Alta blinked, her hand freezing over a thick stack of finalized Wyvern subjugation papers. She turned her head, her sharp hunter instincts instantly sizing up the tall, formidable figure who had just materialized beside her at the reception desk.
"Woah, you startled me, who are you, girl? I don't recall taking a contract with an executioner from the deep sectors."
Alta said, her voice dropping to a low, guarded tone as she took a half-step back, her eyes scanning the dark, swirling void of the Leech's Hollow Mask. Realizing that the pitch-black magical veil of the mask was completely blocking my identity, and noticing that we were currently standing beneath the wide, shadowed overhang of the Bureau's grand marble mezzanine, I reached up with my free hand. I slowly pulled back the deep hood of my blood-themed crimson trench coat.
As the hood fell away, the dim, ambient lighting of the lobby caught my hair… revealing the distinct, familiar brown locks with striking silver tips lining both ends.
Alta's eyes widened behind her light armor, the defensive tension in her posture melting into pure astonishment.
"Eirene? Damn, you've changed. You've bought so much high-end gear lately. I almost thought the Knight Bureau had hired a rogue assassin to clear out the lobby." she breathed, looking me up and down as she took in the immaculate, fire-resistant fabric of Olive's trench coat and the high-tier aura radiating from the mask resting on my collarbone.
Before the surrounding squires or the receptionist could start eavesdropping on our conversation, I reached out with my right hand and firmly grabbed her gauntleted forearm. I gave her a sharp, meaningful look through the visor, executing a brief, silent gesture that made it clear we needed to speak in private.
Alta caught on instantly. She scooped up her finalized vouchers, gave a quick nod to the receptionist, and followed me as I guided her through the logistical corridors of the building. We bypassed the heavy traffic of the main hall, ducking into a secluded, dimly lit storage alcove near the eastern armory grid where the heavy stone walls muffled the sounds of the Bureau.
Once we were completely isolated from prying eyes, I set the heavy alchemical crate down onto a nearby wooden pallet. I stood tall, unbuttoning the front of my crimson trench coat, and willed the tightly compressed muscles of my sixth-evolution blood wings to partially unfurl. The massive, bat-like structures expanded just enough within the narrow room, acting exactly like a meat-and-bone coat rack where my devastating three-gun arsenal was meticulously strapped.
I reached back, unclasped the pristine, modified bootleg version of the weapon from my wing joints, and extended it forward, presenting it to the top contributor of the Bureau.
Alta's breath hitched. She reached out, her fingers wrapping around the cold, heavy iron of the chassis, tracing the circular drum magazine and the custom-tooled grip.
"Wait... is this a Tommy gun?"
Alta whispered, turning the firearm over in her hands, her eyes wide with a mixture of confusion and intense fascination.
"It's different... the weight, the internal mechanism, it's changed from the schematics I've seen. But whatever... how in the world did you get your hands on this, Eirene?"
I stood there in the quiet alcove, the gruesome, silent lines of my Glasgow smile hidden beneath the mask. Explaining the absolute bloodbath at the lower district warehouse, the terrifying psychological battle against Victor Katt's fear magic, and the absolute execution of Don Anthony and his entire cartel was a grand, hyper-complex tactical operation that would take hours to write out. It was far too complicated for a quick exchange in a military base.
I pulled out my notepad and my fresh graphite pencil, rapidly scratching out a brief, calculated explanation in Alatist before tearing the sheet away and handing it to her:
I retrieved it from an illegal arms trafficking guild. The original weapon was destroyed during the raid.
Alta read the note, a slow, deeply impressed smirk spreading across her face as she hoisted the bootleg Tommy gun onto her shoulder, completely satisfied with the explanation.
"An arms trafficking guild? Damn, you really are climbing the S-rank ladder fast, Eirene, destroyed or not, this replica is a masterpiece of engineering. The Bureau is going to have a field day analyzing this. Thanks, girl. This puts you leagues ahead on the contributor boards."
Behind the dark, unyielding veil of my mask, my single jade-green eye remained perfectly calm. I had just lied right to the face of the top hunter in the kingdom. The original, devastatingly powerful Tommy gun wasn't destroyed at all… it was currently strapped securely against my left wing joint right behind my back, hidden beneath the thick canvas lining of my coat. But in a world as brutal and unforgiving as Caria, an elite bounty hunter always keeps her best ace hidden up her sleeve.
