Vroom... Vroom...
The piercing sirens of fire trucks and police cars echoed through the night sky. In the middle of Tokyo's bustling night market, a thick plume of black smoke billowed upward—a sight that was highly abnormal.
"What's going on?"
Passersby watched as specialized vehicles, sirens wailing and red-and-white lights flashing, roared past one after another, sparking a flurry of discussion.
"Probably another underground gas pipe explosion somewhere..."
Static... Crackle...
"Ministry of Defense, Supernatural Disaster Response Headquarters Command Center to Special Tactics First Operations Unit."
"The target is heading south along Metropolitan Expressway Route 5, moving at maximum speed through North Ikebukuro."
"Special Tactics Division 1, Mobile Squadron, copy that."
"Close all expressway entrances in the area. Guide all civilian vehicles to exit the route."
"Issue a blackout order and Information Coordination Decree to all news agencies. Content: Wartime Control, First Combat Readiness."
"Quite professional."
Kenmyo Isayama leaned against the wall, arms crossed, dressed in a sharp, well-tailored black suit.
"But these guys really don't feel any pain when spending taxpayers' money."
"Hahaha, Ken, of course they don't."
Leaning against the wall not far from him was a blonde man with a buzz cut, also in a black suit. His grin was horrific and grotesque; a large portion of muscle tissue on his right cheek near his mouth was missing, leaving his gums and teeth permanently exposed.
This was Shin Kiyono, a member of the group Kenmyo joined for his "part-time job."
"Unlike us 'wild path' types, they're the regular army."
The massive, brand-new 4K screen in front of Kenmyo looked incredibly expensive. Sitting before it were rows of staff members in uniform, their expressions solemn as they worked at their computers.
The large screen seemed to be putting on a display—or rather, flexing its muscles—broadcasting a live feed of a military mobilization at a Japanese base.
Under scorching white floodlights, the base was as bright as day. A large contingent of fully armed soldiers carrying the latest weaponry was assembling.
Serving as their backdrop were three Black Hawk attack helicopters and two Chinook transport helicopters. Without exception, they were bristling with weapons, their massive rotors slicing through the air with a high-pitched, screaming whine.
The soldiers were boarding the helicopters in a neat, orderly fashion, looking as if they were heading to a real battlefield. Their faces were grim.
The murderous aura overflowing from the screen infected the staff in the command center. They constantly verified changes on the field, ready to relay any update instantly.
Compared to these busy people, Kenmyo and his idle group seemed entirely out of place.
"Mr. Akutagawa, what exactly is their game? Leaving us hanging here like we're invisible."
Even with his indifferent personality, being ignored for this long made Kenmyo impatient. He addressed Mr. Akutagawa, who had just walked in after making a phone call.
The man in the black overcoat and matching black tie was Mr. Akutagawa—a middle-aged man with a fierce yet somewhat heroic image.
He was built like a tank, with a terrifying scar tearing across his entire left face. The jagged mark looked like the handiwork of a large beast, perhaps a black bear. His left eye was completely blind.
Aside from the clear-faced, physically intact Kenmyo, the other seven members of this group were all over forty and missing various body parts. Each of them radiated a malice that would make even Cursed Spirits flinch. Those battle-worn scars were enough to strike fear into anyone's heart.
No wonder students thought Kenmyo was joining a gang when they saw him with them. But Kenmyo, knowing their true identities, felt only admiration and respect.
"Orders from above."
Hearing Kenmyo's question, Mr. Akutagawa pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, lit one, and exhaled a slow cloud of smoke before speaking.
"Wait and see."
This answer annoyed the other members. They began to curse.
"Those old farts at the top are getting senile. It's been this long and they still haven't finished negotiations with the government?"
"They're just gonna let us rot here? Taking the cold shoulder from these bird-men?"
The speaker was Mr. Ishihara, a man with fiery red hair carrying a massive hammer. His personality was as hot as his hair. His bronze, muscular arms were covered in terrifying Cursed Energy, and he kept grumbling.
"To hell with the higher-ups."
Mr. Kiyono and the bald Mr. Iwata were just as short-tempered. They were like powder kegs. There was no way they would patiently wait here just because of a word from above.
Mr. Akutagawa turned a blind eye to his team's simmering rage, smoking and staring out the window—a silent sign of permission.
Hearing the sounds of various weapons being unsheathed, Kenmyo pushed himself off the wall. He didn't care about anything else; he only cared about points. Staying cooped up here wouldn't earn him a single one.
Perhaps sensing that things were taking a bad turn from the high volume of "mother-related" insults coming from the group, the person in charge of the command post finally appeared.
"My apologies, honored guests from the Sorcerers Association. I've kept you waiting."
A somewhat bloated middle-aged man in a military uniform stepped forward. From the insignia on his shoulder, his rank was not low—a Lieutenant General of the Ground Self-Defense Force.
"I am Kazuo Mafune. It is a pleasure to meet you."
The Lieutenant General extended his hand for a friendly shake, but not a single one of the men acknowledged him. He started to flare up in anger but suddenly remembered his small frame probably wouldn't survive a single punch from them.
Instead, Kazuo Mafune smiled apologetically.
"It's because today is the first operation of our Ministry of Defense Supernatural Disaster Response Headquarters. Things are a bit chaotic. I apologize for the neglect."
"Cut the crap. Why did you call us here?"
Ishihara's massive arm tightened, his muscles becoming as hard as boulders with veins bulging like dragons. He glared at the Lieutenant General. If the answer wasn't satisfactory, he looked ready to pulp the man with his hammer.
"It's like this," Mafune said, wiping cold sweat from his brow. "There is an ironclad rule in the Sorcery world: only Cursed Energy can kill a Cursed Spirit."
"However, I would like to invite the renowned 'Scavengers' team of the Sorcerers Association to observe. See how we use the power of science to eliminate Cursed Spirits."
"Of course, if you could provide some guidance, that would be even better."
The "Scavengers" were a specialized team under the Sorcerers Association. Most members were former Grade 1 Sorcerers. Because they had suffered severe, permanent injuries in battles against Cursed Spirits and were deemed unfit for the front lines, they had retired to the second string.
They were primarily responsible for the extermination of spirits below Grade 2, evaluating Grade 2 and higher incidents to report back to the Association (without engaging directly), and cleaning up residual Cursed traces.
It was their way of using what they had left. Kenmyo followed these "semi-retired" uncles to pick up the points from the spirits they freshly slaughtered.