The timing of my flight was a razor-thin calculation, but I successfully crossed the vast distance between the East and West just as the first pale rays of dawn began to bleed into the horizon. The moment the dangerous ultraviolet light threatened to touch my skin, I folded my massive blood wings and descended sharply into the shadows, landing heavily on the cobblestone streets of Caria.
I looked around immediately, my single eye scanning the perimeter. Luckily, at this early hour, the streets were completely dead… no merchants or early-morning patrols were spotted to witness my arrival. I quickly adjusted the oversized, stolen traveler's cloak, keeping my wings, my facial scar, and my empty eye socket hidden as I proceeded on foot.
As I walked through the familiar alleyways of Caria, my mind mapped out the precise timeline of my operations. I had been away at Lulu City for a total of five days:
Three days were spent in intensive, mastermind preparation to flawlessly plan my infiltration of the Dodorant Citadel.
Two days were consumed by the high-stakes infiltration, the execution of my targets, and my explosive, underwater escape.
The alignment of the board was absolutely immaculate. My one-week deadline was coming down to the wire. Now, only two days remained until Olive finalized my fire-resistant crimson trench coat, and Sydney Popov over at the Luminous Knight Bureau Association received the official field reports confirming Vanessa Katt's exact location.
I had the map to the arms trafficking guild in Carcaka, I had Luke Granhart's vital DNA ready for replication, and my signature Death Chant Shotgun was securely fastened under my cloak. I just needed to survive the next forty-eight hours in hiding, collect my top-tier gear and intelligence, and then the true war against Cameron and Don Anthony's syndicate would begin.
I navigated the outer perimeter of Caria, keeping my hood drawn low as I approached the massive stone entrance. Standing guard at the checkpoint was the familiar city gatekeeper, Luscious Granhart. Hearing that surname always triggered a cold calculation in my mind… he possessed the exact same lineage as Luke, making him a distant cousin or some sort of relative to Don Anthony's newly discovered apprentice.
Luscious leaned on his spear, his eyes tracking my cloaked, one-armed silhouette as I stepped up to the line.
"Greetings, Eirene. You've returned, you know the drill… toll and status card."
Having retrieved my leather purse from the Golden Shrimp Inn, I didn't have to scramble for scraps this time. I reached beneath my heavy traveler's cloak with my right hand, pulled out my official adventurer status card, and handed it over along with a single silver coin. He inspected the card, tossed the silver into his lockbox, and nodded me through the gates.
By now, the morning sun was fully illuminating the sky. As usual, this was the absolute busiest time in Caria. The streets were already teeming with noisy merchants setting up their stalls, high-end carriages rattling over the cobblestones, and low-tier hunters rushing toward the local bureaus. I moved like a ghost through the bustling crowds, seamlessly weaving through the chaos to avoid any unwanted attention.
I slipped past the commercial noise and navigated directly toward the boundary of the 3rd District. Standing at the inner residential checkpoint was the district guard, Renny.
He stepped into my path, offering a standard, professional nod.
"Toll and status card."
Without a word, I presented my registry card once again and flipped him the required silver coin. Renny stepped aside, granting me access to the quiet, winding streets of the residential sector.
I walked down the familiar rows of stone townhouses until I finally arrived at my destination: the 3rd District, House 132. My private sanctuary. I unlocked the heavy wooden door, stepped inside, and bolted it securely behind me, finally shielded from the burning sunlight.
The heavy oak door of House 132 thudded shut behind me, the sound echoing hollowly through the familiar, quiet rooms of my sanctuary. Moving with mechanical precision, I immediately walked from window to window, pulling the thick, light-blocking curtains tightly together until the aggressive rays of the morning sun were entirely barred from the interior. The rooms plunged into a soothing, amber-tinted twilight.
I scanned the main living space, my single eye instantly noting the pristine, undisturbed layout of the furniture. My baby sister, Evelyn, was nowhere to be found. A quick mental calculation told me she was already deep into her morning shift over at the Bureau, likely sorting files or managing the endless bureaucracy of the city's hunters. Her absence was a tactical convenience.
