High noon had finally passed, the amber light shifting across the floorboards of my darkened living room. In the hours of silent isolation, my mind had been operating at peak efficiency, weaving together the disparate threads of intelligence I had pulled from the Citadel into a flawless, S-rank infiltration matrix.
My strategy to dismantle the arms trafficking guild in Carcaka was perfectly mapped out:
My surprising flawless camouflage, First, I would utilize my premier tactical asset… my shapeshifting ability. Because I had forcefully consumed Luke Granhart's blood and acquired his exact DNA back in the depths of the Citadel, I could replicate his physical form down to the absolute last detail.
The Inside Lead is that, according to what Luke had revealed during my interrogation, I needed to locate his twin brother, Luck Granhart. Luck was also embedded deep within the syndicate as an apprentice to Don Anthony. By stepping into the inner circle as his "escaped" twin brother, my cover would be entirely bulletproof.
The Mafia Playbook, I would utilize the exact same psychological warfare that brought down Oksana's drug empire. I would infiltrate them from the inside, completely gaining the Mafia boss's trust. To keep up the act, I would do whatever dark work the syndicate demanded… smuggling high-grade black-market arms, executing his rivals, or acting as his loyal, obedient dog.
Then, my finale, my checkmate, the Execution, it is the moment Don Anthony considered me a trusted asset and let his guard down, I would strike. I would cleanly behead him with my unsealed strength, slip his head into my cloak, and march right back into the Bureau to claim my 5 gold pieces.
But the assassination was only half the objective; the true prize lay in their stolen arsenal. I needed to retrieve the legendary Death Chant Tommy Gun… the rapid-fire sister weapon to my own shotgun, which had originally belonged to Alta before the syndicate somehow intercepted it. That weapon was where this entire mass-production conspiracy had started.
According to Luke's confession, a shocking name was tied to the blueprints: Maine. Back in our glory days with the Town Allure guild, I knew Maine as a brilliant researcher and an exceptionally skilled swordsman. Now, it seemed he had fallen from grace, acting as the syndicate's chief arms designer and the mastermind responsible for mass-producing copies of Alta's firearm.
From a tactical standpoint, acquiring the Tommy Gun was a necessity for my growth. My signature Death Chant Shotgun was a devastating, close-range weapon, but it lacked the fire rate for open-field warfare. Adding a long-range, high-capacity automatic firearm to my personal inventory would make my loadout completely flawless.
And as for Alta? A dark, mocking smile broke across my scarred face. I am a predator who appreciates a true trademark. I preferred the original, high-grade weapon for myself. Once I raided the guild's vault, I would keep Alta's authentic, original Death Chant Tommy Gun to increase my own stats, and simply track her down later to hand her one of Maine's mass-produced, copycat versions. She would never even know the difference.
The pieces were on the board. My deadlines were counting down, my stomach was full, and my plan was absolute. Don Anthony's empire was already dead; they just didn't know it yet.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The sudden, aggressive hammering against the oak wood shattered my tactical brainstorming. My single eye snapped toward the entryway, and my blood wings instantly went rigid behind me. My first instinct was that the paperboy, Charlie, had returned, but I immediately flagged that as a logical impossibility. Charlie always completed his routes in the early morning; he would never be wandering the 3rd District at this hour.
With high noon having just passed, a cold calculation clicked into place. There was only one force that moved with that kind of heavy, rhythmic authority.
"Hey! Open this door up! It's the daily high noon inspection!" a gruff, muffled voice shouted from the porch, followed by the unmistakable clank of issued iron armor.
"As expected, the Bureau's desperate high noon sweeps." I thought, a dark hiss catching in my throat.
Because they had just increased the price on my head to 16 gold pieces, the Luminous Knight Bureau Association had escalated their protocols. They knew the "blood-sucking winged demon" was actively nesting within the city lines, so they were systematically kicking down doors during the brightest hour of the day, hoping to catch the phantom while she was forced into hiding from the sun.
I needed to act within a fraction of a second. If they caught even a glimpse of a one-armed, scarred, winged entity through the doorway, the entire residential district would be flooded with Capital Knights before I could draw my shotgun. Luckily, I had an infinite number of aces up my sleeve.
