As soon as the ship landed in the port town of New Zaban, Killua headed straight to its main square and tacked his poster in the corner of a large worn-out corkboard that was already crowded with many like his. Large adverts screamed at him with bold, flashing font. Less extravagant notices politely informed him of the latest stock prices, large chunks of numbers which he pointedly ignored. Lesser still were people's personal ads, calling for new housemaids and hot, available women.
His own ad was simple: big handwritten words that read "FREELANCE FOR HIRE" and a smaller text of "Free range price". A small red star was scribbled on the top left corner of the sheet that Killua made sure was hidden under the edge of a LOST DOG poster before turning around and exiting the square.
He returned the next morning and was pleasantly surprised to see he had already received a reply. The corner with the star had been torn off and a sheet had been tacked onto his. Typed words instructed him to go to a bar on the more dodgy side of town this evening and order "Spider Beer". An immediate upfront payment was promised and Killua did a mental cheer. He removed both sheets from the corkboard and stuck them in his pockets to dispose of later.
The rest of his day was spent idly on the old docks, talking weather and old news with the local sailors and fishermen. Bad storms are brewing, they'd said. The armies are all moving out and the syndics are growing restless at something. Did his travels warn him of any harbingers? Killua had shook his head and made a mental note to return to Opal City as soon as possible.
Evening quickly came and he headed off to the south side of town and quickly located the bar. The door opened with a dramatic ching as the bell above it rang to welcome him. Shifts hadn't ended yet and it was mostly empty. Only a few electric bulbs were spreading an uneven haze of yellow light in an otherwise dark tavern.
The bartender barely looked up at Killua even as he seated down at the mahogany counter in front of him ordered the strangely named drink. Instead he looked grim for a moment and plopped down a heavy mug full of frothy amber liquid. This time though he studied Killua's face, no doubt filing it away for if the need should arise. Killua knew the deal. This would be the last chance for him to back out without a trace following him. Once you drink, the deal is sealed.
Killua downed what was - thank god - a regular beer in two large gulps. The bartender handed him an envelope and politely walked away to the far side of the counter to give some privacy.
Killua had to break a wax seal to open it, one he didn't recognize. Inside was another envelope and a letter, this time handwritten in fine calligraphy on good, thick paper. The very first line read :
Target, Boar. True Name, Ging Freecs.
As soon as Killua read the name, the ink bled into the paper and vanished, leaving behind a blank space of clean, unspotted paper. He swore and folded it over twice hastily, and cursed at the ceiling as though it was to blame. Fucking wizards and their pretentious paranoia.
When he was done with that he took a deep breath and refocused on the letter, committing each word to memory as each one vanished as he read.
The message spared no formalities. It was brief and concise. A simple description of the target – short, tan skin, dark hair – that would probably do him no good if the man was using a disguising spell, last seen location, and the place where he should go to collect the reward once he completed the task. No exact amount was stated but the smaller envelope contained 50,000 Jennies, which was encouraging.
The bar was beginning to fill up fast. Killua hastily shoved the envelopes and the money into the pockets lining his coat and made his way out the bar and into the darkening streets.
Ging Freecs was a top class wizard and evidently a master of the art of evasion. It took Killua two weeks to find the son of a bitch, and another week to finally find an opening. It had only been relatively easier to track him down once Killua had begun ranting off in various dens about how the good-for-nothing trash heap had cheated him and run off with a good sum of his hard earned money. See this poor kid? Laugh at him, then egg him on. It's cheap entertainment.
Killua hated bringing attention to himself like that, but he found it was the quickest way to get other wizards and workmen to point him in the right direction. His official alias was Boar though most people referred to him by the demeaning moniker, Scumbag.
Not the type of bloke someone would miss then.
Killua quickly learned that the man was infamous for his habit of sending people on wild goose hunts and as a result bred a lot of ill feeling around him. Most people assumed Killua was just another poor victim who would wound up with nothing but blisters and sore feet from chasing a grudge. Rare were second encounters with Ging.
Knowing Ging's True Name was a blessing in that regard. Killua had inscribed it onto a scarf and tied it around his torso under his shirt. Without it, Killua would've been affected by the invocations that would've no doubt blown him off track.
Eventually Killua got him in Gobi, a simple but well-populated oasis town which mainly served as the checkpoint for travelers who were about to cross or had just finished crossing the vast desert it bordered.
For six days, Ging shut himself in a low-rate motel room, coming out only to pick up a meal at the street stall outside once a day. Killua rented a room in the opposite building and took up a similar routine. Magical aura pulsed through his walls every so often. It'd been easy to deduce that the man was working on some sort of elaborate spell. Killua wondered if he should strike before the spell was completed. But nah, he decided, no deadline had been specified and both motels overlooked a busy street. Boar was a famous name and it would not go down without kicking up dust. This needed to be as discrete as possible.
On the sixth night, Ging finally broke convention and weaved down the winding streets of Gobi, keeping his head low. Had he noticed someone following him? Killua suppressed the tiny, pathetic instances of his magic aura anyways. When Ging walked into a nightclub, Killua counted backwards from a hundred, then followed him in.
The sun had just set and the party was starting to swing. Killua shuffled in behind a line of people and spotted Ging immediately. He was sitting by the window directly adjacent to the door, giving himself a clear view of everyone entering the club.
Completing the task was ridiculously easy. Flawless even. Just a vial of clear liquid poured into Ging's drink while the waitress was distracted by Killua's sweet nothings in her ear. Ging had taken the drink without ever removing his eyes from the window.
He was fast asleep in twenty minutes and dead by the hour.