Chapter VI: Extortion

Demonic Wildlands Near the Great Plateau

Month of the Garuda 16, 172 ,328 DE

I laugh mockingly. "What do I want? Let's start with an answer. Why did your trash dogs ride up and pull their guns on me? If I wasn't fast on my feet, I would be dead."

"Ingwe, I, as well, want an answer to that question."

"Lord, this Southerner bastard is suspicious. He was standing alive and covered with blood next to the corpse of a Lord Class Beast, but he shows no signs of being a Cultivator. He does not have a trace of Yuan Qi about him."

Once again, I laugh mockingly. "You're right I can't Cultivate, but you a, mighty Qi Condensation Cultivator, are my prisoner, with my knife to your throat. You are nothing but a trash embarrassment to that Lord of yours."

A new voice barks angrily from the far talker, but even without the far talker, he can be easily heard. "Why did you draw your weapons against a man just for standing next to the corpse of a Demonic Beast! What kind of moron are you! People in this part of the Wildlands will assume you're a thief if you do something like that. You were ordered to initiate contact not attack!"

"Commander, he is suspicious! He's trash that can't cultivate, but his speed is faster than mine!"

"I don't give a fuck if he's suspicious! Half the fucking Beast hunters in the Wildlands are suspicious, you imbecile!"

"You all can walk south until I can see you, all five of you. And tell the Thunder Beast stomping on glass that's trying to circle around behind me to get his ass back to his steamer bike. Unless, you want me to put a bullet in his head. Then let him come."

Thunder Beasts are large, omnivorous, Ferocious Beasts used by Beastman tribes as mounts on extensive plains to the southeast of the Great Plateau. After breaking free from the Dragon Gods seal, my mother and I appeared in the northeastern borders of those plains. The huge tribes of Beastmen galloping across the plains on their Thunder Beasts made me want to hunt them. I still want to find a chance to eat Thunder Beast.

I rap Ingwe on his helmet, putting a few more cracks in its bone reinforcement. "Move this bike forward to where we can see past the tree on the left. You do know your left from your right, don't you? Imbecile."

"I'm going to kill you."

Click.

As I draw back the hammer on the gun I have against Ingwe's ribs, he stiffens. "Be careful! That gun has a hair trigger!"

"Good to know. If you do anything to piss me off, I'll slit your throat and put a bullet in your guts."

Ingwe twists the accelerator on his steamer bike just enough for it to roll slowly forward. As the bike moves up next to the tree, the area with the Beast Lord's corpse becomes visible.

"This is good."

About sixty meters past the corpse, five men walk into view. Three of them have the same hide armor and helmets at the bikers. The last two wear full, form-fitting suits of metal chainmail, with breast and back plates on top of it. Neither man has a helmet, and both stand about two meters tall give or take a couple centimeters.

The older, more heavily built man, with black hair and a long black beard, looks around fifty, but despite him having rough, masculine features and not looking like an androgynous bitch, I have no doubt he is a Cultivator. He should be in the Formation Establishment Realm, probably close to the boundary of Core Formation.

Old Man Jones has such a way with insults, but his insults always hit right on the mark. His testing on living and dead Cultivators has been extremely enlightening. Most Cultivators waste so much of their potential trying to have soft, white skin and pretty faces like a woman that they cut their own balls off. The ones that Jones captured that did not look like androgynous bitches were always two to three times stronger than others at the same realm and stage.

The sword sticking up over the black-haired man's shoulder, with its clamp sheathe dragging the ground, has a blade as long as he is tall, and with its almost three centimeter thick blade, it must weigh two hundred kilograms if it is a gram. A holster with a revolver like the one I am holding hangs from his belt.

Looking to be in his early thirties, the younger man has red hair and a red beard, both hanging down to his belt. His pale blue eyes burn with suppressed anger. He is another Cultivator, and like the black-haired man, he has a masculine appearance that the Cultivators of the Heian Kingdom and Sengoku Empire lack.

While staying hidden by the tree next to me, the other steam biker tries to sneak up behind me.

"Hey, Thunder Beast. You aren't half as clever or as stealthy as you think you are. If you don't stop trying to sneak up behind me, I'm gonna slit your bung buddy's throat. Get over with the rest of your group! Now!"

