"We just got word that two more of the supply trucks we sent to the production area have been intercepted, Tar," Maxim murmured with a hint of unease, eyes fixed on Taras sitting at the head chair of the meeting room.
One of Taras's close men spoke up. "Apparently, those trucks had enough legumes to feed our people for three days."
Taras sat there with his hands clasped on the table, staring straight ahead with a blank expression while a medic was stitching up his shoulder.
"I can't believe they have the nerve to keep this filth going," Maxim added. This was the main topic of the meeting, the supplies had been stolen by a rebellious unit, named Awakening Movement, whose influence had been spreading through the outskirts. Still, the other man asked,
"Are we sure it was them?"
Maxim's face twisted, as if the question was too stupid to waste time on. "Of course it was! They're just trying to provoke Tar into siding with them."
"I only asked because there are other bastards who'd pull this off," the man replied. "Not every unit leader… is like Tar."
When the medic's trembling hands hesitated and he began to mumble something to Taras, everyone fell silent, their attention naturally drawn to him.
"Sir, I know your way of killing in the dungeon- I do, but… since you prefer close combat, it could lead to more unexpected injuries like this. I'd recommend being more careful," he stammered, carefully taping a second layer of dressing over Taras's shoulder.
Taras only nodded. Maxim's lips curved into a small grin that drifted into Taras's line of sight; Maxim had his mouth half-covered with his hand, elbow propped on the table. Seeing that, Taras turned to look at the medic's face for the first time. Ha, a flushed face and shy eyes. Taras turned slightly, shooting Maxim a silent, sharp look. This medic was an omega; Maxim must have arranged for him to tend to Taras.
This medic seemed to have more on his mind. "And… sir," the omega scratched his nose, trying to mask his nervousness as he gathered his supplies.
"Yes," Taras said, turning back to him.
"I heard you haven't been receiving any guiding sessions for a while. Our unit noted that you haven't booked an appointment with any of the guides at our center for almost two weeks. I… just wanted to ask if there's something that doesn't satisfy you."
At that, the faint grin on Maxim's face disappeared, replaced by tension. This omega was sticking his nose in too far. For those around Taras, getting an answer from him -or even asking him a question about himself-took courage. Especially these days… Even as his closest friend, Maxim didn't fully know the answer.
Taras had completely stopped seeing the local guides after visiting that person, the treasure.
"When I need it," Taras said curtly, tapping his index finger on the table in a rhythmic pattern, probably thinking about the person Maxim had in mind. Of course, he might not need anyone else, but an esper of his level needed regular and intense guiding renewals. Before, he'd receive guiding nearly four times a day after each dungeon mission. Now, he simply vanished at night and returned to his unit with it already taken care of.
Maxim's mind wandered back to that night, the memory of the treasure saving Tar with a recklessness that bordered on foolishness, but the medic's voice, leaning forward slightly to catch Taras's gaze, snapped his focus back.
"But if you don't receive it for too long, you might-"
"Do I look like I need it?" Taras cut him off sharply, leaning in closer, his eyes locked onto the omega's without wavering.
At the same time, the others who'd been busy around the room paused briefly, glancing over at Taras.
Of course, no one besides Maxim knew that Taras was secretly getting guidance at night, and from the best in the country at that.
"No, never! I-I-" The medic stumbled over his words, trying to explain himself, but the irritated air radiating from Taras before him made him flinch back in panic.
At that moment, a faint trickle of the medic's pheromone scent reached the noses of everyone in the room, including Taras. Some omegas, when deeply terrified and sensing mortal danger, would reflexively secrete pheromones to survive. As Taras watched the omega still trying to say something, he thought of the treasure. He wasn't one of those omegas; even when he was afraid, the treasure never released pheromones.
The treasure should've been in that room right now. As Taras replayed last night in his mind, he found himself circling back to the hidden plan brewing around Le An.
"It's just… our guides wanted me to pass on their concerns since you never visit them, so…"
Visit? Should I go visit him today, too? If they open the door to that room…
When the door knocked, the omega exhaled a shaky breath of relief, grabbed his bag quickly, and bowed as he headed for the door. For a moment, he paused on the threshold, as if he might turn back, his damp eyes drifting back to the table. Maxim sighed at the sight, murmuring to himself, "Oh, please don't…"
Maxim had arranged for this chatty omega to be around Taras, hoping he'd want a distraction and might give someone a chance. But after Taras injured his shoulder during tonight's dungeon mission, this overly talkative omega had missed his shot to glean any hints about Taras from Maxim.
