The Druid Who Devoured the Great Nature

The Brotherhood was the largest crime syndicate, recognized by all.

But each branch’s activities varied widely.

Some trafficked weapons, produced drugs, or carried out acts of terror.

Others stuck to petty theft and extortion.

By the Brotherhood’s own system, the 100-series branches were newcomers—small and still growing.

So at worst, I figured they’d want me to handle some inconvenient cleanup.

That was the reasoning behind my willingness to deal.

“I want you to kill this man.”

Hattig pulled out a crumpled file he’d been sitting on and handed it to me.

Warm from his seat, the papers felt unpleasant in my hands.

When I hesitated to take it, he scratched the back of his head sheepishly.

“It’s sensitive material. Nobody can steal it if I sit on it.”

“…You could’ve just hidden it in a bag.”

“Oh. That makes sense. I’ll remember that next time.”

Typical brute logic.

Suppressing a sigh, I took the file.

“…Are you insane?”

From the very first page, I had to bite back a curse.

I shot him a cold glare, but Hattig only chuckled.

“Something wrong?”

“You gave me the wrong file. Hand me the real one.”

“No mistake. I had a proper intel group put that together.”

“So you’re seriously asking me to assassinate another Brotherhood branch leader?”

Even saying it aloud, it was hard to believe.

Killing a rival gang’s boss I could understand. But another Brotherhood leader?

This was beyond my expectations.

“Name’s Malay Krector. They call him Iron Hammer—he smashes his enemies into pulp. He became leader of Branch 85 four years ago and built a decent reputation. Met him at a gathering once; the guy had presence.”

“…So you were serious.”

“I told you that from the start.”

His proud look only made me want to laugh.

As if this was normal business.

I ran a hand through my hair, letting the ceiling fan’s cool air calm the heat rising in my head.

“Even for a messed-up group like the Brotherhood, isn’t this going too far?”

Under one roof, yet plotting murder against each other—it felt too extreme.

Of course, it wasn’t as if the Brotherhood had never splintered.

I recalled the great internal conflict that once left cities like Gellerg in ruins.

But that was supposed to be in the future, not now—

‘Wait.’

Hadn’t the vanguard of that conflict been a unit made up of outsiders?

Faces I’d skimmed over in newspapers and broadcasts suddenly overlapped with Hattig’s.

‘Don’t tell me this guy was one of the ringleaders?’

The Brotherhood’s implosion hadn’t happened overnight.

Cracks had formed bit by bit until something finally made them shatter.

If signs were already here, it explained a lot.

“Why do you want Malay Krector dead?”

The Brotherhood’s civil war was one of the biggest storylines that reshaped the city’s ecosystem.

Even if my goals were different, as a veteran of the game I couldn’t help my curiosity.

“Does it matter?”

“Call it personal interest.”

“Well, you’re right—it’s not normal.”

The Brotherhood was bloated but brittle.

If internal fighting weren’t forbidden, it would’ve collapsed long ago.

“But that rule only applies to those within the same faction.”

“Faction? Like that Darkest Chase group you mentioned earlier?”

“No. I mean the three blocs the Brotherhood itself is divided into. Compared to them, Darkest Chase is just a little club.”

Three blocs.

The same structure I remembered from the future.

So this was connected.

“In any case, Malay and I are from different blocs. To be exact, I don’t belong to any.”

“Why?”

“Discrimination. Outsiders like me are shunned—whether by civilians or criminals.”

“So you got bullied out. That it?”

“Childish phrasing, but accurate.”

Hattig admitted it without hesitation.

“My branch received no support. Building it up this far was hell. I had to hammer rotten thugs into shape and lead them like they were my tribe.”

It was pride talking now, but pride backed by real sweat.

‘So that’s what Hella meant about him managing his men well.’

He led them as if they were his clan. Of course.

“But to play in deeper waters, I needed bold moves. I gambled, succeeded, and now my 100-series branch is rare in owning a real business.”

“And that bold move is hiring me to assassinate another branch leader.”

“Not exactly. I didn’t assassinate last time. I challenged him outright—and won.”

The orc’s way.

Not lawful contracts, but brutal conquest.

If an orc ran a Brotherhood branch, this was inevitable.

“Then why not do the same again?”

“The higher-ups warned me. One more open challenge, and they’d take my head.”

“Ah. So that’s why you tried to bring me in quietly.”

That explained the contradiction.

Publicly they claimed to be hunting a rogue killer. Privately they lured me here.

“The story is: some vengeful butcher attacked another branch leader.”

“Exactly.”

I had to admit, smart thinking.

Twisted, but clever.

“Branch 85 handles drug distribution. If Malay dies and his line collapses, I can funnel it all into my club. Profits would skyrocket.”

So there was calculation behind it.

But one big problem remained.

“On what basis do you think I can kill a branch leader?”

This wasn’t some easy hit. A Brotherhood branch leader wasn’t prey just anyone could take down.

The scenario was neat—but the casting was sloppy.

“Even if you fail, that’s fine. I never planned to end it in one try.”

He sounded casual.

Like he’d just slotted me into a plan already in motion.

“And I know it’s not something one man can handle alone.”

