Chapter 20 — The Pride Hunter
He did not hide.
That was the first mistake.
The Pride Hunter walked through the city like it belonged to him—shoulders squared, coat open, weapon visible but untouched. He wanted to be seen. Wanted whispers to follow his steps. Wanted the bounty to feel real again.
His name was Lucas Hale.
Former special operations. Discharged, not dishonored—but never forgotten. His reputation lived in stories told by men who survived missions by standing behind him.
He had accepted the bounty publicly because fear did not interest him.
Recognition did.
Lucas stopped in the middle of the open plaza just before dusk.
Cameras watched. Civilians passed at a careful distance. Armed men in nearby buildings tracked him through scopes, uncertain whether he was ally or rival.
He lifted his phone and recorded a short message.
"I'm not hunting shadows," he said calmly.
"I'm hunting men."
He ended the recording and sent it to every channel that mattered.
Then he waited.
Elsewhere, the Knights watched.
Sam rewound the footage twice.
"He wants us to come loud," Sam said.
Jack smirked.
"He's auditioning."
Eva didn't smile.
"He's dangerous," she said.
"Not reckless. Just convinced."
John stood silently, eyes on the screen.
"Conviction kills faster than bullets," he said.
Will crossed his arms.
"So what's the play?"
John turned away from the screen.
"We let him walk," he said.
"We let him talk."
Jack blinked.
"That's it?"
"For now."
Lucas Hale did not grow impatient.
That was the second mistake.
He began moving again—slowly, deliberately—toward a district known for brokers, informants, and men who sold information twice.
He knew they were watching.
He wanted them nervous.
Inside a quiet bar, he took a seat without ordering. The bartender didn't ask questions. No one did.
Lucas placed a small device on the table—a signal beacon.
A challenge.
The message reached the Knights in seconds.
Eva leaned forward.
"He's marking himself."
Sam frowned.
"Or baiting."
John nodded.
"Both."
They arrived without announcement.
No sirens. No dramatic entrance. Just presence.
Jack entered first, hands visible. Will followed, calm and observant. Sam took position near the back. Eva stayed near the door.
John walked straight to the table.
Lucas looked up—and smiled.
"So," Lucas said, voice even,
"you exist."
John sat down.
"We always did."
Lucas studied him carefully, eyes sharp.
"You're smaller than I expected."
John shrugged.
"You're louder."
That earned a short laugh.
"I like you," Lucas said.
"You didn't bring an army."
John leaned back.
"You didn't bring one either."
Silence settled between them.
The bar emptied quietly.
Lucas folded his hands.
"You know why I'm here," he said.
John nodded.
"The bounty," Lucas continued,
"has turned killers into cowards. You fixed that."
Eva's hand twitched slightly.
John didn't look away.
"We didn't fix anything," he said.
"We revealed it."
Lucas smiled wider.
"Then let me be the exception."
John's eyes hardened just a fraction.
"You're not," he said.
Lucas stood.
"Fight me," he said simply.
"Here. Now. Prove the stories."
Jack's smile vanished.
Eva's gaze sharpened.
John rose slowly.
"No," he said.
Lucas frowned for the first time.
"No?"
John stepped closer.
"You don't get spectacle," he said.
"You get consequence."
Lucas laughed once—sharp, incredulous.
"You afraid?"
John leaned in just enough for only Lucas to hear.
"No," he said quietly.
"You are."
Lucas froze.
For a moment—just a moment—the confidence cracked.
John straightened.
"You wanted to be seen," John continued aloud.
"You wanted the city watching."
He gestured around them.
"Now it is."
Outside, phones were raised. Windows glowed. Every criminal feed lit up.
Lucas realized it too late.
This wasn't a duel.
It was a lesson.
John turned and walked away.
Eva followed. Then Jack. Then Sam and Will.
Lucas stood alone in the center of the bar.
Confused.
Unchallenged.
Unclaimed.
That was the third mistake.
By morning, every channel carried the same update.
Lucas Hale — Bounty Withdrawn.
No body.
No arrest.
No explanation.
Just silence.
Lucas vanished.
Not dead.
Worse.
Erased.
In the underworld, a new rule formed.
If the Knights hunted you—
you disappeared.
If they ignored you—
you were already finished.
Far away, Scar watched the footage of Lucas standing alone.
Scar smiled—not wide, not timid.
Satisfied.
"They're changing the rules," he murmured.
He leaned forward.
"Good."
Because games were more fun when everyone understood the cost of playing.