The morning sun has already burned through the sky and faded away, and my blood-infused mana bomb is officially resting out there in the dark, camouflaged against the volcanic obsidian foundation of the Fourth Watchtower. I can only pray to whatever gods listen in this world that no eagle-eyed patrol or maintenance crew stumbles upon that specific patch of dirt before tonight.
Now, the core of my mastermind plan requires me to wait until midnight to orchestrate my arrest as Keane Leon. But with precious hours of daylight ticking away, I am absolutely not going to sit here in Room 102 scratching my balls and wasting time. As a perfectionist, leaving *any* variable to chance is a completely unacceptable risk. If I want a flawless jailbreak, I need to utilize this afternoon to iron out the final, glaring defect in my extraction plan.
As I realized last night, the moment a prisoner blows the wall and swims back to the shore, the mainland docks will likely be crawling with local police and Bureau guards waiting to ambush them. To completely bypass that trap, I need to map out the Lulu City sewage and drainage outlets today. If I can find an underwater intake pipe that leads directly into the city's underbelly, I can swim straight from the Citadel into the sewers, entirely unseen.
But a mastermind cannot operate on an empty stomach. Before I go scouting the damp, disgusting coastlines for a sewage pipe, I need to get some food in me.
I stood up, adjusted my current dress, and pulled my heavy canvas hood low over my scarred face to protect myself from the harsh afternoon glare. I slipped out of Room 102, locking the door securely behind me to protect my hidden shotgun and Keane's clothing.
Stepping down into the rowdy common area of the Golden Shrimp Inn, the heavy scent of roasted meats, stale ale, and greasy pub food hit my nose. I bypassed the louder tables of rowdy sailors, found a small, isolated corner booth wrapped in deep shadow, and waved over the tavern maid. It was time to fuel my body with a heavy meal. Once my hunger is satisfied, I'll head out to the jagged cliffs and shorelines to find my secret gateway into the city's subterranean drainage system.
The tavern maid hurried off and quickly returned with my order: a piping hot stack of plain pancakes. I chose the exact same meal as yesterday simply because it was the cheapest option on the menu, allowing me to preserve my silver for the unpredictable chaos ahead.
As I poured a bit of syrup over the stack, a critical logistical detail flashed in my mind. My execution inside the Dodorant Citadel was going to take time. If I didn't proactively extend my booking at the Golden Shrimp Inn right now, the staff would assume I skipped town the moment my current checkout time passed. They would clear out Room 102, confiscate my hidden S-rank shotgun, my extra ammunition, and my personal purse. God only knows how I would ever manage to break into the inn's private vault to retrieve my gear after a prison break.
I immediately stood up from my half-eaten pancakes, walked straight over to the heavy wooden bar counter, and caught the barkeep's attention. I counted out exactly 20 silver coins from my spare funds and slid them across the sticky surface, securing my room for an additional two days. The barkeep's eyes lit up at the upfront coin; he smiled warmly, swept the silver into his lockbox, and nodded his approval. My operational base was officially locked down.
I returned to my shadowy corner booth, picking up my fork with a renewed focus. I needed to figure out the architectural layout of the city's underbelly to find that underwater drainage pipe, but I didn't have a map.
Then, as if speaking of the devil, a specific conversation drifted over from the very next table.
Two blue-collar friends were sitting together over a pair of cheap morning ales. One of them leaned forward and asked,
"So, my old friend, how is your new work going down in the sewage system?"
The second guy let out a heavy, utterly exhausted sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
"It's worse than you can imagine, mate. I've been cleaning human feces day and night. The stench alone stays stuck in your nostrils for a week."
A sharp, predatory grin formed beneath my hood. Talk about absolute, flawless luck. Right here in this very tavern, sitting just a few feet away from me, was an official Lulu City sewage treatment plant operator. He had the exact first-hand knowledge, the architectural layout, and the structural intel of the subterranean tunnels that I desperately needed to make my escape undetected.
I slowly lowered my fork, keeping my single eye locked on the back of the worker's stained tunic. I needed to figure out a way to extract the drainage map or the location of the coastal intake pipes from him before he finished his ale and walked out the door.
I sat perfectly still in the shadows of my booth, my fork hovering in the air as their conversation shifted from revolting workplace details to something completely degenerate.
