These Are The Plunderers Novels & Stories

Raiders, or worse, Relic scavengers—mercenaries who traded in sacred blood and stolen magic. He followed the trail across a moonswept ridge, each footfall measured, each breath slow, a man in no hurry but with a heart that had never forgotten purpose. He remembered, as he walked, how the world could wound itself—how men with hungry eyes and empty hands could tear beauty from its roots and call it gain.

Aislen saw Connery move, out of the corner of her eye, the rogue alpha adjusting his weight on his feet, and his eyes glowing with his wolf, preparing to fight. Indifferent to the hostility, Phillip Salem continued. “You and the Les Guerriers Sanctifies’ Triquetra will remain in the bunker here in the hopes that away from the obviously harmful influence of the rebels, you will assume the position within the pack that a Triquetra and their mate should hold. Talen Gawaine, you are invited to remain also, and we hope that through you, an alliance with the Concordia vampires might be obtained?” “You’re going to kill August,” Aislen realized. “This is a coup, in disguise of a rescue attempt. You’

Even if Kenneth came, he might not be able to offer much help. It was better to let him remain outside the spotlight. At the right moment, he might become an unexpected surprise. … Two days later, Florian led his forces out of the base and headed toward Willowford Town. This time, he brought fifty members of Team A. Twelve of them were Artificials. Including Florian himself, the unit also had four powerful captain-level Awakened fighters. Team A represented the elite of the elite. Its members were either top SFOs or exceptional talents from other fields. Their orders were absolute: breach the bunker at Cloudcrest Manor and capture Cyrus alive.

He was the enemy who had carried the virus, yet he was the lover who had sacrificed everything to stop it. Kael took a step, his legs buckling. He had to reach the mountain. He had to tell Maya that the slow burn of their life together wasn't over. But as he looked toward the horizon, he saw a fleet of a different kind. They weren't white and clinical. They were rusted, jagged, and flying low under the radar. The shadow dwellers of the distant wastes, the ones who had remained hidden while the pack fought the Purifiers, were finally emerging. They weren't here to help. They were here to scavenge the wreckage of the gods.

Even though most warriors were not united, they were smart enough to not fall for the same thing. Cavill said, "They're just treating all of us as their toys. They do whatever they please. Even in the Hunting Plains, they haven't really let the regular warriors off. They've sent a lot of their subordinates to lay in hiding. The moment they see any valuable rewards that any beasts drop, they will immediately try to steal it. It's just completely shameless at this point." As he said that, Cavill felt a surge of anger in his heart. Those shameless and despicable bastards were crossing the line more and more. They used their skills to run all over the innocent!

Traders avoided it, patrols skirted its edges and stories lingered around it like fog. “That forest is rumored to harbor rogues,” she said carefully. Sachin gave a small nod. “It does.” Drake let out a short breath. “Bandits.” “Not just bandits,” Sachin corrected. “Deserters. Smugglers. Exiled fighters. People who don’t answer to the throne” “That sounds worse than soldiers,” Drake muttered. “It depends,” Sachin replied calmly. “Soldiers are loyal to the king. Rogues are loyal to money or survival.”

Their armor is dark, their weapons gleaming under the faint sunlight filtering through the trees. They don’t look like ordinary warriors. They look like executioners. One of them—a massive man with scars running down his arms and a cruel smirk curling his lips—steps forward, holding my bag of gold in one hand like it weighs nothing. “You’re a bunch of filthy thieves,” he sneers, his voice dripping with disgust. “Tell me, where did you get this?” “It—it’s ours!” one of the rogues stammers, the man with a patchy beard and missing teeth. “A gift! We didn’t steal it, we swear!”

Shadow Maulers were known as a ruthless group. It contains clanless people that will do anything for money. Killing someone is not even a problem. This group lives underground and usually works for powerful people in the background. Of course, the world would not be balanced if there were no bad people. Even if Ventus City was ruled by the Lowell Clan, it's still not in their hands to control these mad, selfish people. No matter how high they put the security, these shadows will still lurk in the background.

"It's a hardware store. Keep your head down. Don't make eye contact. And whatever you do, do not speak unless spoken to." They began the walk. The ground was treacherous—a mixture of oily mud and sharp shards of plastic. Every step was a risk. Ren watched the horizon. He saw movement in the fog. Other scavengers. They moved like ghosts, wrapped in rags, pulling sleds made of car hoods. They picked through the heaps, looking for copper, gold pins, or intact batteries. Ren realized with a jolt that this was the real "Player Base" of Aethelgard. The 99%. The people who didn't get to live in the spire.

Then another two bandit treasure hunters showed up. "Be careful, these bandit treasure hunters are nimble than they look. I don't know much about them except for the fact that they worked with the werewolves! Just stay in back so you won't get hurt!" "It looks like you were sent for this quest, fucking warrior. Let me tell you something you must know about us before you die. We are all strong and we can fight you!" said the bandit treasure hunter in the middle. "I'm Sherlock the leader of this bandit treasure hunters and I have no business with you. What we're looking for is the gold our victim's father will send us, get lost!"