I stepped out of the master artisan's forge and immediately adjusted my heavy canvas hood, pulling it low to ensure my pale, sun-allergic face was completely shielded from the harsh afternoon glare.
With my newly restored left arm effortlessly balancing the heavy wicker basket of alchemical precursors and medical glassware, and my right hand resting casually near the spatial inventory rings on my fingers, I navigated the winding, smoke-filled avenues of the 6th District. The deep, heavy weight of Means of Communication, Don't Ask?, and the twin Last Words firearms resting silently in my spatial slots gave me a profound sense of tactical stability. My arsenal was officially optimized.
Looking up at the position of the sun tracking across the sky, I ran a quick mental diagnostic on my timeline. It was mid-afternoon. Chief Roman, Captain Friedrich, and the central administrative staff back at the CKBA would still be processing the sheer shock of the severed Fallen Angel ears I had dumped on their mahogany table. That meant the bureaucratic channels between the sister facilities would be wide open. I had just enough operational daylight left to infiltrate the archive sectors before the night shift locked down the high-tier files.
I accelerated my pace, marching efficiently toward the district boundary line. As I approached the main security checkpoint leaving the industrial sector, I spot a familiar, boisterous silhouette barking orders at a group of trembling merchant caravans. It was Betch… the loudmouthed, easily agitated vanguard guard captain who had spent months treating the hooded, "mute" version of Eirene like an insignificant administrative bug.
I didn't have the time or the patience for his usual grandstanding antics today. Utilizing my S-rank stealth tracking vectors, I smoothly melted into the shifting shadows of a passing soot-transport wagon, altering my stride to completely mask my thermal and physical footprint. I slipped right past Betch's perimeter line like an atmospheric ghost, leaving him aggressively scratching his helmet as he felt a sudden, freezing draft brush past his armor plates.
Once clear of the checkpoint, I crossed the grand stone arches separating the commercial sectors and stepped officially into the pristine, highly disciplined avenues of the 4th District.
The aesthetic here shifted dramatically. The chaotic, roaring factories of the 6th District were replaced by sprawling, white-granite barracks, perfectly manicured military training grounds, and columns of elite squires marching in flawless, rhythmic synchronization. This was the absolute nerve center of the kingdom's offensive vanguard forces.
Towering over the entire district like an imposing, fortified cathedral of war was the Luminous Knights Bureau Association. Its high-end marble walls were heavily reinforced with physical anti-siege wards and pulsing azure mana-shield matrices designed to repel magical bombardments.
I kept my head down, my boots clicking softly against the immaculate stone pavement as I approached the grand, iron-reinforced staircase leading up to the main archival entrance. The southern border intelligence files… the exact casualty maps, defensive routing logs, and high-tier witness profiles regarding the vampire apex that had slaughtered thirty-two elite knights… were locked deep inside the building's central repository. It was time to gather the data, locate the monster's lair, and finalize the blueprint for the upcoming slaughter.
I pushed through the massive, iron-reinforced doors of the Luminous Knights Bureau Association, the heavy oak swinging inward to reveal an atmosphere that was a complete, stark contrast to the suffocating, tight-laced military silence of its sister building, the CKBA.
While the Capital Knights Bureau Association was the domain of high-ranking officers, rigid bureaucracy, and elite political figures, this place belonged to the frontline vanguard… the high-tier mercenaries, the battle-hardened mercenaries, and the contract adventurers who actually kept the kingdom's borders from collapsing. The sprawling, high-ceilinged hall smelled heavily of roasted meat, cheap ale, and the metallic tang of unwashed armor. Groups of rowdy, scarred warriors sat at massive mahogany tables, slamming their tankards together and loudly boasting about the high-tier monsters they had slain in the outer sectors.
Holding the heavy wicker basket of alchemical precursors firmly in my newly restored left hand, I navigated the chaotic sea of muscle and steel, keeping my dark vanguard cloak wrapped tightly around my 5'5" frame to avoid any unnecessary physical contact. I marched directly toward the grand, marble-topped archive and registration desk at the back of the hall.
Seated behind a towering stack of parchment ledgers was the registrar, Sydney Popov. She was a sharp-eyed, efficient woman who managed the entire district's deployment contracts, her quill moving at a furious pace as she systematically organized the bounty listings.
