The Imperial Hunter

Chapter 19: Beast Hunt (7)

Fraser, who had been intensely contemplating, came up with an answer while glancing around cautiously. It was money, not a fixed tribute, but voluntary offerings and contributions as bait to lure the counterpart.

‘I didn’t have high hopes.’

These guys were all about the same.

Still, it would work. While I might seem easily swayed as the leader of one organization, the “White Guard” was an organization with significant operating costs.

Just looking at the scum I was torturing in front of me proved that. Despite having led so many crimes, this scum’s spiderweb tattoo had only three layers. It meant he had spent less than three years in prison. At least one thing was thoroughly protected.

In this world, legal protection belonged to the leader. It was rare for exercising that authority to quickly stimulate a sense of belonging and loyalty, just as it was rare for an organization’s power to exceed the law.

However, exercising that authority required money. Whether it was bribes or attorney fees. Bribes were just a fixed cost, and even if you took bribes and still couldn’t avoid trial, it usually cost tens of thousands of dollars. Attorney fees for serious crimes often exceeded $3,000 per hour. If you were a partner at a law firm, it could easily go up to $10,000 per hour. Unless it was at that level, you couldn’t keep someone from going to prison or reduce the sentence to a meaningless level.

The organization’s operating costs were a separate matter.

So, the tributes Jay had received from these guys didn’t have much significance beyond maintenance costs and a loyalty pledge. When someone offered to contribute money, no one would refuse, no matter how much it was.

“So, how much are you willing to offer?”

Fraser responded immediately to my question.

“$400,000!”

I sighed. I lightly tapped the cheek of the idiot and lowered my voice.

“You should mention a reasonable amount, alright?”

I had to doubt the amount unless Jay’s IQ was not in double digits. Considering the contents of the ledger that came with it, more than half of that amount was paid to a drug wholesaler.

Besides, these kinds of guys were usually a bit greedy.

I gave the beaten idiot an amount.

“$10,000. That should be enough. You can say you want to contribute a little more to help with the construction of the ‘White Nation.'”

“Isn’t that too little?”

“For your standards, even that is excessive.”

Yeah. Excessive. But he would believe it.

‘He wants to believe it.’

Jay was a true believer, and what was important to a true believer was their faith. The fact that his beliefs deeply influenced these fools was, for Hitler Junior, both a trophy of his actions and a “believable reality.” How proud he must feel. How virtuous. That was the second reason he would accept without concern whatever amount was offered.

“I’ll consider this enough for now…”

If we were going to summon Jay’s representative, we had to do it in the morning. Calling in the early hours would raise suspicion. Until then, we needed to keep this garbage of a boss alive. At least he should be able to make phone calls.

“Hey, Fraser.”

“Yes!”

Fraser’s buzz-cut head was covered with ominous black tattoos. I poked one of those tattoos with the barrel of my gun.

“Do you really believe you have Aryan blood in you?”

The tattoo I hit was a cross with ribbons running up and down. Inside the ribbon was the phrase, “For the glory of the white nation and Aryan race!” written in blocky letters. When the barrel of the gun touched my forehead, Fraser couldn’t even catch his breath properly.

“Answer me, won’t you?”

As I raised my arm, ready to strike, Fraser closed his eyes tightly and shouted.

“I believe it, hub, I believe it!”

It was a cry interrupted by a lack of breath.

“You believe it?”

“Yes!”

“On what grounds?”

“I’m white, that’s why!”

Ignorant reasoning. Did having a white heritage make you an Aryan?

“So, have you taken a genetic test?”

“…I haven’t!”

“Why? I heard genetic tests were popular. Among your internet buddies, at least.”

“That’s… well…”

I grew tired of him hesitating and struck him down again. The iron cross tattoo tore, and beneath the gun handle, blood and grease were smeared. Even if I tried to use my hands less, my learning was still slow. I pushed Fraser’s forehead with the end of the suppressor, making him raise his head.

“Speak. What is it?”

The white pig, who raised his eyes upward and focused the muzzle on his forehead, answered again, sobbing.

“Genetic tests… They, the Jewish capitalists, have a conspiracy, manipulating the tests to destroy the identity of whites, a vile conspiracy to, black, undermine the identity, those filthy Jews…”

His response was a mess of superstitious gibberish, but I understood the content.

Bastard.

Genetic testing, once popular among white supremacists, showed that two-thirds of them were not purely white. I wondered how these fools had accepted this fact when I first read about it in a book. People truly were creatures that believed what they wanted to believe.

Pure Aryans might be easier to find in India than in the United States or Europe. India’s strict caste distinctions would make it easier.

‘Come to think of it, ‘The Witch’ was from India.’

“The Witch” Grace.

She was born in colonial-era India, with a lineage belonging to the Aryan group and exceptional beauty. Due to her beauty, she was abducted by an old British mage and became an assassin. She systematically seduced the greedy abductor, and in return, the mage shared his magic with her, even violating the rules of his order. If he had been deeply infatuated, would he have called her the grace of his life?

Grace, who had been watching her chance while entwined with an old imperialist between her legs, finally killed the mocking master of her order, seizing her most valuable assets and disappearing.

She was a woman deeply loathed by all the members of the order, including the old master. She was the greatest disgrace and worst loss of “The Round Table of Light and Truth,” hence their hatred. Her treachery revitalized both the greatest and the worst aspects of their order.

‘Can I join hands with that woman?’

