These Are The Plunderers Mga Nobela at Kwento

ACCOUNT HOLDER: ETHAN VERMON-BLACKWOOD (TRUSTEE: MARCUS THORNE). My father hadn’t just stolen the trust. He had set us up to be the faces of the greatest financial massacre in history. To the world, Zander and I hadn’t exposed the Council—we had just successfully robbed them. The sound of a hundred police sirens wasn’t coming to save us. They were coming for the new “Kings of the Underground.” And from the treeline at the edge of the property, I saw the glint of a sniper scope.

The moment he finished his speech, the men cheered and rose to their feet, all seventeen of them, including the High Commander, their voices booming as they chanted, WE ARE THE HUNTERS, WE ARE THE GUILD. WE ARE GOD'S JUDGEMENT, WE ARE THE GUILD. WE DON'T GIVE IN OR FAINT, WE ARE THE GUILD. WE STRIKE WITH IRON, HOT AND FIERCE, FIRE AND VENGEANCE ON ALL CREATURES OF THE NIGHT. WE STRIKE WITH SILVER, COLD AND FROST, FIRE AND DEATH ON ALL CREATURES BREATHING FRIGHT.

“Further proof that he’s an idiot who got lucky.” I rise, pacing to the window. The courtyard below seethes with the movement of mercenaries arriving. Men who kill without compunction. Men whose malice I’m buying with gold and silver. They wear no colors, no banners, only steel. Ragged veterans with scars for faces. Cutthroats who follow coin instead of conscience. The sort of men Ronan Vale despises, which makes them all the sweeter to use.

“Did he see you?” “No,” Elara said. “But everyone is talking about him. He’s offering a reward. A fortune in gold. For information. For the ‘Divine Family.’ He’s calling it a ‘bounty.’” She swallowed. “He’s turned the whole world into his Acquirers.” The game had changed again. It wasn't just his professional hunters anymore. Now, every hungry farmer, every desperate merchant, every greedy townsfolk was a potential enemy. A fortune in gold was a dream that could make men forget their fear.

“There are several people. Cynthia, Quincy, Tiara, Scarlett, and an old man.” “Who’s the old man?” “I’m not sure. James brought him back from the Capital.” Three people hid behind a big three and communicated in hushed tones. The trio was the Three Wanderers. Their purpose was to capture people around James and use them to blackmail James and Thomas for the Spirit Turtle’s core. “When do we act, Finn?” Finn thought for a while and said, “We shouldn’t rush. Let’s wait a bit.” They waited for two hours. Soon, the lights in the villa went out one after another.

Quirin Fucking Jasper is attacking my pack. Again. When is this asshole going to realize that he can’t defeat me. This time, he must have gotten some friends to help him, but they aren’t the scrappy fighters that my warriors and I are. Other than me, my pack is made up solely of rogues, the misfits that the other packs kicked out. Okay, yeah, some of them are dangerous and I have to keep them in line, but they’re deadly, and Jasper needs to learn that no amount of money is worth your life.

“The one fighting for the Slaver tributes.” Lyla stiffens, every muscle ready to spring. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Cassie’s voice goes softer, more dangerous. “You’re also the one who burned the Slavers’ hounds alive at Stormcreek.” Lyla doesn’t answer. I lean forward, eyes sweeping between the two of them, curiosity burning like acid in my throat. The Slavers are a whispered curse, a threat that plagues the Blackwoods, and my pack steers clear of them. I only know the Blackwoods struck a deal with them that basically equaled selling their soul.

As we descended into the subterranean colosseum, the noise became overwhelming. Two thousand warriors filled the stone tiers of the cavern. These were the Shadow Warriors—the battle-scarred outcasts of the Dead Woods. They were alphas, betas, and omegas who had been rejected by their birth packs, criminals who had survived the brutal winter wilderness, and veterans of forgotten border wars. They didn't wear uniforms; they wore heavy furs, iron chains, and leather straps over bodies covered in jagged claw scars. They were savage, and radiated a volatile pressure.

Worse than any other battle I’d seen before. When I blinked my eyes, I was in a new spot except nothing was any different. The rogues were pouring in by the hundreds, taking out anyone that got in their way. These rogues were well trained. They must have sent in their best after not taking the last pack by surprise. They wanted to make sure they got the job done this time. This was so much more than just searching for a lost princess. These feral wolves looked like they wanted to tear down anyone who dared live the pack life. These were all ones who chose this path - who wanted to kill innocents for their own greed.

It took a little while, but eventually, I found the word I was looking for. These men were mercenaries , not rogues. That thought lodged in my mind as my eyes adjusted to the gloom. Their armor didn’t bear the same jagged markings as Xavier’s men, or any other packs in this side of the city. One of them wore a rusted insignia, a coin ring etched with a serpent biting its own tail. A trader’s mark. They hadn't sworn loyalty to any pack, just profit and whatever interests served them best. They weren’t his. They were just men looking to sell what didn’t belong to them.