Ex Hunter Current Queen, All That’s Left Is the Actual Battle

Translator: White Lotus 

Terencia Lakron.

She was an Arachron with a head of fiery red curls, vivid as though her hair were set aflame. Jackson confirmed his target and slipped a small pill from his pocket, tucking it beneath his tongue. It was a drug that suppressed life signs like breath, pulse, and body temperature as much as possible, while allowing him to function normally.

Placing two fingers beneath his right ear, he felt his pulse slow. The assassin lowered himself and set up the sniper rifle, aiming directly at Terencia’s head.

He took a slow, deep breath and held it, feeling his heartbeat nearly come to a halt. Then, in a singularly focused moment, he pulled the trigger.

Thwack.

The first shot to the head.

Thwack.

Then to the throat.

Thwack.

Finally, to the heart.

His aim was flawless, unwavering, and precise. In a swift three-shot burst, Jackson had sent Terencia, the Arachron queen, stumbling off balance. She staggered, then collapsed, blood spilling out around her. The scene below erupted in pandemonium, and soon the rising cacophony reached even the cliffside.

The sound of people screaming in utter panic sounded strangely similar to the joyful cries heard at a human amusement park. It was an odd sensation, Jackson mused, realizing that, no matter the species he faced, screams sounded remarkably similar in the face of danger. Jackson calmly waited, watching closely to see if Terencia was truly dead.

Through the scope, he saw her writhing repeatedly, unable to get up. Then, as if her breath had finally ceased, her movements came to a complete stop.

It was done.

The spider had been slain. Jackson repeated it to himself in his mind as he carefully withdrew from the cliff. He ran without pause toward the rendezvous point, feeling his breath grow ragged and his throat scrape dry. But he did not stop.

No one was pursuing him. If he made it out safely from here… he’d get 1 billion. 1 billion ral.

Even as he tried to calm himself, his heartbeat wouldn’t settle, making it nearly impossible to concentrate. Joy and anxiety tangled together, clouding his mind and sending tremors through his body.

Could it really be this easy?

No way. How could I know what traps might be lurking?

Unease flooded his thoughts like a tidal wave. At the same time, almost as if to defy his own nagging anxiety, a stubborn optimism rose within him.

But honestly, wasn’t this bound to work out? I’ve come close to dying off-world more times than I can count. Only those who survive till the end are strong.

This hadn’t just fallen into his lap. He’d passed physical evaluations, listened through countless briefings on the operation’s execution, and drilled relentlessly with the new weapon until the calluses on his hands split open in order to be able to shoot accurately.

And yet, even after struggling to escape his bad luck, he couldn’t shake his sense of unease. He’d sworn that once the down payment of a 100 million ral came through, he’d get rid of that old motorcycle first thing. But, whenever he considered blowing that much money at once, he’d end up putting it off, knowing it would only draw attention in the slums. Despite his big talk, Jackson Carter was clueless when it came to spending money.

No, I’ve earned this.

The dark-clad assassin hid himself within the night as he fled, soothing himself with the thought that his vague, uneasy feelings were only natural, given that he’d never once felt true happiness. He wanted to believe that was all it was.

“Haa… ha…”

No doubt his prosthetic leg would be swollen after pushing it so hard.

Pausing to catch his breath, Jackson glanced briefly at his damaged leg. Outwardly, it still looked fine, but both legs had gone entirely numb.

Just a bit farther, and this’ll really be over, he told himself, blinking away the fatigue that clouded his vision. Then he picked up the pace again, forcing himself forward.

“Whew… hoo…”

At last, Jackson ran without pause to the rendezvous point, successfully reaching the extraction point where he stopped dead in front of the waiting car.

“Well done.”

Francis greeted the weary hunter, even offering him a blanket, saying the night had turned cold. Jackson pushed the blanket aside as if it were unnecessary and slumped into the car seat, replying with a grunt.

“Enough. Once it hits the news, just be ready to make the deposit.”

“Of course.”

Francis said no more, simply watching Jackson as he caught his breath. This poor fool was likely brimming with excitement, thinking he’d snared the spider, while completely oblivious to the fact that he himself was entangled in the web.

In fact, the endless unease Jackson had felt was his body’s warning, a premonition of what was soon to come. Francis had sought out someone exactly like Jackson: sturdy, rough around the edges, but easy to manipulate. He was neither noble nor refined, and so Francis had no doubt he’d fit right into the society of monsters.

******

The assassination of the queen plunged Arachron society into an uproar. It was nearly unheard of to lose both rulers before the crown prince had even ascended to the throne.

The faces of those gathered in the council chamber were somber, though not one among them mourned the late Terencia.

In Arachron tradition, a new queen ascends by slaying the previous queen in a formal duel. Thus, Terencia Lakron was destined to die eventually. The turmoil was due to the fact that it was a mere human, not the designated successor, who had killed the queen, and this breach of tradition sparked a fierce debate among the councilors.

[For generations, the throne has been inherited only by those who could defeat the previous queen in combat. This rule must apply, even to a human.]

[Oh, where is this bravado coming from? Do you truly believe that the queen’s throne is so lightly won? The most sacred duty of the queen is to secure the royal line, is it not?]

