HLM – Chapter 1011 We Are Very Fierce

Sheriff Smith hurried over after hearing his subordinate’s report. He checked a few people, then opened the police station’s internal network and pulled up some information.

Wang Bo watched along with him, and soon, the handsome face of the man with the scarf and sunglasses appeared on the screen.

“Archkins, ‘Treasure Pouch,’ American smuggler. He deals exclusively in good stuff—rare, high-value items—and he’s highly capable with wide connections. As long as there’s a market, he can get his hands on anything. That’s how he earned the nickname ‘Treasure Pouch.’”

“New Zealand police have been monitoring him for a long time, but the guy is very crafty and extremely cautious. They’ve never been able to obtain concrete evidence of his crimes.”

Sheriff Smith gave a simple introduction.

Wang Bo was surprised. “He’s a famous smuggler? That’s great. We should search his car—maybe we’ll find something.”

Sheriff Smith asked, “Aren’t you arresting him because you discovered he was smuggling?”

Strictly speaking, that was the case—the Warning Heart had alerted Wang Bo when he saw someone collecting money. It must have been right after the smuggling transaction was completed.

But Wang Bo hadn’t actually seen what he smuggled, so that needed checking.

Unfortunately, under New Zealand law, they couldn’t search someone’s fixed property without a warrant. Police can’t just walk into someone’s house for a search.

A car isn’t a house, but legally it’s considered an extension of fixed property.

This legal protection was exactly what Archkins relied on to act with impunity in New Zealand. But today he had the bad luck of falling into Wang Bo’s hands—and Sunset Town was private property, so the law protected Wang Bo too.

Wang Bo led a team to search the three vehicles. They found large sums of cash, two long-barreled hunting rifles, and three sharp machetes.

But they did not find the smuggled goods.

Carrying weapons in public was a crime, but Archkins could easily push the responsibility onto his subordinates.

And it was true—Wang Bo and the others hadn’t found any weapons directly on Archkins earlier.

Wang Bo was discouraged. The Warning Heart never triggered without reason—there had to be something wrong.

Then he suddenly remembered the nest of chicks in the office. In fact, those chicks were the strangest element in the whole incident.

He took Sheriff Smith back to the office. When he pushed the door open, the incubator was still on the desk. A dozen little heads were craning outward, but once they saw people enter, they quickly pulled back, staring at Wang Bo and the others with shiny black eyes.

“Archkins said he planned to roast them to eat, but that didn’t sit right with me, so I brought them here,” Wang Bo said.

Sheriff Smith leaned in to look. “What’s wrong with these chicks? They’re marked… did Archkins use them to transport something?”

He picked one up. It was extremely light, and its energetic behavior didn’t look like anything had been stuffed into its belly.

The chicks had pale yellow down, with short red-and-green streaks painted on them, though the meaning of the markings was unclear.

But Wang Bo was a ranch owner, with over a million chickens and ducks under his name. He hadn’t examined them closely earlier, but now that he did, he noticed something.

“These aren’t chicks, are they? Look at their beaks—chicks don’t have beaks like this.”

The birds looked very much like chicks, except their beaks were thicker and sturdier.

Sheriff Smith snapped a photo and sent it to a bird expert. The expert quickly called back:

“Where did you get a whole batch of falcon chicks? These little ones are hard to keep alive—you’d better be careful!”

Hearing this, the two men exchanged stunned looks.

“Falcons?”

“Yes. And the breeder clearly knew what he was doing. The ones with red dots on their heads are peregrine falcons. The ones with green dots are gyrfalcons. But the rarest are the unmarked ones. If I’m not mistaken, those are hybrids of the two.”

The peregrine falcon is the national bird of the UAE—basically a type of eagle, though they aren’t actually related. But both species are ferocious.

Peregrines don’t fly very fast normally—only 50–100 km/h—but their diving speed is incredible, reaching over 300 km/h during a strike.

Gyrfalcons are another type of raptor—bigger and stronger than peregrines. Their dive speed is slightly slower but still fierce. Their fighting spirit is unmatched; a trained gyrfalcon is one of the best hunting tools possible.

Throughout history, these birds have been legendary. Iceland considers them its national bird. In China, they are even more famous—the “haidongqing” used in imperial hunts refers to gyrfalcons.

But after WWII, global industrial expansion destroyed habitats and food sources, making falcons increasingly rare.

Gyrfalcons especially are now more expensive than gold by weight—an adult trained bird easily sells for over a million NZD.

Wang Bo and Sheriff Smith knew all this. But the bird expert added something they didn’t know:

“Falcons have very weak reproductive isolation. Peregrines and gyrfalcons can interbreed, and the hybrids are even more valuable—combining the strengths of both parents. Stronger, fiercer, faster, more powerful. One of the most extraordinary raptors in nature.”

“Look carefully—see the biggest chick? That’s the hybrid. If it survives to adulthood, it will be an absolute superstar predator.”

“But survival isn’t easy. Like other hybrids, they struggle in the wild without a proper flock, making it hard to feed and defend themselves.”

After hearing this, Wang Bo and Sheriff Smith immediately understood what Archkins had smuggled—a batch of falcons.

They brought Archkins into the interrogation room. Sheriff Smith personally joined the session.

“Hi, Mr. Archkins. Good to see you.”

“Good to see you too, Sheriff. But my lawyer isn’t here yet, so I’m not saying anything,” Archkins said calmly.

Sheriff Smith smiled. “Of course, of course. I just wanted to say hello early. As a police officer, I’ve heard about you for a long time.”

“I’m no celebrity, Sheriff. You must be mistaken.”

“Oh no. Everyone knows ‘Treasure Pouch.’ But other officers might not get to see you much longer—your future might be spent entirely in prison.”

Archkins merely smiled.

Sheriff Smith pressed the alarm. Atulu carried the entire nest of falcon chicks inside.

When Archkins saw them, his smile froze.