When time passed and she reemerged in 1999, she had become the Grand Master of the devil-worshipping cult “O7A.”

“Sir… Sir…”

Fraser, with a cracked voice, desperately called out to me.

“My bleeding won’t stop. I’ll die like this… Please, Sir, you still need me, don’t you? Please… Please save me…”

This guy was showing too much of a bleeding act. How did someone like him become the leader? I looked at Fraser with disdain and, reaching out to a nearby henchman, I signaled with my hand.

“Knife.”

As Fraser heard what I said, he shivered again. His widened eyes fixated on the knife, which was being brought closer. I examined myself in the light and asked,

“Fraser, have you ever seen magic?”

“Yes?”

I ran a simple and concise spell in my circuit, even though the circuit operation was incomplete. The spell was simple and could be used easily even now. In response, the cold metallic glint of the knife began to glow with a reddish hue. Fraser stared at the increasingly hot glow without even breathing. The others who had been just watching while I struck the leader also joined in, staring at the knife.

Tssss—

“Aaahhh!”

The smell of cooking flesh filled the air. I turned the knife around and grabbed Fraser’s severed ear. I pressed it and a piece of flesh came off like an undercooked pancake.

“Alcohol.”

I gestured with my fingers, and a henchman quickly brought whiskey. I opened the cap and poured its contents onto the side of Fraser’s head. Fraser started to regain consciousness.

Although the alcohol’s proof wasn’t high enough for disinfection, it served as a substitute for clean water. The drying of the wound might make it easier for infections to take hold, but was that the problem now? I returned the empty bottle and the knife to my henchman.

The stares that had gathered on the knife now turned to me. Fright beyond understanding began to mix with those glances.

Just as the commotion outside seemed to die down, another four pigs were brought in, spaced out over time. This time, they put up a bit more resistance. One of them was in such a condition that they’d die soon anyway. No need to wait for it to die. My subordinates tightly wrapped the guy in plastic.

Crackle, crackle!

The guy wrapped up in plastic struggled for air. The faces inside the plastic turned blue due to oxygen deprivation. This was because a lack of oxygen caused the skin around the eyes and lips to turn blue. The pigs, facing death as they met eyes with someone who was dying, shivered. A henchman, responsible for the recording, silently captured this scene.

As the number of people tied to chairs continued to grow, it was quite a refreshing sight as well. Usually, there was no occasion to bury so many people all at once.

Fraser, whose eyes had cleared up, asked in a trembling voice,

“Sir, are you perhaps a Wiccan master?”

“Do I look like such a quack?”

“…”

The mage this guy mentioned wasn’t a true mage in the real sense. It was a reference to the priests of the rapidly spreading religion, Wicca, in North America.

Even if I said it was rapidly spreading, the absolute number of followers was only around two hundred thousand, but the closer you get to the bottom of society, the closer you get to such superstitions. It was an issue of education.

Especially in this neighborhood, the influence of magical beliefs like Santería and Yoruba from Latin America and the Caribbean was strong due to the population that had moved from there.

Even on this bastard’s body, there was a type of tattoo related to such beliefs. That’s why I used magic as a calculated move. To nurture the seeds of fear within him.

If I could directly manipulate the brain and nerves with magic, it would be great, but casting a spell and corroding flesh infused with spirits were completely different areas.

“Ugh…”

Fraser, who was already in a state where his fever had heated up his bones and dulled his mind, seemed to have completely surrendered psychologically, without any chance of further breaking him. However, his thing was still standing stiff, and it was unpleasant to look at.

‘No, is there even a need to keep looking at it?’

This bastard was so low that he didn’t even deserve to be called a gangster, but I felt like I was working even when I didn’t have to. I could take a break and leave the rest to my subordinates at this point. Now it was time to try to come up with something or deceive someone.

“Sir…”

“What.”

“I swear. I’ll do anything you ask, so pl-please save me. If you spare my life, I’ll even pay tribute…”

“Just watch.”

“Are, are you sure?”

“A true mage does not lie.”

Yeah, right. But Fraser’s expression in the darkness had a glimmer of hope. He must have heard rumors that lying would make you lose the power of magic or something.

How ridiculous was it that there was a fairy tale aspect in the world of these gangsters?

“Cooperate with my subordinates. I’ll check the results in the morning.”

“Yes! Yes! Thank you!”

Thank you for what? I left the desperate bastard and the rest to my subordinates and climbed the stairs to the office. The office was filled with the cold of dawn. I closed the window that was still open, sat down on the chair where I had been conversing with Karen Williams, and was hit by the realization of fatigue. The heat from the heater and the smell of oil made my exhaustion even more palpable.

Still, it was impossible to concentrate here.

‘If I complete the request, I’ll have to take a day or two off.’

It wasn’t even on my mind to read books right now. Amidst the occasional screams, I basked in the warm light, enjoying my free time.

Sometimes, moments like these were inevitable.

Disclaimer:

This novel is a work of fiction! While it may incorporate elements inspired by our "real" historical world, including historical events, settings, and cultures, it is important to note that the story and characters are entirely products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to real persons, living or deceased, or actual events is purely coincidental. This work should be enjoyed and interpreted as a work of fiction and not as a representation of historical facts or reality.

Also, if you find some error in translation please do let me know by tagging me (@_dawn24) in our Discord server. Since this series is kinda hard to translate. But I'll try my best to make it at least readable :)

Enjoy reading~!

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