Renny chuckled nervously, the sound echoing hollowly against the massive stone archway of the 3rd District checkpoint. He picked up my official status card, running it through the mechanical iron reader. As the gears whirred, the interface flashed, completely devoid of my birth name, Eirene Rynd. The crown's bureaucratic erasure had already taken firm root within the central network. The parchment and digital registries no longer recognized the flesh-and-blood woman; they only recognized the legend.
"Sure, Bounty Hunter, your name in the system is literally just 'Bounty Hunter' now. Guess when you kill three S-ranks in three weeks, you outgrow regular names. Stay safe out there." Renny said, shaking his head with a mix of awe and lingering unease as he slid the card back across the wooden ledger.
I snatched the card with my pale, alabaster right hand, slipping it back into the folds of my tattered crimson trench coat. Without a single nod or sound, I strode past the iron-reinforced barrier, leaving the Residential Commons behind and immersing myself once more in the oppressive, martial atmosphere of the 4th District.
The Bastion was alive with the grim energy of a kingdom preparing for an inevitable cosmic clash. Squads of Luminous Knights in polished plate armor marched in perfect, rhythmic synchronization down the wide stone avenues, their halberds gleaming under the newly lit arcane streetlamps. Master mages sprinted between administrative hubs, clutching scrolls detailed with the structural layout of the impending extra-dimensional translocation array. They were entirely focused on the grand three-month countdown to summon their otherworldly savior, blissfully ignorant of the pregnant, half-vampire apex predator walking right through their courtyard.
As I navigated the shadows of the military installations, heading toward the central intelligence archives, I mentally accessed the spatial matrix of my golden Inventory Ring.
During my two months of self-imposed isolation behind the thick velvet curtains of House 132, I hadn't just been resting and adjusting to my accelerated pregnancy. My dining room laboratory had been a factory of tactical destruction. Moving with single-handed, mechanical efficiency, I had synthesized massive quantities of weaponized tear gas, carefully filling specialized spherical glass bottles designed to shatter upon impact and release a dense, agonizing cloud of concentrated chemical irritants.
Each filled spherical bottle weighed precisely 400g. I had spent weeks carefully balancing the volatile compounds, successfully manufacturing a cache of 40 individual canisters. The mathematical weight of this chemical payload was substantial, calculating to a total mass of 16,000 or 16kg. However, because my Inventory Ring possessed a strict, hard-capped weight capacity of 25 kg to prevent dimensional destabilization, I had to balance my inventory with brutal precision.
To ensure I remained under the ring's physical threshold while maximizing my lethality for the S-rank raid against Laulif Flower, I allocated the dimensional pockets with meticulous calculation. The mental readout of my current combat loadout manifested clearly within my mind:
[Inventory Ring 23kg/25kg]
[Death Chant Shotgun 5kg]
[Death Chant Tommy Gun 6kg]
[Tear Gas (x40) 12kg]
With exactly 2 kg of dimensional tolerance left to spare, my arsenal was perfectly optimized. The Death Chant Shotgun was a heavy, modified firearm engineered to blast through the thick hides of high-tier monsters at close range, while the Death Chant Tommy Gun was a devastating, rapid-fire instrument of suppression capable of clearing entire hallways of syndicate lackeys in seconds. Combined with the 12kg of weaponized tear gas designed to choke out human and demi-human senses alike, I was a walking army disguised as a lone, disabled hunter.
I adjusted the strap of my purse, my hand resting casually over the subtle, firm curve of my lower abdomen where the heretical blood of Cameron Gal was rapidly developing. Laulif Flower was running an international flesh trade across the forbidden continental borders of the Milky Way, but he had no idea what was coming for him. Armed with enough chemical warfare to level a port and the heaviest firearms the vanguard black market could provide, I stepped into the grand archway of the Luminous Bureau's Archives, ready to steal the intel that would seal the slaver's fate.
The massive, iron-reinforced oak doors of the Luminous Knight Bureau Association swung open with a familiar, heavy creak as I stepped over the threshold. Inside, the grand hall was exactly as I had left it two months ago. The air was a thick, stagnant soup of roasting meats, spilled ale, and the distinct, metallic tang of unwashed armor. Groups of high-ranking vanguards and cocky bounty hunters crowded around the long wooden tables, slamming down heavy tankards, gambling their earnings, and loudly boasting about the low-rank monsters they had slain out in the wild.
