The heavy clock tower in the distance had finally chimed, signaling that midnight had passed. The oppressive, lethal sunlight was completely gone, leaving only the cool, dark embrace of the night sky, the perfect environment for an vampire like me.
Peering out of the narrow window of Room 102, I looked across the dark horizon toward the Mirage Sea. Even from this far distance, I could see the massive stone silhouette of the Dodorant Citadel cutting into the clouds. The fortress was casting powerful, focused beams of light magic across the black waves. Watching the beams sweep back and forth, they looked exactly like massive military flashlights scanning the dark waters for intruders.
From this vantage point, the geometric layout of the fortress became perfectly clear: the Citadel was built in a massive nonagon shape. It had nine distinct vertices, and every single vertex was anchored by a heavily armed watchtower. The Fourth Watchtower, located at the far southwestern end of the polygon, was the exact structural blind spot Chris Ratt had told me about. Its sweeping light pattern left a narrow, unlit corridor right against the foundation of the volcanic obsidian wall.
Before making my move, I needed to protect my true identity. I stepped over to the inn bed, gripped the edge of a plain white linen bedsheet, and violently tore away a long strip of sturdy fabric. I wrapped the cloth tightly around my head, fashioning a makeshift tactical mask that covered my entire face, my scars, and my distinct Glasgow smile, leaving nothing exposed except my single, sharp eye. If a stray light beam caught me or a guard caught a fleeting glimpse of my silhouette, my identity as Eirene would remain entirely safe. I would not let myself be labeled as a public enemy or exposed as the infamous blood-sucking winged demon before my mission even started.
I reached under the bed and pulled out the glowing, blood-infused mana bomb, its crimson-blue light pulsing rhythmically against my palm. I left everything else behind, my leather purse, the newly purchased navy blazer and trousers for Keane's disguise, and my heavy shotgun remained safely tucked away in the deep shadows beneath the mattress, ready for the second phase of the plan.
I slipped out onto the window sill, dropped quietly onto the slanted roof of the inn, and crouched low into a predatory stance. I gripped the Blood Bomb tightly in my hand, took a deep breath of the cold night air, and violently unleashed my massive, crimson blood-wings from my back. The dark membranes snapped open, catching the ocean wind, and with a powerful, silent thrust, I launched myself off the rooftop and soared straight into the midnight sky, diving low over the black waves toward the Fourth Watchtower.
The biting midnight air whipped violently against the makeshift linen mask covering my face as I cuttingly carved my way through the dark sky. The vast expanse of the Mirage Sea churned aggressively beneath me, a pitch-black abyss broken only by the cold, unnatural glare of the Citadel's defensive searchlights. I maintained a calculated, high altitude, pushing my crimson blood-wings to their physical limits to hover well above the standard visibility ceilings of both the shore-bound sentries and the aquatic patrols. Down below, the dark silhouettes of military interceptor boats glided across the water like predatory beetles, their deck-mounted mana lanterns cutting sweeping arcs through the mist.
The flight path I had meticulously drafted during those quiet hours in the corner of the low-end tailor shop proved to be completely flawless. Every bank, every sudden dip, and every sustained glide had been perfectly synchronized with the predictable, mechanical rotation of the fortress's defensive grid. Whenever a blinding beam of light magic threatened to cross my trajectory, I folded my wings, dropping like a stone into the blind spots of the atmosphere, before snapping them open again to resume my silent approach. The sheer scale of the nonagon fortress loomed larger and more menacing with every passing second, its jagged obsidian walls glistening with sea spray under the moonlight.
Finally, navigating the complex web of searchlights and aquatic military patrols, I breached the innermost perimeter and arrived directly above my target: the isolated vertex of the Fourth Watchtower. Looking down, I could see the exact structural vulnerability Chris Ratt had detailed. The sweep patterns of the adjacent towers left a narrow, perpetually shadowed V-shaped corridor that terminated right at the base of the massive volcanic foundation. The air here smelled heavily of sulfur and deep-ocean rot.
Holding the pulsing, crimson-blue Blood Bomb tightly against my chest, I tilted my wings upward to catch the coastal updraft, shedding my forward momentum with absolute silence. I began my slow, controlled descent into the pitch-black heart of the blind spot, drifting downward toward the base of the tower like a falling leaf, completely invisible to the world above.
Before launching back into the sky, I crawled to the edge of the rocky foundation and peeped down into the dark, churning waters directly beneath the blast site. I needed to know exactly what I was diving into.
A cold sweat broke out under my makeshift linen mask as a sudden, terrifying realization hit me: if the waters beneath this watchtower were shallow or filled with hidden, jagged rocks, diving from this height while my wings were disabled by the Citadel's magic-dampening aura would mean instant death. I would plunge straight onto the stone, shattered and helpless.
I leaned over further, squinting my single eye through the darkness. Relieved, I saw that the water directly beneath the Fourth Watchtower was pitch-black and incredibly deep, the drop itself was safe. However, as the waves parted under the moonlight, I could see the sleek, ominous shadows of massive sharks patrolling the perimeter. I wasn't too worried about the predators; I could easily fight them off using my Blood Manipulation to warp their senses or shred them from the inside out if they snapped at me.
The real problem was the sheer logistics of the escape. Swimming all the way from this isolated island fortress back to the mainland was going to be pure hell.
Even if I survived the sharks, trying to swim across the surface of the Mirage Sea would leave me completely exposed to the spotlights of the patrolling Bureau boats. If a guard spotted a lone swimmer, they'd fill me with arrows or magic bolts. To survive, I would need to descend deep into the waters and swim completely submerged. But doing that entirely on my own lung capacity was a suicidal gamble, I would eventually run out of oxygen and drown before ever reaching the shore.
And I will switch to my new tactical objective, once inside the Citadel, I must locate and steal a set of professional diving equipment or an underwater breathing apparatus before triggering the breakout. Staying underwater longer is my only guarantee of reaching the mainland safely and invisibly.
But the complications didn't stop at the shoreline. Once I finally crawled out of the ocean and back onto the mainland docks, there was a high probability that city guards or Bureau agents would already be waiting there to catch any escaping convicts. I couldn't just shapeshift back into my real self, Eirene, because my true form was already a heavily wanted S-rank fugitive, I'd just be walking out of one trap and into another. I needed a blind spot on the mainland. My best hope was that Lulu City possessed an underwater sewage system or an old aqueduct drainage pipe that emptied out into the sea near the cliffs. If I could find an intake pipe, I could swim straight from the Citadel into the city's underbelly, completely bypassing the guarded docks.
To top it all off, the absolute convergence of my entire plan hinges on one final, non-negotiable law: I must escape at midnight.
If I completed my interrogation, blew the obsidian wall, and dove into the ocean during broad daylight, I would be burned alive the second I hit the water's surface, even while wearing Keane Leon's skin. My vampiric nature would reduce me to ash under the noon sun.
The timing had to be absolutely perfect. I would get arrested at midnight, spend the day locked in the subterranean darkness of Level 3 gathering Luke's DNA, and then execute my explosive breakout precisely at midnight the following night.
With every single variable calculated and my escape route thoroughly mapped, I pushed off from the obsidian foundation. My crimson blood-wings snapped against the wind, carrying me silently back across the black waves toward Room 102. It was time to put on the navy blue blazer, take Keane's face, and go find a night patrol.