We stepped out of the massive, imposing thresholds of the Capital Knights Bureau Association, the grand porcelain tiles of the 8th District plaza gleaming beneath the harsh, unyielding glare of the afternoon sun. The moment we reached the outer courtyard, away from the prying eyes of the guards and the bureaucratic clerks, we halted near the shade of a massive marble pillar.
My sisters turned to face me, their expressions shifting from the rigid professionalism required inside the high command to the deep, lingering warmth of family.
"Well, little Ren, this is where we part ways for now,"
Elicia said, her majestic 5'8" frame tensing slightly as she adjusted her grip on her heavy silver healing staff. She looked up at the bright sky, then turned her piercing crimson eyes back to my unblemished face.
"You can hide in the dark now. I will deactivate the healing spell."
I reacted instantly, my combat reflexes kicking in. I reached up and pulled my heavy canvas hood all the way down, casting my face into deep shadow, while tightly wrapping my dark vanguard cloak around my 5'5" frame to ensure absolutely no skin was exposed to the open air.
The moment I was covered, Elicia breathed a soft incantation. The continuous-nullification loop that had been humming like a warm, protective shield over my body suddenly dissolved into a low, fading whisper of mana.
The reaction was instantaneous and brutal. Without the divine protection of her high-tier magic, my Phase 6 demonic biology aggressively reasserted itself. The ambient sunlight slicing through the gaps of the wisteria trees felt like an invisible furnace, scorching my senses. A sharp, stinging rash flared up across my pale cheeks, and my left eye violently throbbed a predatory, dangerous crimson as my severe, heretical allergy to the sun locked back into place. I was a creature of the dark once more, an apex predator forced to navigate the blinding capital from the safety of the shadows.
Elicia winced, a wave of profound guilt crossing her beautiful features as she watched me recoil slightly into the shade of my hood.
"I am so sorry, little Ren, I guess you're stuck hiding in the dark corners right now. My divine healing ability simply doesn't possess the localized tethering matrices required to work over long distances."
I stood perfectly still in the deep shade of my hood, letting my breathing stabilize as I adapted to the burning texture of the day.
"It is fine, big sister, I am well-practiced in navigating the dark."
Before they could turn to leave toward their respective military sectors, I hesitated for a fraction of a second, evaluating the severe lack of baseline capital currency currently resting in my leather purse. Traveling down south and securing raw alchemical materials would require capital coins that my blood-stained bounty ledger couldn't safely provide through public banks.
"Elicia, Can I borrow money... just a little bit?"
Elicia blinked, a warm, thoroughly amused smile breaking across her face. Having recently obtained her official stipend and high-tier resource allowance from the Bureau's internal treasury, she didn't hesitate. She reached into her elegant silk pouch and pulled out a single, beautifully minted, heavy gold coin. It gleamed with immense wealth under the sun…ba massive sum capable of buying out an entire district shop's inventory. She pressed the heavy metal into my hand, her fingers gently squeezing mine.
"Spend it wisely, little Ren, Don't go blowing it all on rare high-tier gun parts or expensive black-market texts. Make sure you buy yourself a proper meal down south." Elicia instructed softly, her crimson eyes twinkling with affection.
"Thank you, big sister," I murmured, sliding the heavy gold piece safely into my dress pocket.
With our goodbyes finalized, Evelyn gave me a cheerful, energetic wave… her hair tips flashing a bright, supportive shade of deep blue-green… before the two of them turned back toward the central archives.
I spun on my heel, my dark cloak flaring over my tightly bound crimson wings as I began my quick, calculating march out of the 8th District. My mind immediately shifted into full operational layout mode. I had exactly three days to completely prepare my loadout, execute the purebred parasite, and clear the eighteen gold bounty on my head before Elias returned from his countryside leave. There was a staggering amount of logistical groundwork to cover, and every single second counted.
