I sank heavily into the plush cushions of the couch, letting my massive, crimson blood-wings drape over the sides to finally rest after hours of carrying a heavy arsenal across the sky. Right next to me on the fabric, Don Anthony's cloth-wrapped head sat resting like a gruesome, hard-won trophy.
As I sat there in the quiet room, I was acutely reminded of how fragile my double life truly was. The only people in this entire world who knew about my wings and my true demonic biology were my baby sister Evelyn, Alta, and Olive. None of my other siblings had any idea that their sister was the infamous Crimson Phantom… the blood-sucking winged demon feared across the underworld. For their own protection, and to keep the Citadel hunters away from our doorstep, I had to maintain this absolute secret from the rest of my family at all costs.
A moment later, Evelyn stepped back into the living room holding a plate of freshly toasted bread and a jar of sweet jam, setting it down on the table within my reach. The delicious aroma instantly made my stomach growl again.
"Sorry, big sis, I have to head out to work right now so I'm not late for roll call. Oh, here are the daily newspapers if you want to catch up on what's happening."
Before rushing out the front door, she grabbed the latest print from the table and tossed it onto my lap.
"See you later!" she called out, closing the heavy oak door behind her and locking it securely.
Left alone in the quiet, shaded house, I picked up the fresh newspaper, ready to eat my breakfast and see if the news of the arms guild's fiery destruction had already reached the front pages of Caria.
I picked up a warm slice of toast with my remaining right hand, leaving the empty sleeve where my left arm was a stump resting against my side. Using a butter knife, I smoothly spread a thick layer of sweet strawberry jam over the crisp bread. I took a massive, much-needed bite, savoring the taste of real human food, and shook open the fresh newspaper with a snap of my wrist.
The bold, ink-black text across the front page caught my eye immediately.
It was the Caria Times - Sunday Breaking News.
My gaze locked onto the main headline:
CARIA TIMES - SUNDAY EDITION
CITADEL FUGITIVE INMATE 345 CAPTURED IN LULU CITY!
(The highly sought-after escaped prisoner, Inmate 345, legally identified as Keane Leon, was successfully apprehended by authorities late last night. Officers discovered the fugitive unconscious in a filthy alleyway located directly behind the Golden Shrimp Inn in Lulu City. Reports indicate the suspect was heavily beaten and entirely covered in spit and phlegm prior to his re-arrest.)
A low, involuntary chuckle vibrated in my throat as I swallowed my toast. The real, unfortunate Keane Leon had finally been caught.
Reading the article, the puzzle pieces of how this situation had escalated so drastically flashed through my mind. Weeks ago, before I made my move to infiltrate the impenetrable Citadel prison to hunt down Don Anthony's apprentice, Luke Granhart, I needed a flawless cover. I had targeted a completely random, low-level street pickpockets named Keane Leon. I used my magic to copy his face, knocked the poor bastard unconscious, and stuffed him deep inside a dumpster to keep him out of the way.
I had intentionally let him live, completely oblivious to the fact that by escaping the Citadel using his face and his designated prisoner number… Inmate 345… I had inadvertently ruined his life. The entire kingdom's military had been hunting him down for a high-profile prison break he never actually committed. He must have been hiding out in the slums of Lulu City, utterly confused as to why bounty hunters and Capital Knights were trying to beat him to death, until someone finally knocked him out and left him in an alley for the guards.
It was a brilliant twist of battlefield fortune for me. Because the real Keane was back behind bars, the frantic 10-gold fugitive bounty attached to my false identity had instantly vanished from the active guild boards. Just like that, my complicated triple life had neatly condensed into a much more manageable double life: the legendary, S-rank bounty hunter Eirene, and the elusive, blood-sucking Crimson Phantom.
With a satisfied smirk, I took another bite of my strawberry toast and flipped the heavy page of the Caria Times to see what else the city had to report on this fateful seventh day.
The crisp newsprint rustled in the quiet room as I turned the heavy page, the sharp scent of fresh ink mingling with the sweet aroma of the strawberry jam. My single right eye scanned the columns of the Caria Times, searching for any further ripples caused by my recent operations. Instead, a prominent sub-heading in the investigative section arrested my attention, causing my hand to freeze mid-air:
SHADOW WALKER LAUNCHES INVESTIGATION INTO DODORANT CITADEL
(Elias Rynd, the legendary high-tier investigator known across the kingdoms as the Shadow Walker, has officially arrived at the Dodorant Citadel. Highly placed sources within the military command confirm that Rynd is seeking to uncover a hidden convergence between the recent high-profile security breaches at the fortress and the elusive entity known as the Crimson Phantom. The Bureau refuses to comment on whether the blood-sucking winged demon has infiltrated the high-security facility.)