The medic hesitated, parting his lips one last time. "L-lastly, sir, to keep your shoulder wound protected, I'd recommend not getting too much… b-blood on it during close combat with the creatures. To avoid… infection."
"Sure," Taras said, eyes still fixed on that same spot on the table, his mind drifting through thoughts. Then he slowly lifted his head and smiled gently. This is never a good sign, Maxim thought, glancing at him, half ready to apologize. Taras finished his sentence: "I'll take great care of my wound, just so I never have to ask for your help again. You can leave."
The omega left the room looking even more defeated, just as a courier entered carrying an envelope. He didn't spare a glance at the crying omega as he passed, walking straight up to Taras. "Tar, another letter from the Awakening faction."
Taras rolled his eyes, not even bothering to look at the envelope, then turned to Maxim. "If you don't have anything more important to do," he said sarcastically, "you read it for me."
Maxim straightened in his chair, took the envelope from the courier, and murmured, "Forgive me," before starting. Taras made the tiniest flick with his finger and what the treasure called the "black strings", a dark strand of energy stretched toward the windows like a silk thread, unlatching them. The sound of crickets in the dark and the shouts of teams preparing for the night's dungeon mission filled the room as Taras murmured a warning to Maxim, "That scent was your fault."
Maxim lifted his head in protest, "Was I the one who scared the medic that badly?"
Taras pressed his temples and only looked at the letter. "Open it and read."
Maxim kept muttering under his breath. "Please, as if the poor omega had gone into heat."
The moment Taras heard the word heat again, his mind drifted back to Le An, too. No suppressants, no partners… Then how did the treasure get through his heats?
Maxim tore the letter open and asked one last thing before beginning, "Do you want me to replace him and get you a new medic?"
"Tar, wait," Maxim said, eyes scanning the paper while Taras started to stand, unfazed by the tension. "These damn Awakening leaders… they wrote that they'll be celebrating their new connections with powerful politicians and businessmen outside the outskirts."
"That's nothing new," one man at the table muttered. "There's no way those bloodthirsty bastards have this much support just from signing deals with other units."
"They say they'd be happy to see you among them, and that the day we sign this agreement will be the turning point when the government and the GAC system fall for good."
"Send them an answer saying I won't join," Taras said, standing fully now. Maxim read out the note at the end of the invitation. "They wrote: 'Having one of the most well-known leaders of the outskirts among us will lead our people in this war to reclaim their rights. No more being abandoned."
Taras clenched his jaw at that last line. The Awakening faction was growing more insistent about pulling him into this war. And with the stolen supplies that couldn't be traced, threats at unit borders, and now this…
"Tar…" Maxim slammed the invitation onto the table with frustration, looking up at him. "They're implying that if you're not in this war, the people will see you as standing against it."
"How many of our people do they think actually want this war?" Taras asked, taking the coat an aide brought him. Another aide rolled up a cleaning device to scrub the dirt, blood, and monster remains from under his boots, but Taras waved him off. He always changed his shoes before stepping into the treasure's house anyway. He lifted his head, looking at the comrades waiting for his orders. "Any of you want this war?"
Everyone shook their heads. That was what made Taras's unit different, and so harmonious. It was a place where people proud to be from the outskirts gathered, people who had proven they could survive without a government. It wasn't that they'd forgotten being abandoned or shut out by the state; it was that living on strongly was what made them feel alive.
Satisfied with the answer, Taras reminded them of the most important thing as he left the room. "We know blood can't wash away blood," he said before the ghost of a smile crossed his face. "But we also know that our golden rule is that we can take revenge without spilling too much blood. Don't we?"
The deadly smile sent a faint shiver through the other alphas in the room, but they all nodded in quiet approval of their leader. Maxim watched Taras disappear through the door opened for him, eyes drifting to Taras's shoulder. So then, was what he's been doing to the treasure just part of that golden rule, too?
"What are you going to do with him?" Maxim murmured to himself once Taras was fully out of sight. "What is it that you really want from him?"