"Ivar, get over here!" The black haired man's yell marks him as Haldor.

Seeing as Haldor is the Commander, that means the red-head is the Lord. Considering both their ages, their Cultivation is not very impressive. The Lord is especially bad. At a quick estimate, I would put him in the middle of Qi Condensation, a joke for someone who is thirty plus. He must be some petty noble from east or north of the Kami Kaze Mountains, but those people almost never come to a shit-stain on the ass of nowhere like the Heian Kingdom. What is he doing here in the Demon Wildlands to the east of the Heian kingdom?

Whoever they are, these assholes shot me. So the more important question is, what can I get out of them to make myself feel better?

"Drop your guns and move back ten meters. I don't want any more bullets coming my way."

At the Lord's nod, they do as they're told.

"What are you people doing around here?"

The Lord looks at me. "Just a hunting trip. What do you want to let Ingwe go?"

"I'm not going to be polite. Your asshole bitch here and his bung buddy tried to kill me. They shot me in the arm. These are the Demonic Wildlands. If a man attacks another for no cause, he better be prepared to die."

The Lord's eyes narrow fractionally.

With a nasty smirk on my lips, I tap my heel on the steamer bike. "Is this moron worth as much as this bike to you?"

"If you let Ingwe go and answer some questions, you can have the bike."

"Lord! Just kill him!" As the edge of my Bowie knife slices into his neck, Ingwe's teeth audibly clack shut, and he stiffens in my grasp. A trickle of blood runs down the blade.

"Shut up, Ingwe! It's your fault, we're in this situation! You're embarrassing the Lord!" As he shouts, Haldor glares at Ingwe. The scent of his rage faintly taints the air. He is not faking it, but whether he is pissed at Ingwe or me, I have no easy way of knowing.

"Lord, that brat is nothing but a southerner punk with a mouth! We should kill him!"

"Ivar, shut up!"

Crack!

Haldor's casual slap splits the bone reinforcement on Ivar's helmet. Did he do that to shut Ivar up or to make a point about how strong he is to me? I really hate trying to understand what humans are thinking. It is never obvious.

With no signs of being flustered, the Lord maintains steady eye contact with me. "We're looking for a woman, who appears to be about twenty-five. She stands five feet eight inches, with a buxom figure. Her skin is very pale, and her hair is jet black. She's not from around here, and she would probably use the Trade Tongue. If she speaks the local language, she should have a strong accent like ours."

I shake my head. "There aren't many gaijin around here, and you won't find any of them below the Escarpment."

"Gaijin?" The Lord looks confused.

"People that look like you all or me. People that aren't of the local bloodlines."

The Lord nods. "Oh, I see. What about the Demonic Beasts, do you have these minor incursions very often?"

Minor incursions? What does he mean by that? Without letting my expression change, I stare at the Lord for a few moments. "We haven't seen a Beast Wave this close to the Escarpment in four or five years."

Ingwe laughs. "You call that a Beast Wave? What kind of yellow-bellied scut are you?"

Crackle!

After shattering most of Ingwe's helm with the butt of the revolver, I press the muzzle against his swelling ear. "The kind that has your own gun to your head. Now, shut up. I don't want to kill you by accident and lose my chance to get this steamer bike."

I smirk at the Lord. "Anything else you want to know?"

The Lord looks a bit disappointed. "No. That's all."

"Tell Thunder Beast to drag one of the Demonic Apes I killed to the north over here. The smallest will do."

"Who do you think you are!" Ivar glares at me.

"Ivar. Do it."

The cold menace in Haldor's tone makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up, and Ivar's cheeks turn a few shades paler.

While Ivar brings the carcass, we all just stare at one another. Haldor's face plainly reveals his anger, but the Lord's face is much calmer. He may be Cultivation trash, but there is no doubt that he has the bearing and mettle of a leader. Who is he? Is he just some minor noble? If he isn't, how has he survived with his trash talent?

When Ivar gets close with the Demonic Ape's corpse, his scent gives him away. He practically wreaks of anxiety. His nerves are wrapped tighter than an over-wound watch. With the carcass on his shoulder, his movements appear just a little too much on the jerky side.