First, I needed to descend into the bustling industrial alleys of the 6th District. My primary objective there was to locate a high-volume alchemical supplier to purchase the specific chemical compounds, volatile powders, and thick spherical glass bottles required to manufacture my custom tear gas canisters. I also needed to visit the master artisan's forge to reclaim my primary tactical armaments: my heavily modified Means of Communication, my high-caliber Tommy gun, and my bootleg firearm featuring the newly attached mist-bayonet.
That specific bayonet configuration was going to be the absolute, definitive counter to the southern vampire apex. The custom anti-heal Lifeline enchantment woven into the steel would completely overwhelm the monster's rapid cellular regeneration, while the phased properties of the mist blade guaranteed that every close-quarters strike would pass straight through its physical parries for a guaranteed hit. It was a setup designed for absolute slaughter.
Second, once my loadout was secured, I would have to travel across the capital to the 4th District, home to the Luminous Knights Bureau Association… the sister building of the CKBA. Using my high-tier clearance and my identity as Eirene, I would systematically harvest every shred of classified intelligence, patrol routing maps, and witness accounts regarding the southern border incident to pinpoint the exact location of the vampire's lair.
Finally, I would return to the quiet sanctuary of House 132 tonight. Under the cover of total darkness, I would convert my kitchen into a makeshift laboratory to brew the volatile tear gas mixtures, carefully packing them into the glass spheres. To maximize my combat readiness, I would construct a specialized, external tear gas belt across my waist. By storing the canisters physically on my body, I could free up precious, highly restricted slot space inside my low-tier inventory rings for my heavier firearms and volatile ammunition crates.
With my tactical roadmap perfectly mapped out behind my eyes, I reached the grand, gold-trimmed iron thresholds of the 8th District exit. Standing at the perimeter was the heavily armored gatekeeper, Damien, his hand resting lazily on his massive halberd as he watched the shaded silhouette of the "frail archivist" approach his post once more.
Damien glanced up as my shaded silhouette approached, a sharp grin cutting across his rugged face. He adjusted his grip on his massive halberd, looking past me toward the pristine porcelain plaza we had just vacated.
"Well, there is the odd one out, Where are your other siblings, Eirene? Don't tell me they finally got tired of carrying a little stepping stone between two mountains."
I stopped right before the grand iron threshold, the heavy canvas hood casting my face into absolute shadow. My left eye flashed a cold, predatory crimson beneath the fabric, my voice dropping into a flat, razor-sharp whisper that cut right through his mocking demeanor.
"They are staying back to safeguard the capital, Damien. As for me? I'm going for the Crimson Phantom, I say."
Damien's smirk instantly faltered, his posture stiffening slightly as the chilling weight of my smooth, restored voice washed over him. Before his slow brain could fully process the terrifying implications of my statement, I smoothly reached into the folds of my dark vanguard cloak.
"Anyways, toll and status card."
I pulled my identification token and the required silver pieces from my leather purse, dropping them into his gauntleted hand with a dull, metallic click. Damien stammered for a microsecond, rapidly stamping my clearance ledger without another word, thoroughly unnerved by the freezing pressure radiating from my 5'5" frame. He hurriedly waved me through the grand gold-trimmed thresholds.
I stepped out of the high-security perimeter of the 8th District, my boots hitting the bustling streets as I began my rapid, calculating march. I cut straight through the vibrant, wisteria-lined boulevards of the 7th District, completely ignoring the restaurant terraces and the civilian crowds, keeping myself firmly rooted in the deep shadows of the stone architecture to protect my sun-allergic skin.
Within twenty minutes of high-velocity walking, the elegant white marble of the upper sectors dissolved into the smoky, soot-stained brick walls and roaring furnaces of the 6th District… the industrial beating heart of the capital.
The air here was thick with the scent of coal, burning sulfur, and molten iron. My first priority was absolute: I needed to source the raw materials for my custom tear gas canisters before heading to the master artisan's forge to reclaim my firearms.
