I walked with a steady, purposeful stride, cutting straight through the bustling avenues of the Merchant District all the way down to the salty, wind-swept air of the Pier District. As I navigated the crowds, my right hand tightly secured the blue mana cylinder beneath my canvas cloak, keeping it completely invisible to the public. If anyone caught a glimpse of it, they would mistake me for some sort of suicidal bomber, a reckless act I was far too sane to ever commit.
My tactical sequence was perfectly mapped out. During my intake on the first level of the Citadel, I would locate a blind spot with no guard presence, subtly plant the sticky dynamite onto the obsidian wall, and leave it hidden there. Once I descended, gathered Luke's intelligence, and extracted his DNA, I would make my way back up, signal the mana dynamite to blow, and shatter the barrier to the outside world.
When the wall blew, I wouldn't dare deploy my crimson blood-wings to escape. The S-rank bounty on my head was still very much active, and if the Bureau, who ran the Citadel, spotted a wing-bound monster flying away from a prison break, the entire continent would be hunting me. Instead, I would maintain Keane Leon's skin, jump through the blown breach, and dive straight into the deep, churning waters surrounding the fortress island. If the ocean depths held sharks or marine predators, I could easily fight them off using my specialized blood manipulation abilities while swimming to safety.
By the time I reached the mainland, I would possess Luke's genetic profile and his arms-trafficking secrets, allowing me to flawlessly infiltrate Don Anthony's criminal syndicate from the inside. Furthermore, maintaining Keane's disguise meant that if any prison guards got in my way while I was inside, I could kill them at my own will without ever having to unleash my wings and expose my true identity.
The heavy stone archway marking the entrance to the Pier District loomed ahead. I slowed my pace as I approached the checkpoint, ensuring the blue dynamite was deeply nestled into the shadows of my cloak so it wouldn't bump against anything.
The local gatekeeper stepped out, his hand resting casually on his sword hilt as he scanned me.
"The toll to enter the pier is 15 copper coins, and let's see your status card."
I didn't make a sound. I reached into my purse, pulled out my official status card to verify my clearance, and counted out exactly 15 copper coins, handing them over to the guard. He checked the card, swept the coins into his pouch, and gave me a brief nod, gesturing for me to pass through the iron gates.
Stepping onto the massive, bustling wooden docks of the Pier District, the grand transport vessels leading out toward the Mirage Sea sat anchored in the deep water. I scanned the area for a local patrol or a knight. It was time to initiate the transformation into Keane Leon and get myself arrested.
I stepped onto the salt-crusted wooden docks, the heavy ocean breeze whipping at the edges of my canvas cloak. Before I could even think about getting arrested, I needed to ensure the explosive was primed and my insertion strategy was perfectly sound.
Stepping into the tight shadow of a stack of cargo crates, I drew the sleek blue cylinder from beneath my cloak. To guarantee a flawless escape, I decided to enhance its destructive capabilities. I pricked my finger, drawing a small stream of my own essence, and activated my Blood Manipulation. I coated the cylinder, fusing my vital energy with the compressed mana stones to convert it into a specialized Blood Bomb. This process massively boosted its explosive damage, ensuring it would tear through the reinforced volcanic obsidian walls like paper.
Furthermore, it bound the magical trigger directly to my own biology; now, I wouldn't even need a thread of mana to signal it. With a single, sharp snap of my fingers, the bomb would detonate instantly.
Now, I was fully armed and ready. The plan was to sail to the Citadel ahead of my arrest, find the specific blind spot Chris Ratt had mentioned, and plant the charge. Chris had noted that the weak point was located along the foundation of the Fourth Watchtower, a historic structure that was located at the northeastern of the citadel watchtower's oversight where multiple clever criminals had successfully escaped in the past.
For a brief, desperate second, I contemplated just unleashing my crimson wings right here and flying across the Mirage Sea to plant it under the cover of the morning fog. But I quickly shook my head. Not only would flying through the heavily guarded airspace expose my true identity as the Crimson Phantom, the notorious, blood-sucking winged demon wanted by the Bureau, but the physical reality of the daytime sky made it an absolute impossibility. I have a severe, fatal vulnerability to sunlight. A single direct ray of daylight hitting my exposed flesh would scorch me alive. Flying out over the open ocean in broad daylight was a definitive no.