Standing entirely alone in the safety of my own home, I finally let my guard down. I unbuckled my leather purse, laid my signature Death Chant Shotgun gently onto the wooden dining table, and unclasped the heavy, stolen traveler's cloak. With a sharp, liberating flex of my shoulder blades, I allowed my massive, razor-sharp Blood Wings to unfurl completely, their translucent, crimson spans stretching across the living room air. I tilted my head back, letting out a silent sigh through my torn, scarred lips, savoring the rare luxury of maintaining my true privacy as the legendary, blood-sucking winged demon.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The sudden, rhythmic rapping against the front door shattered the silence. My wings instantly tensed, their sharp edges flaring with defensive instinct. Moving with high-stat agility, I glided toward the entryway, folding the massive crimson wings flat against my spine and angling my body perfectly behind the heavy wooden door to ensure anyone standing on the porch would only see my right side, leaving my empty eye socket and monstrous silhouette completely obscured.
I cracked the door open just a few inches, peering out into the bright morning light. Standing there was Charlie, the energetic 3rd District paperboy, balancing a heavy canvas satchel over his shoulder.
"Hey, Eirene! You're back! Here are some fresh newspapers for you. Heavy reading today, the whole city's in a tizzy!"
He politely handed a freshly inked, folded newspaper through the gap. I accepted the parchment with my single right hand, offering him a stiff, silent nod. Charlie gave a quick wave, spun on his heel, and sprinted down the cobblestone steps to continue his route.
I closed the door, bolted the locks, and walked back into the dim living room. Dropping heavily onto the worn fabric of the sofa, I allowed my blood wings to relax completely, letting them drape over the cushions behind me like a pair of dark capes.
As I laid the fresh paper on the coffee table, my eye caught a neat, stacked tower of parchment resting on the side desk. It was the backlog of newspapers that had accumulated during my five-day absence… the exact period covering my journey to Lulu City, my intense preparation, and the explosive demolition of the Dodorant Citadel.
With a cold, curious grin cutting across my scarred face, I pulled the entire pile toward me, stacking them chronologically. It was time to see exactly how the world was reacting to the chaos I had unleashed, and what the media was saying about the ghost named Keane Leon.
Grumble…
A loud, hollow protest echoed from my stomach, cutting through the quiet sanctuary of the living room just as my right hand hovered over the first newspaper in the stack. I paused, analyzing the sensation. It wasn't the deep, metallic, predatory craving for fresh blood that usually drove my vampiric instincts… this was a baseline, mortal demand for real, solid food. My mastermind calculations had completely overlooked a simple biological fact: between the frantic high-speed flight from Lulu City and sneaking past the district checkpoints, I hadn't eaten a single bite of breakfast this morning.
I folded my blood wings slightly to avoid brushing against the doorframes, stood up from the sofa, and hurried into the kitchen. I threw open the wooden cupboard doors, expecting to find the stale, utilitarian rows of long-shelf-life canned foods I had aggressively stocked up on before leaving for my mission.
Instead, my single eye blinked in slight surprise. The shelves were beautifully organized and overflowing with fresh groceries. Evelyn had clearly been busy restocking the kitchen during my five-day absence. In place of my bland rations, the cupboard and counter were filled with artisanal loaves of fresh bread, a carton of eggs, and various high-end condiments, including a fresh bottle of market-bought ketchup.
"Frugal as always, Evelyn," I thought, a rare, soft warmth settling beneath my scarred exterior.
Despite her grueling hours at the Bureau, she still made sure our sanctuary was taken care of.
Since time was a luxury I couldn't waste with actual cooking, I bypassed the eggs and grabbed a thick, soft slice of the fresh bread. I unscrewed a jar of sweet berry jam, using a butter knife to quickly spread a rich, crimson layer across the surface… a fitting color palette for the Crimson Phantom.
Taking a massive, satisfying bite, I hurried back into the dim living room and dropped back onto the couch. With the sweet taste of jam fueling my baseline stamina and my massive blood wings draped comfortably over the cushions once more, I pulled the five-day backlog of newspapers onto my lap. It was time to begin my reading streak and analyze the fallout of the Citadel's collapse.