"Hey, I have a question," the sewage operator muttered, leaning over his ale.
"What is it?"
"What would you do if you walked into your bedroom, and you saw the exact opposite gender version of yourself just sitting there on the bed? What's your move?" the operator asked, his voice entirely too loud for a public tavern,
"Um... an opposite gender version of yourself would probably just look exactly like your sibling, man. You're freaky." The other guy stared at him, his expression twisting into pure judgment.
I tightly gripped my fork, a wave of familiar disgust washing over me. The sheer, unfiltered audacity of these local men never ceased to amaze me. To openly debate incestuous, bizarre hypotheticals in a public tavern, with a young woman sitting quite literally at the very next table, proved once again that the male population of Lulu City desperately lacked a moral compass.
But I couldn't let my anger distract me from the mission. As the operator shifted in his seat, his stained canvas vest parted slightly, revealing the thick, rolled-up edge of an official parchment blueprint sticking directly out of his rear utility pocket. It was the master structural layout of the city's subterranean drainage grid.
I chewed the last bite of my cheap pancakes, wiped my mouth, and casually stood up from the booth. Keeping my heavy canvas cloak tightly wrapped around my frame, I glided silently past their table, mimicking the clumsy stride of a distracted tavern patron.
Bump.
I deliberately faked a slight slip on the sticky floorboards, brushing past the operator's back for a fraction of a second. My fingers moved with the flawless, razor-sharp precision of a seasoned hunter. Before he could even register the physical contact, my hand dipped into his pocket, slipped the rolled parchment free, and vanished entirely beneath the heavy folds of my cloak.
The two men didn't notice a single thing. They were still completely locked in their idiotic, degenerate argument as I kept walking without breaking my stride.
I marched straight down the hallway of the inn, unlocked the door to Room 102, and slipped inside, throwing the heavy iron bolt shut behind me. Standing in the quiet safety of my room, I pulled the stolen blueprint from my cloak. I quickly unrolled it across the mattress, my single eye scanning the intricate ink lines detailing the vast sewage pipes, overflow valves, and, most importantly… the massive underwater outflow terminal that emptied right into the rocky cliffs near the Mirage Sea.
I carefully memorized the exact entry point, folded the parchment into a tight square, and tucked it away into my gear. The final defect in my master plan had been completely resolved. All the pieces were on the board. Now, I just had to wait for midnight to arrive.
I spread the blueprint flat across the wooden desk in Room 102, tracing the intricate ink lines with my fingers. The map was incredibly detailed and perfectly accurate.
According to the schematics, the massive underwater sewage intake was located directly at the bottom base of the main docks. There was a slight catch: the mouth of the pipe was blocked by heavy, rusted iron security bars. While someone with standard tools would need welding materials or a magical torch to cut through them, my enhanced physical strength as a vampire meant I had a much simpler, brutal alternative. I could easily grip the corroded metal and pull the bars clean out of the stone foundation with my bare hands.
Once past the threshold, the subterranean drainage network was a chaotic, dark maze that would easily trap and drown any regular convict. But with the stolen blueprint committed to memory, navigating it would be a breeze. The map clearly illustrated a direct overflow path that bypassed the city completely, emptying out into a secluded ravine far beyond the municipal borders.
I closed my single eye, running the exact escape route through my mind until the turns became pure instinct:
Enter the main intake pipe beneath the docks.
Bank left at the first junction.
Bank another left to past the primary overflow valve.
Take a sharp right, then immediately another right into the high-clearance tunnel.
Make a final left turn at the filtration grates.
From there, continue mainstream down the central aqueduct until it breaches the boundary and exits safely outside the city.
Simple as that. A completely flawless, un-trackable path straight to freedom.
With the mental map burned into my brain, I neatly folded the blueprint and slid it underneath my mattress alongside my hidden shotgun, my coin purse, and the crisp navy blue blazer and trousers. The trap was set, the escape route was cleared, and the countdown had officially begun.
I lay down on the bed, pulled the blankets up, and watched the shadows slowly lengthen across the ceiling as the afternoon faded. My mind was completely calm. All I had to do now was rest my body and wait for the clock to strike midnight. The moment darkness swallowed Lulu City, Keane Leon would make his grand debut.