The heavy oak doors of the sacristy creaked open, venting the concentrated aroma of frankincense, aged cedar, and old parchment back into the main cavernous hall of the church. The ambient classical music had completely ceased, leaving only the profound, solemn silence of a sacred sanctuary nestled right in the epicenter of the neon-soaked 7th District.
As we walked back down the center aisle, Father Columbia suddenly stopped near the base of the altar. The spiritual residual energy from the tracking spell was still visibly humming around him, a faint, translucent aura of pure mana that made his eyes glow slightly behind his glasses. He reached into the deep folds of his ecclesiastical vestments, pulled out a small piece of parchment, and handed it to me.
This time, he didn't speak in the English of our lost home. Understanding the necessity of operational security in a world teeming with magical espionage, his voice shifted into a smooth, perfectly articulated Alatist.. one of the three major continental dialects I had been brutally forced to master during my isolated upbringing by the Rynd family.
"Based on the initial resonance of your blood through my Soul Tracking skill, I have already intercepted a local signal, there is a reincarnated being currently hiding right here within the borders of Caria City. I do not know his name or his earthly origin yet, but I can feel the distinct vibration of his soul. My tracker places him deep within the labyrinth of the 5th District Tenements. He has distinct brunette hair and striking blue eyes. If you happen to spot him during your hunts, protect him from the local syndicates and bring him safely into this sanctuary. You can do this, sister. The Lord has engineered your path for this exact moment."
I took the note with my right hand, my mind instantly analyzing the tactical reality of the 5th District. The tenements were a dense, decaying slum controlled by ruthless crime families and corrupt minor officials. Finding a specific brunette, blue-eyed target in that squalor would be a grueling task, but with my Inspect skill and my newly acquired Leech's Hollow Mask protecting me from psychological ambushes, I was uniquely equipped to extract him.
But before I could turn toward the exit, Father Columbia raised a hand, gesturing for me to wait. He stepped behind the altar and lifted a thick, beautifully bound leather volume that had been resting beneath a velvet cloth. He held it out to me like a piece of priceless treasure.
"And take this, Roxanne, here is the true Word of God. Right after I managed to fully learn and adapt to this foreign language, I spent months writing out the entirety of the Holy Bible into a perfect translation from English to Alatist. Back during my years of service at the Vatican, I had memorized the scriptures cover to cover. I used every ounce of that retained memory to ink these pages. Let it be your anchor when the dark forces of this continent try to break your spirit." he said softly, reverting for a brief moment to my true Earth name.
I stared at the heavy, leather-bound volume in absolute awe. To rewrite the entire Bible purely from memory into a completely foreign fantasy dialect was a monumental, borderline miraculous feat of devotion. I carefully unbuckled the leather strap of my traveling purse and slid the holy book inside, nestled safely alongside my remaining 1 gold and 50 silver pieces and my fresh writing pencil. I offered Father Columbia a deep, respectful nod of my shadowed visor… my silent, profound thank you… and adjusted my grip on the massive wooden alchemical crate cradled in my single right arm.
With the crate of glass flasks, caustic acids, and my brass mana-powered Bunsen burner secure, I turned my back on the altar and pushed through the heavy double doors of the church.
The sweltering, popcorn-scented air and dazzling neon glow of the 7th District hit me like a physical wave. The juxtaposition was jarring, but my mind was completely clear. I had my anti-fear armor, my alchemical raw materials for my tear gas canisters, and a divine mandate to track down the lost souls of Earth.
However, before I could head toward the treacherous 5th District tenements to search for the brunette reincarnated boy, I had one final, crucial tactical piece left to move on the board. I needed to march directly to the Capital Knights Bureau Association to meet with Alta.
Beneath the compressed panels of my blood-themed crimson trench coat, my three firearms remained perfectly hidden against my folded wing joints. One of those weapons… the pristine, high-fire-rate Tommy gun… was earmarked specifically for him. Delivering that weapon would secure my standing with the Bureau, solidify my elite hunter presence, and grant me the institutional leverage I needed to move freely across the districts without the local knights asking questions about the Crimson Phantom. With my boots clicking firmly against the pavement, I set a direct, unyielding course for the high-end martial quarters of the Capital Knights.
The sterile, blinding sheen of the 8th District's polished porcelain tiles reflected the harsh magical lanterns lining the grand promenade. Every step I took in my heavy leather boots echoed sharply against the towering white marble walls, a stark contrast to the lively, sensory-loaded chaos of the entertainment district I had just left behind.
With the massive alchemical crate containing my titration gear, chemical flasks, and brass mana-powered Bunsen burner balanced heavily in my right arm, I kept my head tucked low beneath the shadow of my hood. The Leech's Hollow Mask hummed with a quiet, comforting vibration against my skin, its pitch-black magical veil completely swallowing my facial features and my single jade-green eye, while its psychic barriers stood like an absolute fortress around my mind. Beneath the compressed back panels of my blood-themed crimson trench coat, the custom Death Chant Shotgun and dual Tommy guns rested perfectly still, their lethal silhouettes completely obscured from the heavily armed patrols marching through the sector.
As I navigated the grand thoroughfare leading toward the heart of the military quarter, a sudden, familiar voice cut through the air, freezing the blood in my veins.