Alta hoisted the bootleg Tommy gun, adjusting its weight against her tactical harness with a satisfied nod. The weapon's cold iron caught the flickering magical lamplight of the secluded armory alcove, its dense drum magazine clicking solidly into place.
"Thanks for returning it back, Eirene, actually, there is a monster contract waiting for me right now. And no, it's not the 'Crimson Phantom' bounty, you dum-dum. I knew it was you all along." Alta said, her tone shifting from academic curiosity to the sharp, focused edge of an active huntress.
She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that barely carried past the heavy stone walls.
A quiet, profound wave of relief settled beneath the compressed fabric of my blood-themed trench coat. I had trusted Alta with my deepest, most lethal secret: that beneath this sleek hunter gear, I was a blood-sucking, winged demon carrying a staggering 16-gold-coin bounty on my head. In a continent like Andromeda, where human laws dictated the immediate, merciless execution of any demon on sight, Alta had chosen to see past the draconian edicts. She didn't see an apex predator or a biological monster; she saw a reliable comrade, a sister-in-arms, and a genuine friend.
"I'm actually tracking another rogue demon that slipped past the outer territorial walls, care to join me? With this firepower and your tracking skills, we could tear through the target in minutes."
I stood before her, my face entirely hidden beneath the shifting, light-swallowing shadows of the mask. The offer was incredibly tempting. Hunting with the top contributor of the Capital Knights Bureau Association would yield massive prestige, piles of silver, and further solidify my standing as an elite S-rank hunter.
But the sheer weight of my double life pulled me back to reality with a brutal, grounding force. The dramatic irony of my existence was a heavy cross to bear; while the city celebrated Eirene Rynd the rising hunter, the underworld hunted the Crimson Phantom, and now, Father Columbia and I were operating as clandestine messengers of God.
My schedule was packed to the absolute brink with critical parameters:
The Intelligence Files that I had a mountain of newly acquired data regarding the Katt siblings… Victor and his terrifying psychological fear magic… waiting to be analyzed before our paths inevitably crossed again.
Alchemical Munitions that the massive wooden crate at my feet contained the raw titration gear, acids, and burner needed to synthesize my next batch of weaponized tear gas canisters.
The Reincarnated Soul that Father Columbia's tracking spell had placed a brunette, blue-eyed Earth soul deep within the squalor of the 5th District tenements, and he was counting on me to extract the boy before the local syndicates discovered him.
I pulled out my notepad, the graphite pencil moving with practiced, swift strokes across the paper as I composed a polite, firm refusal in Alatist. I tore the sheet away and handed it to her. I simply declined.
Alta read the note, letting out a soft, understanding sigh. She didn't press the issue; she was well aware of my deeply ingrained habits of isolation… a byproduct of a grueling childhood spent locked away in libraries by my relentless parents.
"Fair enough, Eirene, you've always been a lone wolf. Just make sure you don't overwork yourself. I'll see you around the Bureau."
We shared a brief, meaningful nod of farewell. Alta turned and vanished down the corridor, her armored footsteps fading into the busy ambiance of the main logistical hub.
The moment she disappeared around the corner, the shadows near the back of the armory grid shifted. A sharp, pristine clicking sound echoed against the porcelain tiles as a figure stepped out from the administrative wing. It was Nautilus Cotton, the head secretary of the Capital Knights Bureau Association. His uniform was immaculate, his posture radiating the absolute authority of a woman who managed the data and deployments of the kingdom's entire elite military force.
He stopped just a few paces away from my tall, crimson silhouette, her sharp eyes tracking the ominous contours of my mask before settling onto my posture.
"I have a word for you, Eirene,"
Nautilus said, his voice smooth, measured, and entirely devoid of the frantic energy that usually consumed the lower-ranking squires. He adjusted a thick leather-bound folder resting in the crook of her arm, looking directly at me with a gaze that held a rare, reassuring promise.
"And you can breathe easy. I'll promise your brother didn't know you were here."