A cold, sharp drop of amusement, laced with a sudden prickle of genuine anxiety, settled in my chest. My brother. Elias was actively, relentlessly hunting me.
He had become completely obsessed with tracking down the Crimson Phantom, chasing the phantom remnants of my blood-wings and the trail of shredded criminal syndicates I left in my wake across Andromeda. He was dedicating his formidable intellect and legendary stealth to cornering a lethal, blood-sucking monster, entirely blind to the supreme, agonizing irony that the very demon he sought to put in chains was his own little sister.
If Elias ever discovered the truth… if he ever connected the dots between Eirene's routine bounty contracts and the Crimson Phantom's brutal massacres… the consequence wouldn't just be a battle of high-tier magic. Knowing his overprotective, strictly disciplined nature, he would subject me to a grueling, legendary, two-hour-long lecture regarding my utter recklessness, my lack of personal safety, and the absolute insanity of my operational choices. For the sake of my own sanity, and to keep him from upending our entire family dynamic, I needed to ensure this secret remained buried deeper than the foundations of the Citadel itself.
I took another slow bite of my toast, mulling over my brother's dangerous proximity to my true identity, and flipped to the next section of the paper. My eyes immediately narrowed as the tone of the journalism shifted from standard military reporting to something far more bizarre and unprecedented:
RISE OF A NEW FAITH? LUNACY OR DIVINE REVELATION AT THE CAPITAL
(In a shocking public declaration that has left the Grand Cathedral and the local theological circles in a state of high alarm, Father Columbia has officially proclaimed himself to be a 'reincarnated soul' originally hailing from a distant, technologically advanced world known as 'Earth.' While high-ranking prelates have dismissed his wild assertions as pure psychological lunacy brought on by over-meditation, Columbia has successfully mobilized a rapidly growing faction of loyal devotees. His newly formed sect, operating under the name 'Christianity,' worships a singular deity and positions Columbia as a self-proclaimed modern apostle of a figure named 'Jesus Christ.' The theological council is currently debating whether to declare this Earth-born deity an unsanctioned heresy or a harmless delusion.)
My breath hitched slightly in my throat, the half-eaten piece of toast resting forgotten in my hand. I stared fixedly at the printed name of the self-proclaimed apostle, my mind reeling as a flood of ancient, deeply buried memories surged to the surface of my consciousness.
Father Columbia was a reincarnated being from Earth.
The gravity of that revelation pressed heavily against my mind. He wasn't just a local madman or a clever cult leader exploiting the gullible citizens of Andromeda; he was someone like me… a soul plucked from the modern, concrete reality of my previous life and dropped into this chaotic world of mana stones, syndicates, and magical biology. But while I had used my reincarnation to navigate the bloody underbelly of the world as an executioner, adapting to the brutal laws of survival, Columbia had chosen a path of public, spiritual disruption. He had taken the foundational tenets of Christianity, the dominant historical religion of my past life on Earth, and systematically introduced it to a realm governed by entirely different pantheons and cosmic laws.
A calculating, dangerous curiosity ignited within me as I eyed the small sketch of Columbia printed alongside the article. To hear names like "Earth" and "Jesus Christ" printed in a standard Caria newspaper was jarring, a surreal collision of my hidden past and my violent present. This man was walking a precarious tightrope; introducing a monotheistic Earth faith to Andromeda would inevitably draw the lethal ire of the established, politically powerful religious orders who protected their own divine monopolies with holy knights and inquisitors.
Whether Father Columbia was a visionary seeking to bring comfort to the masses or a strategic mastermind building a personal power base under the guise of an alien faith, he was now firmly on my radar. A reincarnated soul with knowledge of Earth's history and structure was a volatile wild card in the geopolitical landscape.
I finished the last piece of my strawberry toast, wiping my hand on a cloth as I stared at the paper. The clock was ticking down, and the morning was progressing rapidly. My hour of rest was nearly up, and the heavy deadlines of the seventh day were waiting for me just outside the locked doors of House 132. I needed to gather my weapons, secure Don Anthony's head, and prepare to face Chief Anton and the Luminous Knight Bureau.