I slowed my pace, blending into the shadow of a massive marble pillar, and shifted my gaze across the plaza. There, standing near a gilded fountain, was my older brother, Elias. He was dressed in the immaculate, high-ranking dress armor of an elite soldier of the kingdom, his posture radiating the rigid, unyielding discipline our parents had beaten into him since childhood.
But he wasn't alone. Standing directly in front of him was Evelyn.
My chest tightened as I watched them. My little sister… the "dead girl" our family believed had perished in the womb six long years ago, the organic super-computer who had survived the pitch-black horrors of the ravines by consuming the flesh and memories of fallen knights… was standing right in the belly of the beast. Her soft brown hair caught the sunlight, the faint bioluminescent slime tips at the ends glowing with a barely perceptible, ethereal light. She was speaking to him with that calm, eerie fluency she had stolen from the minds of the dead, seamlessly navigating the conversation with a man who had no idea she even existed on the mortal plane.
Slightly behind Elias stood his elite party members, Catherine and Patricia. Both women looked utterly paralyzed with shock, their mouths slightly agape and their eyes darting rapidly between Elias's stern profile and Evelyn's pale, familiar features. The striking family resemblance was impossible to ignore. They were witnessing a ghost story unfold in broad daylight, looking at a girl who bore the unmistakable, aristocratic Rynd lineage despite never appearing on a single noble record.
"Oi, oi, Eirene, that little sister of yours is playing him like a fiddle, she's standing in front of a high-tier executioner acting like a lost lamb, while her brain is probably cataloging the exact structural weakness in his breastplate." Plasma's chaotic voice hissed faintly within the recesses of my thoughts, a dark tremor of amusement rippling through our shared mental link.
I didn't bother using my newly purchased pencil to write a response to Plasma, nor did I stop to listen to the words passing between my blood relatives. The emotional weight of my past life, the grueling memories of the libraries I had been locked in, and the familial ties of the Rynd house were luxuries I couldn't afford to entertain right now. If Elias turned his head and saw my tall, imposing crimson silhouette. if his sharp military instincts pierced through the shadow of my mask and smelled the compressed demonic mana of the Crimson Phantom… it would trigger an immediate, catastrophic battle right on the Bureau's doorstep.
I forced my gaze away, hardening the resolve in my chest. Evelyn could handle herself; her stolen network of tactical memory files gave her all the leverage she needed to survive a conversation with a knight. I had my own parameters to fulfill.
I picked up my pace, my boots clicking rhythmically against the porcelain flooring as I walked right past the shocked gathering, keeping the heavy crate of tear gas components shielded on the opposite side of my body. Within minutes, I left the open plaza behind and arrived at the grand, imposing entrance of the Capital Knights Bureau Association.
The massive obsidian double doors loomed over me, guarded by columns of high-ranking squires and automated security runes. I stepped through the threshold into the bustling, high-ceilinged logistical hub. The air inside smelled deeply of oiled steel, fresh ink, and ozone. Somewhere within this massive labyrinth of military bureaucracy was Alta, the strategic contact who held the keys to my institutional freedom. I shifted the weight of the crate, feeling the cold, heavy iron of the pristine Tommy gun resting securely against my folded wing joints beneath my coat. It was time to deliver the weapon, secure my standing, and turn this bloody crusade into a guaranteed victory.
The massive, high-ceilinged lobby of the Capital Knights Bureau Association buzzed with the low, intense hum of military logistics. High-ranking squires, armored couriers, and veteran mercenaries navigated the polished stone floors, their arms laden with bounty posters, deployment logs, and heavy crates of monster spoils. The ambient air was thick with the scent of fresh parchment, oiled steel, and the distinct, static tang of localized mana runes tracking the city's active contracts.
I stepped fully inside, keeping my tall silhouette composed as I balanced the heavy alchemical crate in my right arm. Beneath the protective, light-swallowing veil of the *Leech's Hollow Mask*, my single jade-green eye scanned the crowded room. I was looking for one specific individual:
Alta.
Alta was a living legend within these obsidian walls… the top contributor of monster hunting in the entire Bureau. If anyone possessed the tactical authority and institutional leverage to buffer my operations against the kingdom's prying eyes, it was her. Given her unparalleled efficiency, I knew she wouldn't be idling in the lounges. She was a woman of action, and soon enough, my gaze locked onto her familiar figure standing right at the main reception desk.
She was currently in the middle of handling a thick stack of finalized subjugation contracts, sliding the stamped parchments across the marble counter to a visibly stressed receptionist who was frantically updating the ledger logs.
I took a slow, steady breath, ensuring the pristine, high-fire-rate Tommy gun remained perfectly balanced and hidden beneath the sleek, compressed crimson panels of my trench coat. Step by step, my heavy leather boots ate up the distance across the porcelain tiles until I was standing directly beside her towering, elite presence.
Since the gruesome scars of my Glasgow smile were masked and my missing tongue prevented me from speaking a single word, I couldn't simply call out her name. Instead, I stood at her flank, leaned my imposing, blood-themed crimson frame forward, and gave a sharp, polite nod of my shadowed head. With a subtle wave of my gloved right hand, I gave her a silent, distinct "hi," alerting the Bureau's top hunter that the Crimson Phantom had officially arrived to deliver her prize.