Chapter Twenty-Seven: What It Means to Be a Master of Infiltration (A Tactical Lean Back)

“Stop! Who goes there?”
Two hunters standing guard at the entrance of a camp blocked five figures clad in black cloaks.
One of the guards stepped forward, reaching out to pull back the hood of one of the cloaks, while the other gripped a pokeball at his waist, ready for combat.
Their attempt was thwarted, for the man himself removed his cloak, revealing a rugged face—one of the four burly men from the Carlos Hunters’ Organization.
The guard, who had been about to lift the hood, lowered his hand and asked, face dark with suspicion, “Who are you people?”
The burly man gestured behind him, prompting three others to remove their hoods. He spoke coldly, “We’re from the Carlos Hunters’ Alliance, here to assist you in this operation.”
As he spoke, the rear guard began confirming their identities by phone. When the front guard glanced back, the rear guard nodded, signaling the information checked out.
After nodding to his companion, the front guard pointed at the one who had yet to reveal his face. “Why doesn’t that guy show himself?”
The hooded figure remained silent, but the burly man who had spoken glared fiercely at the guard. “Mind your own business.”
As soon as the words left his mouth, the three other burly men placed their hands on their pokeballs, as if ready for battle.
The two guards exchanged glances, and the rear guard began another round of questioning.
This time the process took noticeably longer, but the instructions remained the same: allow them through. The front guard retreated to his post.
“Please, go ahead.”
The burly man snorted and waved his hand, signaling his companions to lower their guards. The short figure in the cloak remained motionless, calmly surrounded by the four as they entered the camp tucked deep within the forest.

The four burly men eyed the surrounding Kanto hunters warily, feeling as if they had stepped into a dragon’s lair.
Only the figure in the center stayed composed; though his face was hidden, the turn of his head showed he was surveying the camp—not with suspicion, but almost as if he were appreciating it. One could not help but marvel at his nerves.
The hunters were all in a heightened state of alert; any unexpected movement might provoke a violent response. They had always worked with their lives hanging by a thread, but this—direct confrontation with the Alliance—was a first.
Given the risks and repercussions, those involved either placed immense trust in the hunter leader or harbored a crazed hatred toward the Alliance.
Neither type was stable; apart from them, anyone with a clear head would not have joined. Being blacklisted was one thing—hunters were always targets—but being wanted was another matter entirely.
Who would want to be pointed at in public, “Look, that guy’s head is worth a fortune”? This wasn’t the world of pirates.
Escorted tensely by the four burly men, the group soon arrived at the main tent of the Kanto region’s hunter leader.
Two guards at the entrance questioned them again, and when asked about the identity of the central figure, the four responded with a “ask again and we’ll fight” stance. One guard repeated his inquiry, and after obtaining permission from the leader inside, the five were allowed in, but only after surrendering all their pokeballs.
The tent was large, but sparsely decorated. A middle-aged man with a centipede-like scar across his burly face sat on a chair woven from the vines of grass-type Pokémon, his gaze shadowed as he regarded the group.
“I recall that Delgado, the Carlos region leader, promised me only four men as support. So... what’s the story with this fifth?” the scarred man asked calmly.
He cared little whether an extra man had come. He knew Delgado’s true purpose was to observe whether there was real benefit to be gained. If value was confirmed, Delgado would descend like a shark drawn to blood, thrashing his fat tail and gaping maw to seize his share.
Yet he was unconcerned; if the goal was reached, Delgado dared come, he would ensure Delgado never left. To him, these men were mere walking corpses. Whoever they were mattered little. As for the possibility of an Alliance infiltrator—this hadn’t crossed their minds, for the operation’s secrecy had been well maintained. They had no idea that every Carlos operative had already been apprehended.
More importantly... he rather hoped the Alliance would send someone strong to wipe out this camp.
As a former mid-level member of Team Rocket, he had little respect for these undisciplined, unorganized hunters. If the Alliance destroyed the camp, it would prove they hadn’t discovered Nobuhide’s existence... the plan could proceed, even more covertly.
The short, black-robed man chuckled softly, then removed his hood, revealing a strikingly handsome face.
He was, of course, Chen Ou.

“Greetings, Chief. My name is Holland, a volunteer Pokémon researcher here to assist.”
The scarred man’s expression remained impassive. “I’ve never heard of you. Your presence is suspicious.”
Chen Ou smiled and shook his head. “The vessel is called the Jug of Retribution, isn’t it? It seems you’re hiding something from us.”
His words fell like thunder, startling the scarred man.
How could he know about the Jug of Retribution? Who was he? Had Delgado found out?
Seeing his reaction, Chen Ou reassured him, “Calm yourself, Chief. Delgado, that fat fool, knows nothing about this.”
The scarred man grew even more wary, asking coldly, “What do you want?”
“Hupa’s power is uncontrollable, Chief. Though I don’t know how you learned about the Jug of Retribution, I’ve spent over a decade studying Hupa’s mythology. I dare say I understand it far better than an amateur like you. I can control Hupa—or help you control it.”
Chen Ou spoke with sincere yet seductive conviction.
“Your... objective...” The scarred man, hearing his authoritative tone, regained his composure, no longer so distant.
“These four are all my people. My goal is... the Carlos region’s hunter leader. How about that?”
Chen Ou’s face shone with a brilliant smile; his eyes curved into crescent slits, glinting with greedy light.