I navigated the maze of narrow, industrialized alleys until I located a high-volume alchemical wholesale shop, its shelves packed with tightly sealed jars of volatile powders and chemical compounds. Stepping inside the dimly lit storefront, away from the agonizing sunlight, I pulled my hood slightly tighter and approached the wooden counter, ready to spend a portion of Elicia's heavy gold coin to secure my lethal loadout.
I stepped up to the counter of the dimly lit alchemical shop, the scent of dried herbs and pungent chemical reagents filling the cramped room. The shopkeeper, an old man with stained leather sleeves and grease-blackened fingers, leaned over the counter with a curious squint as I began reciting the precise structural layout for the alchemical components I needed.
I systematically went through the list: the 250 mL Erlenmeyer flask, the 50 mL graduated glass burette with a heavy iron laboratory stand and clamp, the high-purity aliphatic monocarboxylic acid matrices, the solid anhydrous sodium hydroxide pellets, the phenolphthalein indicator solution, and a collection of thick, spherical glass bottles.
The old man let out a low whistle, scratching his gray beard as his eyes narrowed beneath the brim of his cap.
"Well... you're making quite a volatile, poisonous gas mixture there, lass? You've grown quite a bit into the alchemical arts, haven't you? Most folks around here just ask for basic health poultices or low-grade mana catalysts. Anyway, for the glassware, the alkaline compounds, and the standard acid bases... that will be exactly thirty silver pieces."
I reached into my pocket and smoothly slid Elicia's heavy, beautifully minted gold coin across the worn wooden counter. The shopkeeper's eyes practically locked onto the gleaming metal. He quickly snatched it up, verifying its weight before opening his iron cash box. He counted out seventy crisp silver pieces in change, stacking them neatly before me.
"Hold tight while I fetch the stock from the back rows," he muttered, turning around to navigate the towering shelves of raw components.
I didn't bother adding any sterile gauze or neutralizing medical supplies to my order. My hidden basement laboratory back at House 132 was already fully stocked with pristine medical-grade equipment and containment units from my months of surgical self-treatment. As the old man moved between the high shelves, my analytical mind continued to chart the structural formulas, mapping the exact thermal boundaries and drop-rates inside my head to ensure an absolute, flawless reaction when I began brewing tonight.
But as my mismatched jade-green and crimson eyes scanned the lower racks of the shop, they suddenly locked onto a row of heavily sealed ceramic jars labeled Sulfur Dust.
My S-rank tactical instincts instantly flared to life. My mind rapidly cross-referenced the chemical properties of sulfur with volatile halogen gases. If I combined high-purity sulfur dust with localized chlorine gas and treated it alongside an ethyl alcohol substrate, I wouldn't just be brewing standard, crowd-controlling tear gas. I could synthesize an entirely separate, highly toxic vesicant compound… a makeshift mustard gas matrix.
Against standard human knights, such a weapon was far too cruel and prohibited by the capital's military codes. But against a ravenous, purebred vampire apex at the southern border? A localized, flesh-blistering chemical cloud would completely ravage its external respiratory tissues, saturating its skin and forcing its cellular structure to expend massive amounts of raw mana just to combat the continuous chemical burns. It was the perfect mechanical equalizer.
"Hey, Add some sulfur dust to the ledger. Along with a canister of pressurized chlorine gas and a bottle of high-grade ethyl alcohol."
The shopkeeper paused, looking back over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow, but the allure of more capital currency quickly shut down any professional hesitation he might have had. He grabbed the extra jars from the lower rack and set them heavily onto the counter.
"That will be an additional twenty silver pieces, lass," he stated.
I didn't say a word. I simply slid twenty silver pieces from my change stack across the counter. The old man nodded contentedly, packing the heavy Erlenmeyer flasks, the burette clamps, the chemical matrices, the sulfur, and the glass spheres into a sturdy, reinforced wicker basket.
Lifting the heavy basket with a practiced, seamless grip, I turned away from the counter and slipped out the door, retreating immediately into the dark, smoke-filled alleys of the 6th District. My alchemical arsenal was completely secured. Now, it was time to visit the master artisan's forge and reclaim my lethal firearms.