The First Men Chronicles

Chapter 43: A Warning and a Hunt

Seoul – Hunter Association Headquarters, Medical Ward

A sharp knock echoed through the hospital corridor as President Bartoni and Akebi strode purposefully toward the private medical ward where Gong was being treated. The scent of antiseptic lingered in the air, mixing with the sterile hum of medical equipment. The moment Bartoni entered, his sharp gaze landed on Gong—pale, trembling, and drenched in a cold sweat.

The medic hunters had done their best to stabilize him, but the terror in his eyes remained. Something inside him had broken.

Bartoni took slow, deliberate steps toward Gong's bedside. He placed a firm hand on his shoulder, his voice measured but heavy with unspoken weight.

"I'm sorry for what you went through," Bartoni said, his usual authoritative tone softened. He exhaled deeply before asking, "Where is Feng?"

Gong's body stiffened. His already glossy eyes filled with fresh tears. His lips trembled as his hands gripped the thin hospital blanket. The silence stretched painfully before the tears spilled over, streaking down his face.

Bartoni's expression darkened. He already knew.

Still, he asked, "Tell me what happened."

Gong tried to speak, but his voice cracked into stammered, fragmented words. He struggled to find the air, the strength, to recount what he had seen. His breaths came in shaky gasps as the memories flooded back—memories that refused to fade.

"It was… it was Draven," Gong finally managed, his voice raw with fear. "He—he's strong. I've never seen anything like it… Feng—he was killed instantly. He didn't even have time to react."

Bartoni's jaw clenched. A cold, unreadable expression took over his face, but his fingers twitched slightly, betraying the unrest simmering beneath his composed exterior.

Gong pushed himself up slightly, his arms trembling under his own weight. "He's with The Ten now," he continued. "Not just as a member… but fully one of them." His voice cracked as he added, "They're planning something. Something big."

Bartoni narrowed his eyes. "Then why did they let you live?"

Gong swallowed hard, his throat tightening. "There was a man with Draven," he rasped, his voice barely above a whisper. "He… let me go. He wanted me to deliver the message. Draven wants us to know."

A beat of silence passed before Gong exhaled the words that haunted him the most.

"Draven said he's coming for us."

Bartoni's sharp golden-brown eyes flickered with an unreadable expression. The corner of his mouth curled slightly—not in amusement, but in cold, calculating interest.

"He's coming for us?" Bartoni murmured, repeating the words as if testing their weight. "Interesting."

Akebi, who had been silent until now, frowned. "What does that mean?" she asked. "Coming for us…?"

Bartoni turned, already heading for the door. "That's something I'd rather not discuss right now," he replied coolly.

As he and Akebi disappeared down the hallway, Gong's weakened frame slumped back onto the bed. His breathing was uneven, his mind trapped in a loop of horrors—each replay of Draven's arrow tearing through Feng's body worse than the last.

Nagurskoye, Russia – The Arctic Military Base

The landscape was a frozen wasteland—a sea of endless white, battered by howling winds and unforgiving subzero temperatures.

This was Nagurskoye, an isolated military facility buried deep in Franz Josef Land, Russia's most fortified Arctic stronghold. It was said that even the air here could kill a man.

The blizzard roared, but three figures stood unaffected at the facility's perimeter, their black cloaks whipping violently in the storm.

Kenzy shivered, his breath curling into icy mist. "This place is hell," he muttered, rubbing his arms for warmth.

Beside him, Gansu remained silent, his gaze fixed ahead. Unlike Kenzy, he barely reacted to the cold—his mind already preoccupied with the mission ahead.

Draven, standing a few paces in front, was completely unfazed by the cold. His Eyes flickered faintly, scanning the massive structure before them. Thick steel gates, towering watchtowers, motion sensors— but none of it mattered to him.

Without a word, he muttered, "Let's go."

Before Kenzy could complain about the cold again, Huey's wood clone raised a hand. A tiny, splintered piece of living wood detached from its palm, expanding and reshaping itself mid-air.

In an instant, three thick, black winter coats formed and drifted toward them.

Kenzy wasted no time grabbing his, pulling it over himself as he sighed in relief. "That's better."

Gansu, ever reserved, simply nodded his thanks and donned his coat.

Draven caught his but barely reacted. He slung it over his shoulders, his eyes never leaving the facility.

The wind howled violently as a single red light flickered atop the base. The watchmen were alert.

Draven's gaze sharpened. "The hunt begins."