I turned on my heel and walked up the wooden stairs, my mind still deep in tactical blueprints for the bayonet modifications. Just as I reached the top landing and stepped toward my bedroom, the heavy oak door suddenly swung open from the inside.
CRACK.
The solid wood bashed squarely against my forehead. I stumbled back a step, rubbing my face as my S-rank reflexes barked at me for letting my guard down so completely.
"Oh! Sorry, little Ren! I didn't see you standing right there," Elicia said quickly, poking her head out with a look of genuine panic on her face.
I was about to utter a sharp comment about basic door safety, but the words caught completely in my throat the moment I actually looked at her. Elicia had taken my advice and swapped her filthy, blood-stained northern robes for one of the spare commoner dresses from my wardrobe. It was a simple, modest design… or at least, it was supposed to be. On her, it looked borderline scandalous.
The fabric was stretched to its absolute atomic limit. Because I stood at a lean 5'5" and Elicia was a statuesque 5'8", the hemline pulled tight, and the bodice looked less like a casual dress and more like a hyper-compressed corset. Her breasts were practically suffocating in the fabric, threatening to violently pop out of the seams with the slightest deep breath.
I stood there in the hallway, staring blankly as a profound, agonizing wave of middle-child embarrassment washed over me. I looked down at my own chest. My standard, sensible C-cup… which I usually considered perfectly aerodynamic and practical for high-speed combat… felt like an absolute joke in this house.
I was quite literally trapped in a genetic anomaly of a family. Evelyn, at her young age, was already rocking a ridiculous, half-slime-inflated F-cup. Elicia was walking around with a catastrophic, gravity-defying G-cup. And then there was me, the deadly, S-rank Crimson Phantom, the most feared bounty hunter in the region... completely outclassed in the chest department by my own siblings.
"Surrounded by giants, I am officially the genetic odd one out." I thought
"Why are you standing there staring, little Ren?" Elicia asked, tilting her head innocently as she adjusted the constricting neckline of the dress.
I snapped out of my bitter anatomical comparison and cleared my throat, forcing my voice back to its usual cold tone.
"I just need to grab some things from my room before we head out."
Elicia stepped aside to let me pass, curtsying slightly in the tight fabric.
"Go right ahead."
The moment I stepped inside, the bright morning sun cutting through the windows hit my peripheral vision. My half-vampire skin pricked with a warning heat. I quickly crossed the room, grabbed the heavy velvet drapes, and yanked the curtains tightly shut, plunging the bedroom into a safe, dim twilight. Elicia stayed near the door, keeping a curious, watchful eye on me.
I knelt beside my mattress, reached far beneath the bed frame, and pulled out two long, heavy wooden crates. Dropping the latches, I cracked the lids open. There they were: the two pristine, bootleg copies of the syndicate Tommy Guns I had smuggled out of the Dodorant Citadel.
Originally, after I dismantled Don Anthony's main operation, I had confiscated three of those mass-produced firearm prototypes. When I first returned to the Caria region, I ended up gifting the first bootleg Tommy Gun to my close friend Alta, who was currently the top-ranking contributor for the Bureau's high-tier monster hunts. That left me with these remaining two.
I reached down to store the heavy firearms inside my spatial index finger ring, channeling my mana to trigger the vacuum absorption matrix.
BZZZZT.
A sharp, digital rejection hum echoed in my mind. A flashing notification from the artifact's magic matrix pulsed directly into my consciousness:
[MAX CAPACITY.]
I frowned, staring at my hand.
"Wait, I just cleared eight kilograms of tear gas. How am I already full?"
I quickly audited the ring's ledger and my eyes widened. Resting right in the center of the spatial storage slot was a massive, highly intricate, and heavily enchanted weapon: Elicia's official High-Tier Healing Staff. It was a legendary artifact bestowed upon her by the High Command of the Knights Bureau, specifically engineered to double the output of her Divine Regeneration and holy containment barriers. I must have secured it for her during the frantic aftermath of the northern border annihilation.
I used inspect.
Aegis of the Dawn
Durability: 100/100
Damage: 1
Attributes: Double the healing power.
"Ah,"
I muttered, looking up at her as I canceled the absorption stream. I reached into the ring's pocket dimension and pulled the heavy, ornate staff out of the void, the holy runes along the wood gleaming faintly in the dark room.
I turned and held it out to her.
"Big sister, your staff. You're going to need this if we're walking straight into Chief Roman's office."
Elicia's eyes lit up with profound relief as she reached out and took the legendary artifact from my hands.
"Oh, thank you, little Ren! I was deeply worried I had left it behind in the chaos of the blizzard. I truly thought I lost it."
"Keep a closer eye on it, Walking into headquarters without your primary weapon would only invite unnecessary questions." I murmured, offering a rare, subtle nod of acknowledgment.
With her heavy staff officially removed from my spatial storage, the restrictive density inside my artifact ring immediately dropped. I turned back to the open wooden crates on the floor and channeled my mana toward the two pirated firearms.
Unlike my soul-bound, heavily modified main Death Chant Tommy Gun… which weighed a substantial six kilograms due to its reinforced components… these mass-produced, bootleg syndicate copies were stripped down, weighing exactly five kilograms each. I watched as the dark void of the ring smoothly swallowed the two weapons, absorbing the combined ten kilograms of engineered steel into the pocket dimension.
A swift mental calculation ran through my brain, and a faint, satisfied smirk touched my lips as the matrix settled:
Death Chant Tommy Gun (Main): 6 kg
Death Chant Shotgun: 5 kg
Demon Valkyrie Longsword: 4 kg
Bootleg Syndicate Tommy Guns (x2): 10 kg
Total: 25 kg / 25 kg.
The storage matrix was calibrated to absolute, flawless maximum capacity. Every single unit of space was perfectly optimized, packed with enough destructive firepower to dismantle an entire vanguard division. My combat loadout was secure, the bayonet prototypes were safely stored for future modification, and my gear was ready for whatever political ambush Chief Roman was preparing for us at the Bureau.
I stood up from the floor, kicking the empty crates back beneath the bed frame, and turned toward Elicia.
"My gear is completely packed. Let's grab Evelyn and see what the Chief has to say about the ghosts of Branch 1."
I headed back downstairs for the final time, the solid weight of my fully loaded inventory ring resting comfortably on my index finger.
When I stepped into the living room, the sight that met me was entirely typical of our strange dynamic. Evelyn was happily curled up on the light blue sofa, still going to town on the glass jar of strawberry jam with her giant spoon, completely immune to the massive sugar rush. Elicia had already made her way to the dining table and was calmly finishing off a slice of toast, her posture perfectly elegant despite how tightly my commoner dress was stretching over her chest.
"We're prepared, It's time to go." I announced, my smooth, restored voice cutting through the quiet morning air.
I walked over to the coat rack near the entrance, grabbed my heavy, deep crimson cloak, and draped it over my shoulders. I pulled the front together, buttoning it tightly to obscure my silhouette, my Level 8 Mana Pool and artifact rings humming silently beneath the fabric.
Evelyn didn't even hesitate. She hopped off the sofa, safely cradling the half-empty jar of jam in one hand like it was her most prized possession, while her immaculate white-and-scarlet Luminous Knight uniform crinkled softly. Elicia stood up next, adjusting her tight dress one last time before firmly gripping her legendary, high-tier healing staff, its holy runes catching the dim light of the room.
With our family united for the first time in a decade, we turned the key in the lock and stepped out of House 132, closing the door behind us. The morning air was crisp as we walked out into the capital, ready to face Chief Roman and shatter the Bureau's lies about the northern border.