I stepped up to the counter, casting a cold, shadowed silhouette over her paperwork.
"Greetings, Sydney, I am here for the files regarding the Blood-Sucking Winged Demon."
Sydney didn't even look up from her ledger at first. Just like Damien and the artisan before her, she had absolutely no idea who was standing in front of her. The "Eirene" she had interacted with for months was a ghost… a completely silent, ominous shadow who wore a heavily frayed, partially torn-off dark cloak, a thick face mask, and never uttered a single syllable, communicating only through hurriedly scribbled notes to claim bounty rewards. To hear a clear, beautiful, and authoritative female voice addressing her by name was completely outside her administrative routine.
"Listen, lady, the files on the Southern Border massacre and the Crimson Phantom are restricted to active S-rank vanguards and high-tier military investigators, If you're just a civilian looking for a story, I suggest you read the daily… "
She froze mid-sentence.
Reaching up with my right hand, I smoothly pulled my heavy canvas hood all the way down to my shoulders. Free from the fabric, the bright magical lanterns of the hall illuminated my unblemished face, my silver-streaked hair, and my striking, mismatched eyes… my right eye glowing a deep, predatory crimson red and my left eye shining a cold, analytical jade green.
"Sydney, Hey. It's me. I'm Eirene." I said softly, a faint, deeply amused smirk playing across my lips as I locked my eyes onto hers.
Sydney's jaw dropped so fast her quill slipped straight out of her fingers, bouncing off the desk and splashing dark ink across a fresh contract ledger. She slammed her hands against the marble counter, leaning forward so far I thought she was going to tumble right over it, her eyes widening into absolute saucers as she stared at my completely healed face in sheer, unadulterated shock.
Sydney's hands scrambled frantically against the marble counter, knocking over a brass paperweight as she stared at me as if I were a ghost that had just manifested in broad daylight.
"Eirene... your face..."
Sydney stammered, her voice dropping into a frantic, hushed whisper so the rowdy adventurers at the nearby tables wouldn't overhear.
"The scars... that horrific Glasgow smile... they're completely gone! And your left arm… you have your arm back! And your right eye... by the gods, I didn't know you had heterochromic eyes! And you're... you're actually talking?!"
"It's nice talking to you, Sydney," I replied deadpan, my smooth, beautifully restored voice holding a terrifyingly calm weight.
Sydney frantically shook her head, trying to process the absolute whiplash of seeing the capital's most terrifying, silent, and physically mutilated bounty hunter standing before her as an unblemished, striking young woman. But the moment my previous request clicked in her brain, her shock instantly turned into intense, suffocating panic. She leaned over the counter, her eyes wide with dread.
"Wait... you said you're here for the files on the Southern Border massacre? You're hunting the Blood-Sucking Winged Demon?! Eirene, are you completely crazy?! You're about to get yourself killed down there! Look, I know exactly who you are under that hood. I know you're a ruthless bounty hunter who single-handedly slaughtered four S-rank bounties and practically saved this country from total economic deflation by bringing in their hoards. But going after a purebred apex vampire that just liquidated thirty-two Luminous Knights? And doing this while looking like that, with a charming and cute voice? It's completely out of the question! You're walking into a slaughterhouse!" Sydney hissed, her fingers gripping the edge of the desk
I didn't blink. I simply let my mismatched jade-green and crimson eyes lock onto hers, the ambient mana around the desk dropping by a fraction of a degree.
"The contract is already signed, Sydney. The Bureau handed me the assignment themselves. I need the telemetry data and the survivor reports."
Sydney stared at me, sensing the unyielding, predatory focus hidden beneath my cute voice. She let out a long, defeated sigh, realizing that trying to argue with the Crimson Phantom was an exercise in absolute futility. She reached under the desk, pulling out a heavy, enchanted master key ring.
"Oh, I know it... there's no stopping you once you set your sights on a target,"
Sydney muttered, stepping out from behind the high registration desk and gesturing for me to follow her toward a restricted, iron-reinforced corridor behind the archives.
"Follow me, Eirene. Chief Anton has been tracking the southern files personally, and he specifically wants a word with you the moment you show up."