Chapter 20: Jackal Tack

Jackal Tack is definitely a “famous person” in Lower Nest!

Rumor has it he wasn’t originally from Lower Nest—he offended a noble in Middle Nest and was politically persecuted, forcibly exiled here.

But Jackal Tack’s fame doesn’t come from his origin or status.

After all, every year, thousands are persecuted and exiled by nobles—far too common to stand out.

What truly made Jackal Tack famous was when the Crusader Gang smashed his stall.

Then, Tack slipped into the Crusader Gang unnoticed, severed the gang leader’s head without a sound, and hung it from the entrance.

No one knew how he did it, but from that day on, the Crusader Gang roared for revenge, mobilizing their entire force.

Just when everyone thought Tack was surely dead, a shocking reversal occurred!

Tack became like a ghost, or a death god wielding a scythe, killing Crusader Gang members one by one, severing their heads and dumping them at the gang’s base.

Soon, the Crusader Gang collapsed—they couldn’t find “Tack,” and even dared not close their eyes to sleep.

Because every time they shut their eyes, they might never open them again.

Finally, under the growing pile of heads at the entrance, the Crusader Gang disbanded entirely—no one dared trouble Tack again.

After that incident, many gave Tack the nickname “Jackal!”

Like a jackal—fixated on its target, refusing to let go, always ready to deliver a fatal strike, cruel and cunning.

When Alvin learned the man’s identity was none other than “Jackal” Tack, he was stunned—and suddenly conceived an idea.

Should he... tell Tack about the cult?

But he quickly crushed the thought.

Not only could he not be sure Tack would believe him, even if he did tell him, what guarantee was there that Tack would help?

If he dug deeper, without knowing the cult’s scale, Alvin couldn’t even determine whether Tack was part of it.

He couldn’t gamble—because if he lost... the cost would be his life!

Tack, assuming Alvin had no money, flicked ash and sneered: “Kid, don’t tell me you’ve got nothing and expect me to help you?”

“No, respected Mr. Tack.”

Alvin threw the cloth-wrapped gold bar into his lap: “Would this count as ‘sincerity’?”

Clang!

The cloth-wrapped gold landed on the table with a dull thud.

“Metal?”

Tack raised an eyebrow, showing a flicker of interest.

“You can take a look, Mr. Tack,” Alvin deliberately teased.

In truth, he was nervous—gold was hard currency even in 2K, but in 40K, who knew?

With tense eyes, Alvin watched as Tack tore open the cloth, revealing irregular, gleaming yellow-gold chunks.

He’d deliberately used spiritual energy to crush the neat bars into lumps, to avoid suspicion.

“This is... gold?”

Tack’s voice rose sharply, his eyes filled with surprise: “Where did you get this?”

“From the 0-4 waste disposal site,” Alvin fabricated: “I pried it off a fancy-looking clock. Should be valuable, right?”

Tack held the irregular gold chunks, studying Alvin thoughtfully: “This is called gold. Rare in Lower and Middle Nest—only nobles in Upper Nest use it. Its value is hard to estimate, but it’s far higher than you imagine.”

Hearing this, Alvin finally exhaled, then said: “Then please arrange my smuggling into Middle Nest as soon as possible.”

“This much gold is enough to buy a Middle Nest resident permit.”

Tack studied him with a knowing look: “You’re sure you only need smuggling? You don’t want me to get you a permit?”

“You can get a permit?”

Alvin was genuinely stunned—how powerful was this guy?

“Yes, but it’ll take three months,” Tack said casually, playing with the gold. “I Tack hate being cheated, but I never cheat others. What do you say, kid?”

Three months was too long—by the time the permit was ready, the cult might already be storming Upper Nest. What good would it be then?

Alvin sighed inwardly and shook his head: “No, just smuggling.”

“Oh?”

Tack half-closed his eyes, studying Alvin.

After a moment, he grinned, picked up his cigarette, lit it, and drew a deep breath: “Fine. You pay, I deliver. I won’t ask why.”

Alvin nodded calmly: “Hurry. I’m in a rush.”

“Come back in three days. I’ll take you to Middle Nest.”

Tack flicked ash, indifferent: “One gold bar is enough for smuggling. The other two—I won’t take advantage of you. Any other demands?”

“High-purity energy, deflection field generators, weapons, protective gear—all of it,” Alvin said without hesitation.

These were his most urgent needs, especially high-purity energy.

“Heh. These aren’t easy to get.”

Tack thought for a moment, glanced at him, and grinned: “But for me, no problem. Forget the deflection field—that’s rare even among top nobles. The rest? I can manage. Any special requirements?”

So powerful?

Alvin was genuinely startled—Tack’s background was deeper than he’d imagined.

After a pause, he shook his head: “No special requirements. Just make the weapons as powerful as possible.”

“Kid, you’re not planning to assassinate a noble, are you?”

Tack eyed him suspiciously—why smuggle in such gear unless you had ulterior motives?

“I’m no fool, and I don’t go looking for death.”

Alvin laughed bitterly: “I angered some people. I’m fleeing to Middle Nest for safety. Weapons are just for self-defense. That’s all.”

“Oh, I see...”

For some reason, Alvin felt Tack seemed... disappointed?

“Alright, I’ve noted it.”

The flicker of disappointment vanished from Tack’s eyes; he turned serious: “Come back in three days. You can go now.”

“Looking forward to our meeting in three days, Mr. Tack.”

The deal was sealed. Alvin bowed slightly, then turned and left decisively.

He trusted “Jackal Tack’s” integrity—this man was famous in Lower Nest for repaying kindness and exacting revenge.

Watching Alvin leave from the second floor, Tack weighed the gold in his hand and sneered: “Hmph. Lying little brat. Even the Upper Nest fools wouldn’t dump gold into Lower Nest.”

He knew this kid had secrets—but Tack was too lazy to investigate.

These days, everyone had secrets. If he chased every one, he’d never have time to breathe.

Besides, Tack found this kid interesting.

Somewhere deep inside, a voice whispered: this kid would bring him great surprises.

At that moment, a tall, wiry man rushed up the stairs, breathless and whispering urgently: “Boss! Big trouble!”

“What trouble? Catch your breath first.”

Tack turned calmly, sat down, lit a cheap cigarette, crossed his legs, and exuded calm authority.

As if infected by Tack’s composure, the tall man took several deep breaths, steadied himself, and said grimly: “Just now, the Blood Axe Gang... was wiped out by the Hammer Gang!”

“That’s your ‘big trouble’?”

Tack chuckled, unimpressed: “That’s all? You’re scared of this? When every gang in Lower Nest dies, that’s a big trouble.”

A gang wiped out? So what?

“Oh come on, boss! It’s not that simple!” The tall man turned pale, swallowed hard, and whispered: “Not only the Blood Axe Gang—over three hundred scavengers in the East District were killed by the Hammer Gang. Not one survived!”

“Three hundred scavengers killed by the Hammer Gang?”

At this, Tack’s brow furrowed sharply—he snapped upright from his relaxed posture.

“Yes! Almost all scavengers in the East District are dead—except those who didn’t go out today!”

The tall man wiped away sweat, still trembling: "You didn't see it—the entire dump was stained red with blood, the Hammer Gang is too cruel!"

“Only blood? No bodies?”

A dark suspicion flashed in Tack’s mind—he leaned forward urgently:

“N-no bodies. Just blood. And no scavengers returned.”

Tack sat back down, but his eyes were now filled with doubt.

No... bodies?