My only logical option was to travel across the water via a standard vessel. I adjusted my hood, covering my scarred face tightly, and began scanning the docks, looking for a local fisherman or sailor kind enough to let a quiet stranger hitch a ride out toward the treacherous waters surrounding the Citadel fortress.
I walked down the sun-bleached wooden planks of the Lulu City docks, the sharp, pungent smell of fresh fish and marine life filling my nose. I paused for a brief moment, letting the atmosphere sink in. This was actually the very first time I had ever seen a beach or an ocean in this fantasy world. Up until now, I had been living entirely deep within the mainland, a region bounded only by winding rivers, dense forests, and deep lakes.
The squawking of the seagulls overhead and the crisp, stinging smell of sea salt suddenly hit me with a powerful wave of nostalgia, vividly reminding me of Earth. It was a bizarre, grounding feeling. This was the first time I had stepped foot near a beach in eighteen long years.
Shaking off the momentary sentimentality, I focused back on the mission. I needed a boat. I spotted two fishermen standing by a set of heavy rigging ropes, deeply locked in conversation, and stepped closer to see if I could negotiate a ride.
Unfortunately, their conversation was completely absurd.
"Hey, best friend, why are you so gloomy all of a sudden? It's not like you to be this down just because you didn't catch fish for a bit." the first fisherman asked, tossing a net into his boat.
The second fisherman let out a miserable, soul-crushing sigh and buried his face in his calloused hands.
"Nothing... nothing is more humbling than showing up to a cockfight after a whole year of intensive, brutal training, only to realize it actually involves a chicken. Ugh... I have wasted an entire year of my life."
I froze, staring at them from beneath my hood. Hearing their bizarre, crude humor instantly made me twist my face in sheer disgust. Even after all my time surviving as a hardened hunter, the sheer, unfiltered stupidity of random men never ceased to amaze me. As a girl, I just couldn't comprehend how their minds operated on such an entirely different, idiotic wavelength.
Not wanting to waste my breath or my time trying to bargain with someone who had spent a year training to physically fight a rooster using their own dick, I promptly tilted my head away, turned sharply on my heel, and headed down a completely different pier to find a fisherman who actually possessed some loose sanity.
I kept walking down the docks until I spotted a fisherman who looked completely different from the others. He was built like a brick wall, covered in weathered scars, and had the stoic, hardened posture of a brave warrior.
I stepped up to his vessel, and he looked down at me, grunting politely.
"Greetings, lass. What can I do for you today?"
I didn't waste any time. I handed him a newly prepared note from my pad that simply read:
Dodorant Citadel.
The warrior-like fisherman broke into a booming, skeptical laugh, shaking his head.
"Are you mental, lass? Or just a very stupid tourist? We cannot go anywhere near the Citadel waters. It's completely infested with bloodthirsty sharks and heavily armed patrol boats. The Bureau has placed warning buoys all around the perimeter. If a civilian fisherman steps over one of those lines, it's instant death. They'll shoot you out of the water without asking questions."
Before I could even write a follow-up, he waved his large hand aggressively, shooing me away like a stray dog.
"Go on, get out of here. I'm not losing my life or my boat for whatever crazy stunt you're pulling."
Realizing that no sane sailor in Lulu City would ever agree to take me near that island fortress, I left the docks. I walked back toward the edge of the district and sat down beneath the shade of a large, nearby tree. Keeping my cloak wrapped tightly around myself to block out any stray glints of the harsh daytime sun, I reached inside and lightly touched the blood-infused mana bomb, deeply analyzing my tactical options.
If the locals were too terrified to take me there, then I would just have to handle the insertion myself. It was actually a simple pivot.
I didn't need a boat. I just needed to wait for the sun to go down.
At midnight, the fatal threat of the sunlight would be completely gone. I could slip out of the city, deploy my crimson blood-wings, and fly across the Mirage Sea under the absolute cover of darkness. Flying low to the water would keep me beneath the watchtowers' line of sight, allowing me to reach the Fourth Watchtower, plant the explosive in the structural blind spot, and fly back to the mainland completely undetected.
Once the bomb was successfully primed in the fortress wall, I could seamlessly initiate the second phase of my mastermind plan: shapeshift into Keane Leon, trigger a public crime in the morning, and let the authorities forcefully drag me inside through the front doors.
Nodding to myself, I stood up and adjusted my hood. I needed to head straight back to the Golden Shrimp Inn, book my room for another day, and rest up until the clock struck midnight. The real hunt was about to begin.