I tilted my head.

“There’ll be four of you in total. You’ll move together.”

“So you’re going all in.”

He had a team.

This wasn’t some spur-of-the-moment scheme. He’d been laying the groundwork for a while.

I gave a hollow laugh.

“With a setup that big, won’t you get caught?”

“That’s why your situation works perfectly. It’ll cover me.”

“You think half-baked scheming like that will fly?”

“If there’s no proof, no one can touch me. I’ll just look like someone who happened to absorb a broken branch.”

I shook my head.

‘He’ll come up with his own excuses.’

Not my problem.

All I needed was the information.

“Will you do it?”

“Are you joking?”

What a laughable question.

This club was his home turf.

I’d stepped into the tiger’s den—walking out would cost me something.

Only a fool would assume a quiet hallway meant no one was there.

“I already suggested a deal. No reason to spoil it now.”

An assassination job against a Brotherhood branch leader, and intel on the black mage.

Weighing the risks against the gains, this tilted in my favor.

“You’d better keep your word.”

“Of course.”

“How do I meet the others?”

“I’ve already tipped them off. Tomorrow, go to the address on the last page of that file.”

“Fine. Once the job’s done, I’ll be back.”

“Wait.”

Just as I stood, Hattig tossed something my way.

For a second I wondered if he’d had more files tucked under his ass—but the weight in my hand was cold metal.

“A gift.”

The kind of thing that felt nostalgic from a modern perspective:

A pistol.

In this world, where magic had brought melee weapons back into prominence, it wasn’t a popular choice among elites.

“A Hastok-400. One of Militechnica’s classics.”

“Don’t give me that—it’s a cheap piece.”

Who was he trying to fool?

Back when I’d worked as a city sheriff, I’d handled plenty of guns.

The Hastok line was Militechnica’s budget series.

The 400 was an early model—plagued with defects, but it survived because it was dirt cheap.

“Whatever it is, it’s better than fighting barehanded like you’ve been. It’s loaded. Use it to blow someone’s brains out.”

Even as a sidearm, a revolver’s firepower was lethal.

More than enough to kill a man.

‘Better than nothing, at least.’

Even with my boosted affinity with nature, the World Tree’s tendrils might not be enough.

The pistol would serve as a solid backup.

‘Assassination or not, I have to be ready for a firefight.’

In that sense, a gun was a proper secondary weapon.

‘Maybe once this job’s done, I’ll buy a proper one.’

There were still plenty of expenses ahead, but certain investments couldn’t be avoided.

Leaving the drunk Hattig behind, I stepped out of the club.

The next day, I arrived at the place.

A restaurant on 11th Street in District 3, within the ordinary commercial zone.

So the first meeting wasn’t at Branch 85’s base.

‘When I became a freelancer, I thought I’d mostly work alone. Yet this is already the second time I’m paired with a team.’

This wasn’t technically a brokered job, but a direct contract.

Still, the principle was the same: work done, payment earned.

‘I just have to make sure Cromwell doesn’t catch wind of this.’

Freelancers were expected to stay outside of personal vendettas and factional ties. This sort of deal was a liability.

‘At least for now.’

There was a way around it, of course: grow so famous that my reputation smoothed over any inconvenience.

Plenty of top freelancers cut direct contracts. As long as the broker got a token notification, the rules held.

In this city, strength was everything.

It looked civilized on the surface, but primitive rules ruled the streets.

I mused on this until I reached the spot.

A dingy, faded sign. Old jazz spilling from the speakers.

The classic look of a place on the verge of closing.

I pulled open the greasy glass door.

Every eye inside turned toward me.

“Over here.”

No mistaking it—they occupied the only table with customers.

I walked over at an easy pace, sizing them up.

‘Two men, one woman?’

A brutish-looking man, a figure wrapped tight in robes, and a gloomy woman.

I sat in the empty chair, and the brutish one sneered.

“Damn it, another guy? And one with his face wrapped up like an idiot.”

I froze.

“…What was that?”

“Oh, you heard? Sorry about that. Mouth’s as rough as my looks. Don’t take it personally.”

He laughed, but his eyes brimmed with contempt.

“H-hey, please… don’t fight.”

“…What?”

“I-I mean, don’t fight. Please.”

The woman at my side tried to mediate.

Her voice was as faint as her shadowy presence—like the buzz of a mosquito, barely audible.

The brute scratched his ear.

“……”

Meanwhile, the robed figure gave no reaction at all.

Like I was staring at a statue.

A suspicion crept up on me.

‘Could it be that, like me, Hattig just scraped together whatever he could find?’

Details weren’t an orc’s strength.

So these were my supposed allies for a branch leader assassination?

“If this is what I’m working with, I’d rather go solo.”

The brute’s eyes flared.

“…Say that again, you little shit.”

“Unlike you, I don’t use a foul mouth.”

I didn’t even bother pretending to apologize.

I wasn’t about to force a fake reconciliation with someone who’d picked a fight from the start.

“I’m just stating facts.”

“What the hell did you just say?”

“You’re dead weight.”

Cold words, deliberately provocative.

And with that, the already fragile first meeting snapped clean in half.

(End of Chapter)