If Saitama were here, he'd recognize the newcomer immediately. It looked a lot like the G4 machine Saitama had wrecked during that incident with King—but this was G5, stronger than its predecessor.
Disaster Level: Demon.
"How did you find our base? May I have a word with your maker?" Gyoro Gyoro asked, curious.
G5 didn't answer. Clearly, it had no intention of chatting—and coming here had probably involved some risk.
"Very well. Next time, then," Gyoro Gyoro said.
Hidden in the shadows, Garou suddenly heard a voice in his head—the timbre was unmistakably Gyoro Gyoro's.
"It's fine to keep hiding there. Just wait a moment, Garou-kun."
Telepathy?!
Cold prickled across Garou's skin. So this blob could speak directly into minds.
On the floor, monsters were already arguing over whether to kill the mercenaries kneeling in terror—or eat them. Several creatures finally snapped and charged in to claim their share—
A blade-flash like lightning. Several monsters fell in segments, carved cleanly apart.
Silence crashed down. Every gaze swung to the newcomer.
A man swaddled in bandages, hair wild like seaweed, red-threaded eyes glaring from a ruined face. Where his forearms should have been, there were only sleek, murderous blades.
"I'm almost at my limit. I can't hold it back anymore. I want to hear human screams. My head is full of the desire for it…"
Cutting King.
Disaster Level: Demon.
Even among monsters, he was a byword for cruelty. Compared to him, many of them looked like innocents. His foes rarely died whole.
Cutting King started forward to finish the mercenaries—then G5 spoke.
"Their gear is excellent—customized against particular targets. Better to use them than to butcher them for meat."
Gyoro Gyoro studied the machine for a long beat, then nodded. "Reasonable." The mercenaries were conscripted into the Monster Association on the spot.
Cutting King didn't move to interfere. Instead, his head tilted, hunting… and his killing intent swept toward Garou's nook like a cold tide.
"Hoo… hehe. The stink of a human. I noticed you a while ago. Come out."
Garou stepped from the corner and faced the crowd of monsters without flinching.
"Oh? The hero hunter? Not bad. I support him."
"Special treatment when he got dragged in—VIP pet?"
"Why does Gyoro Gyoro favor a mere human?"
"He looks half dead already. Let's just eat him."
Snide whispers zipped through the mob.
Garou had shouted to the human world that he was a monster. It made many here curious. Strength-wise, he could pass for an S-Class hero.
"Quiet. I'm speaking with him," Gyoro Gyoro said, one wave snuffing the chatter.
Sweat beaded on Garou's brow. His instincts screamed of danger—because behind Gyoro Gyoro, he could now make out a colossal silhouette:
Black scales armored a titanic frame. Metal-hard talons. A height that nearly scraped the cavern's ceiling. Monsters who ruled others could only look up.
Orochi—Monster King.
Exactly the presence Garou had suspected—something capable of suppressing every creature here.
"What do you want from me?" Garou asked, eyes narrowing.
"We number fewer than 500," Gyoro Gyoro said. "Comparable to the Hero Association's professionals. But after the last battles, we have fewer than thirty monsters at Demon level or above."
"Even so, our combat edge is assured. What we lack is cohesion—and a standard-bearer."
"I want you as a cadre, to act as my adjutant."
Gyoro Gyoro's voice warmed. "A strong one who despises heroes—that's the talent I seek. Someone who fights alone, even at the cost of his life, just to drag heroes down with him. Splendid."
"Nice perks," sneered a monster wrapped in black, tarry matter, a mask-like face oozing. Black Sperm—one of the Association's apex beings, if not exactly the brightest.
"My boss, Lord Orochi, has one condition," Gyoro Gyoro continued. "We still can't confirm you're truly a monster. Prove yourself."
"You have one day. Bring me the head of any hero."
At that, Orochi finally spoke. The cavern pulsed with his voice—cold, crushing, undeniable.
Bring back a hero's head?
Garou's brows knit. He was quiet a long moment.
The human world had marked him for death. The Hero Association had put him on their blacklist—and high on it. But here in the Monster Association, for all his talk of being a monster, he was still human. He wasn't a butcher by nature, nor did he have any monster cells in him.
"I accept," Garou said at last, turning to leave.
He had barely gone when two figures appeared before Gyoro Gyoro.
Carapaced from head to toe, bristling with spikes, with the stink of bloodshed.
Disaster Level: Demon—Bug God.
Beside it, the bandaged butcher—Disaster Level: Demon—Cutting King.
"What do you need from us?" Cutting King asked.
"Garou has departed. Tail him," Gyoro Gyoro said, voice turning glacial.
Elsewhere—
Saitama had already reached Hero Association HQ and joined the S-Class meeting.
"What a drag. Got any plans, Saitama?" Atomic Samurai drawled around a toothpick.
"We do. We're going to eat," Fubuki cut in, slipping her arm through Saitama's. "Right now the top-ranked heroes are on point. Saitama is… a special case."
The Association's new plan treated Saitama as the ace in the hole—only to be used when absolutely necessary. For now, the top ten would carry the front lines.
"I know a good place. Let's go, Saitama," Fubuki said, tugging him along, leaving Atomic Samurai awkwardly clearing his throat.
"Genos, coming?" Saitama asked.
"Sensei, I must handle matters in City S. Next time," Genos said, earnest as ever. The Monster Association's broad offensive had him running nonstop.
"Alright. Dinner first, then," Saitama said, heading out with Fubuki for a well-earned meal.
(End of Chapter)
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