Calint, the crown prince, listened in silence as the councilors raised their voices in bitter argument. He knew neither faction cared for him personally. The young prince watched with quiet amusement, curious to see just how shamelessly they could state their cases.

[Then, are you suggesting that Lady Lylis should ascend without even the usual rites of inheritance? That, I believe, would be an even greater detrimental to legitimacy.]

[Imagine, then, that Crown Prince Calint takes the throne with a human queen by his side. It would only be a matter of time before rumors spread that the king harbors deviant sexual desires, wouldn’t it?]

As the discussion grew increasingly heated, Calint propped his chin on his hand, looking steadily at each councilor in turn. How could he break through this impasse? Those who insisted on upholding the legitimacy of the royal succession were the very ones who favored humans. They advocated for opening the gates to humanity and accepting their culture and trade.

One day, out of nowhere, a human hunter appears and kills the queen. Then, this human hunter becomes queen.

It sounded absurd, but if they allowed a single human within their borders, an open-door policy would soon follow. Calint suspected that the reformists had arranged for the human assassin.

Yet, following the traditionalists’ path—disregarding procedure to install the chosen candidate as queen—was hardly an answer, either.

They had already shed blood to prepare Lylis for the throne, and that effort was ongoing. There was no chance that the power-hungry kin of the next queen candidate would rule properly. Furthermore, breaking the succession protocol would weaken the monarchy, inviting further challenges to royal authority.

Accepting a human queen meant opening the gates to humanity, while appointing Lylis meant the Arachron court would be swayed by her powerful relatives.

Caught between the devil and the deep blue sea.

As Calint mulled over his options, the council spiraled further into chaos. Instead of resolving the issue, the councilors seemed determined only to cut each other down.

[Stop pretending you care for His Highness! As if we don’t know what lurks beneath that facade!]

[How ludicrous to hear that from you, my lord—who could never be outdone in deviousness!]

Just then, the doors of the council chamber swung open, and a priest entered. Though the priests claimed neutrality and kept a distance from politics, Calint knew better. Priests, too, were bound by politics and corruption, and this particular priest was certainly not on his side.

[Your Highness, the deity has sent an oracle regarding the human queen…!]

The priest’s face was pale and bloodless, his breathing shallow and unsteady as if genuinely gripped by fear.

[Let’s hear what this oracle says, then.]

Calint’s voice was cool. He held no hope that an oracle would resolve the crisis. He only continued to contemplate the path out of this dilemma.

[The… human queen will earn the king’s trust… but ultimately… they will turn the Arachron royal city to ashes.]

[And?]

[That… is all. The deity spoke only this.]

The priest bowed his head deeply, and the conservatives, who opposed the idea of a human queen, seized the moment to raise their voices.

[Did you hear that? The safety of the kingdom is at stake! Bringing in a human queen only makes it a matter of time before humans invade. Even with their advanced technology, they’ve made that outrageous request to simply pass through our lands. Their intentions are dark!]

[…….]

[Please, say something, Your Highness! Prophecies haven’t always been accurate, and they often contain layers of metaphor!]

Calint pondered upon hearing the oracle. Recently, as the reformists had claimed, oracles had failed more frequently, and he knew he couldn’t rely on omens to shape policy indefinitely. If he made his first decision as king based on an oracle, the future of his rule would be plain to see.

And yet, he couldn’t simply ignore the prophecy. It forced him, if only briefly, to set aside his pragmatic concerns.

The human queen will earn the king’s trust….

Had there ever been anyone he could trust in this brutal political arena? The journey to becoming the crown prince had been treacherous—a position earned by defeating, betraying, exiling, and even killing his own brothers. And yet, the notion of someone he could trust…?

Though he dismissed the oracle as just a cryptic prediction, he found himself intrigued. What kind of person could inspire such a prophecy? He felt an urge to meet this person in the flesh.

Calint Lakron desperately wanted someone who could stand by his side. However, he also knew that he shouldn’t make decisions based solely on curiosity. Gathering his thoughts, The crown prince spoke in a commanding voice.

[Silence.]

The councilors fell quiet, holding their breaths. Among his siblings, Calint’s voice had always been the lowest and most imposing, particularly resembling that of his late father.

[I will accept the human as my queen.]

The conservatives gasped in shock at the crown prince’s declaration, while the reformists, though silent, couldn’t hide their excitement.

[However, if the queen fails to fulfill their duties, then I will also consider taking on a new queen.]

This time, a sigh of relief escaped from the conservatives. His words implied that if Lylis could eliminate the human queen, then she could indeed take the throne, just as they’d hoped.

[Today’s council meeting is hereby adjourned.]

As he ended the meeting, Calint pondered. If the human queen indeed proved as incompetent and became a threat to the royal family as the council feared, then he would grant the position to Lylis.

However, if they were truly someone worthy of his trust, as the prophecy suggested, he would risk everything to protect them.

*******

Click.

Jackson sprawled out on the sofa, flipping through TV channels. News channels presented by AI ​​robot flashed by one after another, each barely catching his attention.

