The morning light finally broke over the roofs of Town Allure, but behind the thick, heavy velvet curtains of Room 4, the darkness remained absolute. Not a single stray beam of sunlight penetrated the gloom, shielding my translucent alabaster skin from the burning solar rays.
I snapped awake, my single green eye instantly adjusting to the pitch black. The deep, heavy fatigue that had plagued my core from the accelerated demonic pregnancy felt slightly subdued after a few hours of rest, though the internal drain on my mana reserves remained a constant, rhythmic pulse beneath my ribs.
I didn't waste a single second on idle morning routines. I swung my legs over the edge of the mattress, the massive, skeletal blood wings wrapped around my torso instantly compressing themselves back against my spine with a fluid, practiced snap. Shifting my pale right hand, I threw on my tattered crimson trench coat, ensuring the fabric draped perfectly over the hidden wing slits to conceal my monstrous anatomy. I grabbed the thick cloth wrap, tying it securely over the empty socket where my right eye had been gouged out, and latched the Leech's Hollow Mask over my scarred face. The calcified bone clicked into place, locking my features away from the world once more.
Sliding the strap of my leather purse over my shoulder… where the Registry of the Condemned and the Calico files rested… I turned the heavy iron deadbolt and stepped out into the dim hallway.
Out at the front counter, the air was thick with the scent of fresh morning porridge and cheap ale. Veer was already behind the desk, wiping down the wooden surface with a damp cloth, her swollen belly pressing slightly against the apron as she moved. The domestic peace radiating from her was a stark contrast to the lethal, mechanical aura radiating from my bone mask.
I didn't open my mouth to speak. Instead, I reached into my pocket, pulled out my notepad, and quickly scribbled a brief, sharp "Thank you" before sliding the iron room key across the counter.
Veer looked up, offering a bright, genuine smile as she scooped up the key.
"You're very welcome, traveler. Have a safe journey on the roads today!" she said warmly, entirely unaware that she had just bid farewell to the ghost of her former guild leader.
I gave her a single, silent nod of my heavy hood and pushed past the creaking wooden doors of The Grapevine Rest, stepping out into the brisk morning air of the central plaza.
The town was fully alive now. Merchants were loudly calling out their prices, horses hooves clattered against the dirt roads, and the heavy smell of wild provincial grapes drifted from the nearby carts. I pulled my hood low, keeping my back to the shadows as I navigated the bustling crowd. Just a few blocks away, past the familiar market stalls, the imposing timber-and-stone facade of the Adventurers Bureau rose against the morning sky… and right beside it, the path leading toward the scorched, state-restricted ruins of the Flower estate where the confiscated vault lay waiting.
I halted at the entrance of the Adventurers Bureau, the sprawling stone-and-timber structure that had served as the bedrock of my youth. This was the place where it all started… where a naive human archer named Roxy had first registered her name, taken her first low-tier subjugation contracts, and dreamed of protecting her borders alongside White Flower.
True to its classic provincial design, the guild hall was directly connected to a large, rowdy tavern. Even at this relatively early hour, the thick, heavy scent of cheap ale, roasted boar, and spilled alcohol drifted through the open archways, mixing with the sharp tang of the morning air.
I pushed through the double doors, my heavy leather boots clicking quietly against the floorboards as I marched toward the main counter. Behind the desk sat the very same receptionist who had managed the desk months ago… her hair pinned back in the exact same messy bun, completely unchanged by the catastrophic siege that had redefined my entire existence.
She looked up from her ledger, her eyes drifting across the tattered crimson fabric of my trench coat before locking onto the terrifying, calcified lines of the Leech's Hollow Mask.
"Ma'am... what can I help you with today?" she asked, her voice faltering slightly under the oppressive, mechanical weight of my presence.
I didn't answer. Pulling my charcoal pencil and notepad from my purse with my pale right hand, I quickly scribbled a direct command and slid it across the wood:
"TAKE ME TO LORD PHILLIP."
The receptionist blinked, her eyes scanning the note before darting back to the thick cloth wrap binding the right side of my face and the empty, pinned sleeve on my left. A spark of sudden recognition flashed in her eyes as the official capital bulletins clicked in her head.
"Wait... you're that Bounty Hunter from Caria? The one who took down the S-ranks? Right... the town officials warned us about your presence. The whole town knows who you are now." she whispered, her posture straightening into one of immediate, defensive respect
Without another word of hesitation, she stepped out from behind the reception desk and gestured for me to follow. We wound through the familiar back corridors of the bureau, bypassing the noisy tavern chatter until we arrived at a pair of heavy, reinforced oak doors at the very end of the administrative wing.
This was the inner sanctum of Lord Phillip, the sovereign ruler of the Town Allure province and the supreme Chief of this branch of the Adventurers Bureau. I knew him intimately from my past life… he was the man who had authorized our guild's deployments and handled the high-level politics of the territory. But to him now, I was merely a lethal, nameless state executioner visiting his quiet jurisdiction.
The receptionist bowed slightly and retreated down the hall, leaving me alone before the threshold.
Reaching out with my singular, pale right hand… since my left arm had been brutally mutilated down to the shoulder during my descent into hell… I wrapped my knuckles firmly against the thick wood, the sound echoing crisply through the quiet corridor.
From the other side of the oak barrier, a deep, weary, and deeply familiar voice rumbled through the timber.
"Come in."
I pushed the heavy oak door open with my singular right hand, the hinges letting out a faint, familiar groan as I stepped into the room.
Lord Phillip sat behind his massive, claw-footed desk, looking exactly as he did in my memories. The details of his office were etched into my mind from a lifetime ago… the heavy velvet drapes, the shelves lined with dusty provincial ledgers, the faint scent of pipe tobacco and old parchment, and the grand map of the Allure province hanging prominently on the back wall. Yet, he looked older now. The stress of the recent siege and the burden of rebuilding a fractured town had carved deep lines into his face.
As my tattered crimson trench coat swept over the threshold and the calcified lines of the Leech's Hollow Mask caught the dim light, Phillip straightened up. His eyes lingered for a fraction of a second on my empty, pinned left sleeve before settling on my mask.
"You're the bounty hunter who dismantled three S-rank bounties, the capital registries speak highly of your efficiency. It's an honor to meet you." Phillip said, his deep voice carrying a tone of profound, professional respect.
He stood up, extending his hand across the desk. I stepped forward, my pale, translucent right hand gripping his. His grip was firm, but I kept mine tightly controlled, ensuring the unnatural, icy chill of my ascended skin didn't betray my nature. We both sat down, the heavy mahogany desk separating the ruler of Allure from the ghost of its past.
Phillip leaned back, intertwining his fingers.
"Tell me, Bounty Hunter? What can the Allure Bureau do for you? I assume a vanguard of your caliber didn't travel all this way from Caria for a minor contract."
Without making a sound, I opened my leather purse. I pulled out the dusty, wax-sealed folder containing Laulif Flower's ancestral records and family history, dropping it onto the desk with a solid thud. Alongside it, I slid a freshly torn piece of parchment from my notepad.
Written in sharp, jagged charcoal strokes, the note read:
"ACCESS TO THE CONFISCATED VAULT BENEATH FLOWER MANOR."
Phillip's eyes darted from the note to the folder. The moment he flipped the file open and saw the silver-haired portrait of Laulif Flower paired with the official S-Rank Bureau black stamp, the color instantly drained from his face. He looked up at my hollow mask, the silence in the office suddenly becoming thick and suffocating.