Chapter 56: The Crow

"These people are the Crows," Jim whispered to David.

"Why are they called Crows?" David asked, puzzled.

"They aren't true hunters. They only dare to operate on the city's edge, relying on the city defenses to hunt larvae. They want profits but refuse to take risks—just like carrion-feeding crows," Jim answered with a trace of contempt on his face.

David's gaze swept over those called 'Crows,' and only up close did he notice the variety among them. They returned his look with fierce eyes.

Yet David felt no fear; none among them seemed capable of exerting any pressure on him.

Above his head, his Shadow Attendant surveyed the surroundings—should any of them dare to make a move, he wouldn’t hesitate to use his second-level longsword to teach them a lesson.

Of course, with the military’s heavy machine gun emplacements nearby and the city wall close at hand, no one dared to act.

As David walked, a middle-aged man in a tattered military uniform turned around, spilling the contents of his cup all over David.

"Sorry, excuse me, I didn't mean it!" The man, seemingly surprised, smiled apologetically.

"Be careful," Jim said, frowning as he turned back.

"It's fine," David replied, brushing the water from his clothes. The cold weather meant he wore thermal underwear beneath, so only his coat was wet, and it hardly mattered.

Yet, thanks to his sharp senses, David detected a peculiar scent in the water, though he couldn’t pinpoint what it was. He didn’t dwell on it; it was a minor thing.

Jim went to the gate and used his identity bracelet to contact someone inside. A small door beside the steel gate opened, and the three entered.

Inside, David saw a deep steel corridor running through the city wall, with the end opening to the outside. The passage was as large as the gate—ten meters high, ten meters wide.

At the exit, a military heavy armored hover vehicle stood waiting, twin heavy machine guns mounted on its roof.

"Jim, hurry up, we're all waiting on you!" called a young man in combat uniform, waving.

"This is Daly. Daly, this is David. Myron, you know," Jim said, waving as he approached, making introductions.

"Myron, what big thing are you holding? Do you know how to use it, or should I teach you?" Daly laughed, patting Myron's shoulder.

"Daly, you'll see soon enough," Myron replied, shifting the weight of his gear.

David remained silent, observing. Aside from the sergeant, these men were clearly not ordinary folk—they must come from influential families.

"Sergeant Boris, if you would, let's head out," Jim said politely to the sergeant.

"Yes," Sergeant Boris replied gravely, and the armored hover vehicle started up.

The atmosphere grew tense, likely due to Myron and De Quincy.

"David, there's plenty of first-grade metal outside the city. If you find a piece, you can exchange it for a lot of credit points," Daly said, trying to break the tension, smiling at David, the least involved of them.

"Don't believe him, David. In the years after every major battle, the military searches, and there are always some first-grade warheads or weapons from fallen warriors left behind, either buried deeper underground or carried away by the insectoids. But after all these years, the Crows have picked the area clean," Jim said, waving dismissively.

Jim assumed David wasn't wealthy and thought the lure of first-grade metal might tempt him into reckless actions. He didn’t want trouble, nor did he want Hans and Garen to blame him if something happened to David.

Truth be told, David liked first-grade metal, but not for credit points—he probably had more credits than anyone here.

With over forty million credits, even the city's major merchants rarely had that much at hand; most of their assets were tied up in equipment and fixed property. Only Mr. Sturt, before his death, amassed so much cash for a big commercial venture with organizational backing.

"David wouldn't care about first-grade metal," Myron interjected.

He glanced at David's back; if not for the need to keep David's second-level longsword hidden, he would have shown it off.

The others paid little mind to Myron's comment, but with conversation begun, the atmosphere in the vehicle warmed.

David turned his gaze to the display screen—the armored hover had no windows, so everything outside was shown on screens.

They'd been traveling for twenty minutes—not fast, and not in a straight line—so they were still close to Peran City.

"Sergeant Boris is experienced. He's searching for insectoid larvae so we can get close and kill them ourselves," Jim explained quietly, settling beside David.

"How strong are the larvae? How many have you killed?" David asked, curious. The channels described larvae, but nothing matched the clarity of Jim’s firsthand account.

"If your strength exceeds eight hundred and you have a quality weapon, you can handle a larva up close alone. With firearms, ordinary people can deal with a larva at a distance without much trouble. As long as the larvae aren't in numbers, they pose no threat to us. I’ve killed over twenty myself," Jim answered after thinking for a moment.

David nodded; he was far more familiar with the combat power of first-grade insectoids. Larvae were limited; hearing Jim's description reassured him that they were no threat.

"Jim, the soil here is different—there should be larvae around," Sergeant Boris said in a deep voice.

David looked at the screen—the ground ahead looked no different to him, but Boris must have a reason for his claim.

"Grab your weapons and get out!" Jim shouted.

Myron had already opened his weapon case, assembling the Death’s Eye replica and loading fifty rounds. He stood up, weapon ready.

"Wow, that's a Death’s Eye replica—no wonder you agreed to De Quincy's challenge!" Daly exclaimed, surprised by Myron's choice.

De Quincy's expression soured. He’d brought only a D15 shotgun—a mid-range, high-powered firearm with a fifteen-round magazine. Normally, it would be sufficient in these circumstances.

But he hadn’t expected Myron to bring a long-range sniper rifle, and such a powerful model at that.

Now, any larva within sight would have little chance of escaping the Death’s Eye replica in Myron's hands.