Since his success in the queen hunt, he had been living the life of a recluse. For fifteen days and counting, he’d been glued to the screen, waiting with growing impatience for a news flash announcing the queen’s replacement.

“Fucking bastards. Thought reporters were supposed to be quick?”

A line of empty bottles and a mound of cigarette butts on the table beside him spoke volumes about his restlessness. The only things he’d bought with the 100 million ral he’d received as an advance were booze, cigarettes, and a lighter, which were slightly more expensive than the things he usually drank.

If he bought the car he wanted, there wouldn’t be much left. 100 million ral seemed like a fortune but didn’t stretch nearly as far as he’d imagined. By the time he realized that there weren’t many things he could do with that money, he’d practically taken up residence in front of the TV.

“Hell, at this rate, was I scammed or what?”

There were the physical exams and the challenge of infiltration to consider, but aside from that, the mission hadn’t been particularly difficult. When he thought about it, even getting paid a full 100 million for that mission alone had been quite generous. Most mercenaries were hardly worth anything, and as they aged and lost their edge, many ended up killed trying to complete reckless missions.

Those who understood this usually sought an escape early on. Jackson, on the other hand, was more like someone who stayed on as a mercenary simply because he had no other skills. He’d talk big, claiming he’d pull off a huge job and leave the city someday, but inwardly, the thought of an uncertain future terrified him. He was unprepared for what lay ahead, while his body simply wore down day by day.

In a fit of frustration, Jackson threw the remote into a corner of the sofa and grabbed an empty bottle. A few stray drops were all that fell when he tried to drain it.

“Damn it, when did I drink it all? So damn expensive, and it barely lasts.”

Muttering curses, the aging man slammed the bottle back on the table and stumbled toward the door.

The more he drank, the worse his balance grew, making his limp more pronounced. Still, he loved drinking. It was the only thing that could drown out the foreign feeling of his prosthetic, the headache-inducing thoughts, and the nagging fears about his bleak future, leaving him with a sense of fleeting happiness.

Throwing on a thick hoodie over his bare body, Jackson headed out to buy more alcohol and cigarettes. Despite having 100 million in his account, he still insisted on using cash. His pocket bulged with crumpled bills withdrawn from the ATM, a fitting look for someone who’d just come into some money.

“…….”

Rustle. A irritating noise scraped at his ears, making Jackson glance back. No one was there. Still, something didn’t feel right, an uneasy itch in the middle of his back.

Rustle, rustle.

This time, he was certain. Someone was following him. The moment he realized he was being tailed, Jackson snapped back into the role of a seasoned hunter. Strolling down a dingy alley, he abruptly changed course and moved toward a well-lit street.

Those fucking bastards! They’re after my money, aren’t they?

After drinking, Jackson’s thoughts took a sharp, erratic turn. He figured it was low-life scum with a sixth sense for money who were now hot on his trail. His steps lengthened, his pace quickened, and before he knew it, he was sprinting down the street.

Despite being drunk, his movements were swift, nearly sober. To an onlooker, he might even have seemed like a pickpocket, shoving people aside as he charged forward.

“He’s running.”

The world wasn’t as petty as he thought—it was far more ruthless. In the slums, a friend from yesterday could become a foe today if the price was right.

Those hired by Arachron for a hefty sum closed in on Jackson, forcing him to keep circling the same area without reaching the main streets. It wasn’t just one or two men pursuing him; there were several, each trained to corner him with precision.

After sprinting a while, Jackson came face-to-face with a dead-end wall. He briefly considered jumping it, but in a situation like this, even a split-second hesitation was too long. His pursuers seized the moment, one of them lunging forward with a stun gun aimed at Jackson’s neck.

“Hell no!”

With a string of curses, he twisted his head and narrowly dodged the shock, but luck was fickle, granting him only one escape.

“Urgh…!”

He didn’t see the elbow from the side, striking him in the gut. Jackson let out a ragged breath, his face contorted in pain.

Damn it. If only I hadn’t been drinking.

The blow landed with a jarring impact, and his vision swam as his intoxicated body staggered under the hit. His assailants didn’t give him any chance to recover, immediately striking him with the stun gun and sending him to the ground.

“Yes, we’ve captured him.”

One of the hired men covertly reported the situation to someone. In accordance with its own strange rules, the Arachron Kingdom was preparing to make this audacious human assassin, who’d killed their queen, into its new royal queen. And orchestrating this entire process was none other than a fellow human.

—Quick on his feet, was he? You said you’d have him in about thirty minutes.

A faint, mocking voice chuckled over the phone. Jackson recognized it, though he was unconscious and oblivious to the scheming around him. It was Francis.

“He was faster than expected, but we’ve got him. We’ll proceed with the transport shortly.”

—Well, take good care of him, will you? He’s about to become quite valuable, so he mustn’t end up with any scratches on his precious body.”

“Yes, understood.”

Ending the call, the kidnapper slung Jackson over his shoulder and casually slipped out of the alley. Although countless people moved along the streets, none paid any attention to Jackson. Brawls were a common sight in the slums, and no one was surprised, regardless of the victim.