Tapping directly into my stolen reserves, I willed a complete structural overwrite of my physical biology. I chose the face of a harmless maid I had crossed paths with back in the Town of Tata… a mundane, innocent blonde girl named Elodie Petit.
[Analyzing genetic data... 100% match found in blood reservoir. Commencing Morphological Shift.]
The transformation swept over me like a wave of cold mana:
My hollow, dark right eye socket filled out, regenerating into a pristine, clear eye.
My missing tongue reformed instantly, restoring my ability to speak human language.
My weathered, tanned skin softened into a fair complexion, and the gruesome Glasgow smile splitting my face completely vanished.
My left sleeve filled out as a perfectly healthy arm materialized out of thin air.
Finally, my massive, razor-sharp crimson blood wings dissolved entirely back into my spine, leaving my back completely flat beneath my garments.
[Visual confirmation: 100% accuracy. Heart rate, scent, and vocal cords successfully calibrated. Successfully shapeshifted into Elodie Petit]
Where the monstrous Crimson Phantom had just been sitting, a beautiful blonde maid now stood. I took a quick, deep breath, testing my newly formed vocal cords, smoothed down my clothes with both hands, and gracefully swung the front door wide open to face the Bureau's hounds.
Two heavily armored city guards stood on my porch, their iron breastplates gleaming under the harsh midday sun. The lead guard gave a curt, impatient nod as his eyes swept over my blonde hair and the flawless, innocent face of Elodie Petit.
"Ma'am, we're doing a mandatory inspection," he stated, his voice flat and rehearsed.
Without waiting for a formal invitation, the two of them barged right past me into the dim warmth of House 132, their heavy boots thudding aggressively against the floorboards. Their eyes darted into every shadowed corner, practically salivating at the thought of stumbling upon the 16 gold piece bounty of the Crimson Phantom.
As I stood by the door, maintaining the quiet, timid posture of a town maid, a wave of cold realization washed over me. During my five-day absence in Lulu City, my baby sister Evelyn had been forced to endure this exact invasive violation every single day at high noon. But because she was an exemplary employee of the Bureau, constantly swamped with handling their complex paperwork and tracking high-risk missions, she likely wasn't even home to witness them tearing through our personal space. She was out serving the state while the state's hounds searched her own living room.
The guards were thorough, driven by pure desperation. They systematically scanned every single room in the house:
They tore through my bedroom, checking the closets and beneath the bed where my shotgun had been safely hidden just moments prior.
Then, they inspected the bathroom, scanning the shadows for any trace of crimson residue or unholy magic.
They even invaded Evelyn's pristine bedroom, flipping through her belongings to ensure no winged demon was nesting in the dark.
Finding absolutely nothing but the quiet, mundane home of a Bureau worker and her visiting maid, the two guards finally marched back into the main hallway. The lead officer let out a defeated sigh and offered me a polite, apologetic nod.
"Everything seems to be in order here. Thank you for your cooperation, ma'am," he grunted.
They stepped out onto the porch, and I immediately closed the heavy wooden door, sliding the iron bolts back into place with a sharp, definitive clack.
Once again, I was entirely alone in the safety of my sanctuary. The threat had passed.
With a effortless flex of my mental matrix, I slipped my innocent disguise, letting the illusion of the blonde maid melt away like vapor. The structural overwrite was instantaneous. My right eye and newly formed tongue dissolved back into the void, rendering me beautifully mute once again. My left arm dissipated into thin air, leaving an empty sleeve over a non-existent limb.
In their place, the dark, weathered, tanned skin returned, and the iconic, jagged scar ripped back open across my face, stretching from my lip to my left ear in a triumphant Glasgow smile. Finally, with a soft, dramatic rustle of feathers and flesh, my massive crimson blood wings unfurled to their full span, casting a deep shadow across the living room rug.
[DNA trace depleted. Shapeshift deactivated.]
Eirene had returned. The high noon gamble had paid off flawlessly, and my secrets remained safely buried in the dark.