The golden morning sun finally spilled over the high stone walls of Caria City, illuminating the grand avenues of the bustling 4th District. As I navigated the streets, the massive, intricate spires of the Luminous Knight Bureau Association loomed ahead. I walked up to the grand entrance, fully prepared to march inside, only to find the massive, iron-reinforced doors completely locked.
I blinked under my hood, a sudden realization hitting me. Of course. Because I had pushed my demonic wings to their absolute limits to arrive well before sunrise, the city was only just waking up. The bureau staffs wouldn't even begin their morning shifts for another hour. I was entirely too early.
As I stood in the quiet plaza outside the locked association, the true weight of the date suddenly crystallized in my mind. My eyes widened slightly beneath my shadow-tinted cloak.
It was now the seventh day.
The long, grueling week of waiting was officially over. The intricate web of my operations had finally reached its massive convergence point, and today, all of my major deadlines were perfectly aligning at once:
The Classified Intel of today was the exact day the high-ranking knights' field reports would arrive, granting me the classified location of Vanessa Katt, the Immoral Commander's wife.
The Crimson Trench Coat is now today, this which was the deadline for Olive to finish tailoring my custom, fire-resistant crimson trench coat.
The Arsenal Distribution is easy enough, I needed to meet with Alta to hand over the high-caliber bootleg Tommy gun, significantly upgrading her firepower.
Philanthropy though, I had to personally deliver the 30 pristine, 1.2-cm radius gold coins to the local orphanage, fulfilling the quiet promise of my kinder heart.
The Kingpin Bounty is easy. I had to officially submit Don Anthony's cloth-wrapped, severed head to Chief Anton, the leader of the LKBA, to claim the massive reward.
There was an overwhelming amount of work to do, and the next few hours were going to be a whirlwind of blood money, high-tier gear, and classified espionage.
Suddenly, a loud, violent rumble echoed from beneath my traveling cloak. My stomach gurgled fiercely, snapping me out of my tactical calculations. Between the relentless forest ambush, the midnight vault heist, and the high-speed flight across Andromeda, I hadn't eaten a single thing. I was absolutely starving for real, hot human food… a stark reminder that despite my demonic biology, my body still demanded sustenance.
Since I had exactly one hour to kill before the LKBA doors opened and Chief Anton arrived, I decided to utilize the downtime efficiently. Luckily, I maintained a private, secure safehouse nearby in the residential sector of the city.
Turning away from the locked bureau doors, I adjusted the heavy weight of the five firearms strapped to my back, secured Don Anthony's head against my thigh, and began walking toward the neighboring gate, heading straight for my house in the 3rd District to get a proper meal and prepare for the long day ahead.
The cobblestone path transitions smoothly from the commercial opulence of the 4th District to the more subdued, sprawling architecture of the 3rd District. As I approach the heavy iron-reinforced gates that separate the residential sector from the rest of Caria, the morning air carries the distinct scent of fresh chimney smoke and morning dew. Standing guard at the checkpoint is Renny, the regular district gatekeeper, leaning casually against his halberd with a sleepy but perceptive gaze.
As my cloaked figure approaches, his eyes instantly drop to the heavy, cloth-wrapped bundle swaying rhythmically against my thigh.
"Morning, Eirene, it seems you have a head with you today. Must have been a lucrative run. Standard procedure: toll and status card, please."
Without uttering a word, I slip my single right hand beneath the folds of my canvas cloak, ensuring the stocks of the five strapped firearms… including the pristine black-and-silver original Death Chant Tommy gun… don't clank together suspiciously. I retrieve my bounty hunter status card alongside a gleaming silver coin. Renny takes the card, presses it briefly against the magical authentication slate on his belt, and pockets the toll with a nod of approval. He steps aside, gesturing for the heavy iron gates to swing open.
I slip through the threshold, navigating the twisting, familiar streets of the residential sector until I finally stand before the modest facade of House 132. Stepping onto the wooden porch, I deliberately move into the deepest, darkest patch of shade cast by the overhanging roof before lowering my hood just enough to peek out. I raise my knuckles and strike the heavy oak door with a very specific, complex rhythmic knock… a private code shared only between the inhabitants of this sanctuary to signal that the older sister of the house has returned from the wilds.
As expected, the heavy brass latch clicks from the inside. The door swings open to reveal my baby sister, Evelyn, standing in the doorway. She is dressed in the crisp, stark white and gold tailoring of the standard Luminous Knight uniform, a striking contrast to the grim reality of my underworld dealings. As she looks up at me, the vibrant bioluminescent blue-green tips of her hair pulse with a soft, warm glow, a beautiful reminder of her unique heritage as my half-human, half-slime sister.
"Big sister, you're back!" Evelyn says, her eyes lighting up with genuine relief as she steps back to let me enter.
She takes one look at the heavy posture of my shoulders and the subtle tension in my frame.
"You must be pretty exhausted from the road. Here, go sit down, I will prepare some toast for you."
A rare, genuine smile softens my features as I step over the threshold into the warmth of the house. As I move into the living room, I glance down at my reflection in the polished hallway mirror and notice a glaring oversight: I am still wearing the rugged merchant polo and tailored trousers that belonged to Luke Granhart. My advanced shapeshifting ability is a marvel of biological manipulation, but it only allows my physical body, muscles, and skin to blend and morph; it has absolutely no effect on physical fabrics and clothing. I have been walking around the city looking like a lethal bounty hunter stuffed into a dead syndicate member's casual wear.
Moving toward the plush living room sofa, I begin the meticulous process of unburdening myself. I unstrap the weapons from my back one by one, laying them across the cushions: the custom Death Chant Shotgun, the three bootleg automatic Tommy guns, and the magnificent, untouched black-and-silver original. Beside the firearms, I empty my purse, spilling out the high-grade, stolen mana rings that glimmer softly under the dim indoor light. I walk over to the coatrack by the door, hanging my heavy canvas cloak and placing my primary purse on the shelf.
Finally free of the constricting weight, I let out a deep breath and fully unleash my massive, crimson blood-wings from my back, letting them expand into the open space of the room with a satisfying stretch.
Realizing that the morning sun is rising higher and someone might glance through the front windows, I need to secure the room immediately. Because I am currently mute in this form, I cannot simply call out to my sister. Instead, I grab a scrap of parchment from the entry table, quickly scrawl a message on it, and crumple it tightly into a small ball. With practiced accuracy, I flick my wrist and hilt Evelyn square in the face with the paper ball just as she is walking toward the kitchen.
"Hey! That's mean!" Evelyn pouts, rubbing her forehead as the crumpled paper bounces onto the floor.
She stoops down, smooths out the wrinkled parchment, and reads the blunt, single-sentence note scribbled inside: "Close the curtains."
Understanding the danger of my wings and the illegal arsenal currently resting on our couch being exposed to the outside world, she quickly hurries across the room to pull the heavy drapes shut, plunging our home into a safe, secure privacy.