Squatting down, he tilts forward as he dumps the Demonic Ape on the ground and leans his weight on it. He looks up at me. "Is this one good?"

Crack!

As Ivar lunges toward me, my toe kick hits him dead center on his sternum. The force of my blow lifts him almost two meters into the air and throws him three meters backward.

"Ivar!" Ingwe's voice goes up a couple octaves with his shout, and the stench of his fear, hate, and anger fill the air.

"Ivar! You bloody, damned moron!" Haldor's shout brims with rage. Assuming he is not acting, Ivar and Ingwe have been the primary targets of his anger.

Keeping my knife tight against Ingwe's neck, I swing the revolver to cover Ivar. "I told you, you're not even a tenth as clever as you think you are. You gave yourself away as soon as you were back in sight."

Clutching his chest with both arms, Ivar breathes raggedly.

With an odd glint in his eyes, the Lord watches the show.

"I only broke your sternum. Get back with the other bung boys."

Both Haldor and the Lord frown at me, but neither of them speaks. They just watch Ivar struggle to his feet. With his cultivation, which should be in the lower end of Qi Condensation, that broken bone should not be giving him so much trouble. Besides his acting sucks.

I point the revolver in the general direction of the Lord and his group. "All of you back off a hundred meters to the east. I don't need that Uncle in the Foundation Establishment Realm too close after I let your moron go."

Haldor's eyes widen for a moment, then he stares speculatively at me.

The Lord faintly smiles, and it looks genuine. "Why don't you come to work for me? I need men that think with the heads instead of their asses."

"I'm not a Cultivator."

"You're a Body Cultivator, aren't you? I've heard of Body Cultivation styles that do not use Yuan Qi. You use one of those, don't you?"

"Nope. Not interested."

Hearing my flat refusal, the Lord's smile falters. From the look of surprise on his face, he never expected me to refuse. Even if he is Cultivation trash, he has to be more than some minor lord from the ass end of nowhere.

"Back off!"

After the Lord's group move far enough away, I poke Ingwe in the head with the muzzle of the revolver. "Put the stands down and get off."

With the stands down, so the steamer bike will not fall over, I get of along with Ingwe. "I'm gonna take my knife away from your neck. Don't get any stupid ideas. You're no cleverer than your idiot brother."

As Ingwe stiffens in surprise, I step back. "What? You think I didn't notice? Drop the gun belt and tie the carcass to the back of the bike."

With a body length of almost three meters, not counting the front and back wheels, half of the steamer bike's length is taken up by the steam engine. The frame forks around the engine and a small deck covers it. Behind the engine, the large back wheel stands as tall as the deck, but the front wheel is only about three quarters the size. A curved splash guard sticks off the back deck, with another mounted between the front forks. Considering its thick, heavy frame and the armored front cowl, the entire bike should weigh about twenty-five hundred kilograms. The weight is very much on the heavy side, but this is about the most solidly built steamer bike I have ever seen. It was made to be used in rough territory and not break down.

While Ingwe does as he is told, I sheathe my knife and pick up the gun belt without letting the Lord's groups out of my sight. I did not search them, so I do not know if they have any hidden guns on them. If they just have throwing weapons, I am not worried. Even Haldor's Foundation Establishment Cultivation would not allow him to throw something fast enough that I could not dodge it at this range.

Once the Demonic Ape's carcass is tied to the small deck over the steamer bike's boiler, I point toward the Lord's group. "Ingwe, ten meters that way and kneel down."

After Ingwe kneels down, I buckle on the gun belt and raise the stands. Switching the gun to my left hand, I twist the accelerator, and the steamer bike lurches forward with unexpected power that lifts the front wheel high off the ground. As the wheel falls back to the ground, I turn the bike to the south and open the accelerator wide. The front wheel lifts into the air again, but it only rises about a meter before falling back to the ground.

Despite its compact size, the steam engine on this bike has more power than an engine twice its size. Its power makes it a lot more fun to ride than the steamer bikes I am used to. In the past, the only times I have ever brought a steamer bike into the Demonic Wildlands are when I have been been with Old Man Jones, and those bikes only use normal small size steam engines. They are just a convenient method to travel faster; Jones has never tinkered with them for more power.

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