Infinity: Kill your way through the movie world.

Moreover, members are free to come and go within the guild, and accepting tasks, submitting materials, and exchanging rewards are all voluntary.

This loose structure actually aligns with the nature of most witchers who value independence and dislike constraints. If it were a secret society that demanded loyalty and strict discipline, it would probably provoke their resentment and vigilance.

For a time, the witcher strongholds in various places were filled with discussion.

"The Morrick family? That ancient sorcerer family? What are they planning to do?"

"Enchanted weapons. If only I could get my hands on a real weapon that could damage high-level demons."

"The power of demons? It sounds dangerous. But if it's true, maybe I won't have to fight so many times that I'm covered in wounds when facing those damned skinners."

"It's never a bad idea to go and take a look; at least it will provide another channel for obtaining resources and intelligence."

Inside a bar, a disheveled, middle-aged homeless priest downed his liquor in one gulp, his eyes gleaming with excitement as he looked at the advertisement on the bar's signboard. He said to the people around him, "Whether you guys go or not, I'm definitely going!"

Clearly, this is a private gathering place for witchers.

“Old Karon, don’t you doubt that this is fake? How can a human control the power of a demon, especially without any aftereffects?” said the bearded middle-aged man beside him.

The priest, known as Old Charon, downed another cup. He used to have a wife and daughter, but after his daughter was killed by a demon, he became a witcher. Later, he found that prayer was useless, so he stopped following the rules.

At this moment, he said angrily, "Whether it's true or not, we have to try it."

“You have no idea, but two days ago I banished ‘Sorenos’ again.”

"That damned demon, it killed three more young people. When I banished it, it was still chatting with me, saying we'd meet again soon and I shouldn't miss it."

With a bang, old Caron slammed his glass down on the counter: "Fuck, that damned demon, I've banished it twenty-five times in the last six years."

"It killed hundreds of people during that time."

"Damn it, in the past six years, I've spent more time in the same room with it than with my wife." His face was contorted with bulging veins. "But I just can't kill it!"

Doubt, curiosity, longing, caution—various emotions permeated the witcher community.

However, regardless of the circumstances, a 'guild' backed by the Morric family and providing clear channels for advancement and the acquisition of power is undoubtedly an existence that cannot be ignored by these lone warriors who have long been underground and lack organization and support.

Many people have already begun their journey, heading towards the initial contact point mentioned in the announcement, located in a neutral zone.

Among the rewards, the source of enough energy to refine hundreds of "weak" demon power potions was the essence of the souls of the more than three hundred demons that Wu Heng plundered during his final breakout from Hell.

A deal revolving around power, resources, and unknown objectives is about to quietly unfold in the world of witchers.

Wu Heng stood at the window of his study high up in the Morrick Manor, looking down at the courtyard below that was gradually becoming bustling with activity, his eyes calm and unwavering.

Night, deep within the Morrick Manor.

In a study that never sees sunlight and is only lit by a fireplace and a few dim green candlesticks, the air is filled with the scent of old parchment, dried ink, and some indescribable aroma that is a mixture of herbs and metal.

Wu Heng sat behind a massive obsidian desk, a floating screen displaying information flowing like a waterfall from all over the world—witch hunter files, reports of supernatural events, fragments of ancient secrets, and the screening results for potential administrators. The announcement of the Witch Hunter Guild's formation had been issued, but Wu Heng had absolutely no interest in the tedious tasks of management, task distribution, resource allocation, and personnel vetting.

He needs a reliable hand, an agent who can keep things under control and understands the rules of the Witcher.

The information on the screen finally settled on a name and a face etched with the marks of time: David Xavier.

The records show that this was a veteran witcher who had been fighting for fifty years.

He only has one eye; the other was permanently lost in an encounter with a vampire prince.

His hearing had also deteriorated severely due to years of exposure to gunfire and explosions, but what really caught Wu Heng's attention was the evaluation of him:
"Xavier is a madman; even the devil is afraid of him."

“When others drive away demons, the demons hold grudges and come back, but demons that Xavier ‘sent’ back to hell are rarely willing to set foot on earth again.”

"Rumor has it that before carrying out the exorcism ritual, he would use some extreme methods, not just simple physical torture, but a 'punishment' that targets the demonic consciousness and is enough to leave permanent psychological trauma. He would make them remember that there is a 'perverted old man' in the human world that they absolutely do not want to encounter again."

“Crazy, but principled, experienced, and deeply aware of the cost of power,” Wu Heng muttered to himself, lightly tapping the screen with his fingertip. “That’s him.”

Following the clues, Wu Heng found David Xavier in a run-down bar on the outskirts of the city, a place teeming with all sorts of people, filled with cheap alcohol and an atmosphere of despair.

He huddled in the darkest corner of the bar, with several empty whiskey bottles in front of him.

His gray hair was greasy and tangled together, and his only remaining eye was cloudy and bloodshot, sunken deep in its socket, as if he had lost all interest in the world.

The thick cotton-padded clothes could not conceal his hunched figure and the involuntary trembling caused by years of injury.

He didn't look like a demon hunter who would strike fear into the hearts of evil spirits; he looked more like a homeless man who had been completely drained by life and was waiting for his final moment.

Wu Heng sat down opposite him, ignoring the strong smell of alcohol emanating from him.

“David Xavier.” Wu Heng’s voice was calm, yet it was like an awl, piercing through the noise of the bar and directly into the old man’s eardrum.

"You've mistaken me for someone else." He buried his head in his arms, seemingly wanting to fall asleep.

"Now that I'm here, there's no need to say such things."

Upon hearing this, David slowly raised his head, his cloudy single eye focusing on Wu Heng, devoid of any emotion, only a deathly indifference.

"Get out of here." His voice was hoarse, like sandpaper scraping. "I'm not taking any more jobs, and I don't want to meet any new people."

“No, I’m not here to give you work to do,” Wu Heng said, looking at him. “I’m here to give you a choice.”

"choose?"

David chuckled, picked up the half-empty bottle of whiskey, and took a swig. "I've long since run out of choices in my life, kid. Can't you see? I'm old, useless, I can barely hear the footsteps of the devil. All I have left is one nearly blind eye and a body full of old wounds that ache terribly on rainy days." (End of Chapter)