform you if a good one comes by, White Mask~." She concluded in a song song tone as Kael left the line.