I kept my heavy hood pulled low, my single crimson right eye scanning the room from behind the calcified lines of the Leech's Hollow Mask. The loud, chaotic tavern-like energy faded into a low, tense murmur in my immediate vicinity as I strode past the tables. Even if they couldn't see my face, the pure, predatory aura radiating from my tattered crimson trench coat and my missing left arm told them exactly who was walking through the room.
I marched straight past the rowdy vanguards and approached the high marble counter of the official registries. Standing behind the ledger was Sydney Popov, the elite registrar who handled the Bureau's most sensitive, classified contracts.
As my silent, pale figure came to a halt in front of her desk, Sydney looked up from her paperwork. She blinked, her professional composure faltering for a split second as her eyes locked onto my newly reverted, translucent alabaster skin and the chilling silence of my mask.
"Eirene… By the Light, I barely recognized you there for a second. You've become so incredibly pale... you look like a phantom. I suppose taking down three S-ranks in three weeks changes a person. What can I do for you today?" Sydney said, her voice dropping into a quiet, startled whisper as she leaned across the counter.
I didn't answer with words. Reaching into the inner pocket of my coat with my pale right hand, I pulled out my charcoal pencil and my notepad, quickly scribbling a direct, high-clearance command before turning the paper toward her:
"Access restricted archives. I need the real-time shipping manifests, coastal guard rotations, and hideout layouts for the S-rank target, Laulif Flower."
Sydney looked down at the notepad, then up at my mask, a sharp intake of breath escaping her lips. I didn't give her time to process the shock; I reached into my leather purse and pulled out the Registry of the Condemned, flipping it open to the back page and slamming my pale right thumb down directly onto the inked portrait of Laulif Flower.
Sydney's eyes widened as she stared at the sophisticated, calculating face of the Bloom Syndicate's sovereign.
"Another S-rank, Eirene?" she whispered, her voice laced with a mixture of profound awe and sudden dread. She leaned closer, checking over her shoulder to ensure none of the rowdy, ale-swilling vanguards at the tavern tables were listening in.
"Look, unlike Oksana, who practically flaunted her strength, Laulif is deeply embedded in the shadows. He's highly secretive, playing the long game just like Don Anthony and Cameron Gal did. Our active field reports are incredibly sparse. The Bureau's latest tracking data shows he was last officially spotted across the dimensional currents, operating directly within the forbidden borders of the Milky Way Continent itself. Because humans are banned from entering, our scouts lost his trail." Sydney continued, her fingers tapping nervously against her marble desk.
She sighed, pulling open a heavy, iron-locked drawer beneath the registry counter.
"I can't give you a current base layout or his shipping manifests because we simply don't have them. The only thing the Bureau has on file that hasn't been scrubbed or hidden is his ancestral background. I can only hand over his official family records. Do you care to try looking through those for a lead?"
I offered her a single, firm nod of my calcified bone mask.
Sydney reached into the depths of the secure drawer and pulled out a dusty, wax-sealed folder tied with a faded ribbon… the ancestral lineage and historical background of the Flower bloodline. She slid it across the marble counter.
"Be careful, Bounty Hunter. If he's exporting demi-humans directly under the noses of the Milky Way's beast-kin rulers, he has resources we can't even begin to calculate."
I snatched the folder with my pale, alabaster right hand, sliding it into the deep inner pocket of my crimson trench coat alongside my Registry of the Condemned. Turning on my heel without a single sound, I strode past the roaring vanguards and pushed through the heavy oak doors, leaving the rowdy atmosphere of the Association behind.
The sunset was bleeding into a deep violet twilight as I walked through the militarized streets of the 4th District. Realizing that a secretive target like Laulif required absolute, meticulous deduction, I didn't head straight back to the gates. Instead, I spotted a massive, ancient oak tree casting a deep, protective canopy of shade near the edge of the military sector's courtyard.
Ensuring I was completely hidden from the residual rays of the fading sun, I collapsed against the sturdy trunk. I pulled my legs up, adjusting the heavy folds of my coat over my abdomen where my unborn child rested, and broke the wax seal on the folder. My single, crimson right eye narrowed behind my mask as I prepared to dig into the dark family secrets of the continent's most elusive flesh-merchant.