I gripped the heavy wicker basket tightly with my newly restored left hand, ensuring the alchemical precursors and glassware were perfectly secure, and stepped out of Chief Anton's office.
The operational blueprint was entirely locked into my mind. Tonight, under the absolute cover of darkness at House 132, my kitchen would be transformed into a cold, calculating laboratory. Standard tear gas canisters would be meticulously prepared first using the glass spheres. But with the addition of the sulfur dust, high-purity ethyl alcohol, and pressurized chlorine gas, I had allocated a precise window of time to experiment with the thermal and chemical boundaries inside my basement facility. I would systematically isolate the compound variables to successfully synthesize a localized batch of flesh-blistering mustard gas.
Once the chemical payload was complete and packed into my makeshift external utility belt, the deployment phase would begin. I would wait until the precise stroke of midnight to unleash my crimson wings. By taking to the sky under the dead of night, I could fly directly toward the southern borders at high velocities, completely bypassing the capital's territorial watchtowers and ensuring no frontier guards would spot my flight path or mistake me for the very winged anomaly I was hunting.
By the time my aerial transit concluded and I reached the arid perimeter of Sisiphon City, the sun would be rising, plunging me into the brutal daytime hours. Because of my severe, unyielding allergy to daylight, I would have to navigate the desert settlement entirely from the shadows, cloaked in my heavy canvas hood and vanguard cloak. From there, I would quietly survey the local trade hubs or interrogate nearby desert scouts to acquire the exact, shifting coordinates of the abandoned Luminous Knight carriages. Once the terrain was verified, I would wait out the remaining daylight hours, letting the sun drop completely before advancing into the open sands. When night fell, it would be just me, my upgraded firearms, and the purebred vampire apex in a vacuum of absolute slaughter.
I pushed open the heavy outer doors of the 4th District Bureau building, stepping out onto the white granite steps. The afternoon air brushed against my dark cloak as I retreated into the perimeter shadows, my mind completely shifting to the volatile chemistry awaiting me at home.
I left the grand, white-granite plazas of the 4th District behind, keeping my dark vanguard cloak wrapped tightly around my 5'5" frame as I navigated the perimeter shadows. My newly restored left hand effortlessly supported the heavy wicker basket of alchemical precursors and glassware. I maintained a brisk, calculating pace, cutting across the municipal lines until the disciplined military architecture dissolved into the familiar residential rows of the 3rd District.
As I approached the inner security gateway that led toward my sector, a familiar, irritating silhouette stepped out from the guardhouse to block my path. It was Renny… the district gatekeeper who had spent months making a sport out of pestering me whenever I passed through his checkpoint.
He leaned lazily against his iron pike, his eyes scanning my unblemished face, my silver-streaked hair, and the neat basket of chemistry supplies cradled in my arm.
"Greetings, Eirene, Where are your huge sisters today, anyway? Don't tell me they finally left you to fend for yourself. Anyways, toll and status card." Renny drawled, a smug, thoroughly obnoxious smirk cutting across his face.
A sharp prick of immense annoyance flared behind my eyes. I was exhausted, carrying a highly volatile basket of chemical precursors, and operating on a strict seventy-two-hour countdown. The absolute last thing I had the patience for was a low-tier gatekeeper's ego.
"Step aside and process the clearance, Renny, I do not have the time for your trivialities today." I snapped aggressively, my smooth, restored voice dropping into a razor-sharp, freezing octave that completely lacked my usual deadpan restraint.
Renny blinked, entirely caught off guard by the fact that I was actually speaking, but instead of backing down, his smirk widened into a look of absolute, condescending amusement. He leaned in closer, thoroughly enjoying my irritation.
"Aw, look at you! You look and sound like a stubborn child right now, Eirene, I swear, every single time you step through these gates from now on, I'm calling you 'kitten.' Your voice is entirely too cute and childish to take seriously. What are you going to do, meow at the monsters down south?" Renny chuckled, his tone dripping with an obnoxious, mocking playfulness.
He was five times worse than Damien could ever hope to be. The sheer, unadulterated disrespect radiated from his posture, completely testing the absolute limits of my S-rank combat discipline. My right hand twitched instinctively toward the spatial inventory rings on my fingers, where Means of Communication and Don't Ask? were safely nested in their slots. It would take less than a microsecond to draw a firearm and permanently alter his disposition, but drawing capital blood at a residential checkpoint would completely compromise my deployment timeline.
"Keep that mouth running, Renny, and you will find out exactly how deep the shadows in this district can get," I hissed aggressively from beneath the dark brim of my hood, my mismatched jade-green and crimson eyes flashing with a cold, murderous intensity that caused his smirk to falter for a brief fraction of a second.
Without giving him another syllable to twist, I reached into my side purse, pulled out my identification token, and aggressively slammed a single silver coin onto the guardhouse ledger with a sharp, echoing clack.
Renny stammered slightly, thoroughly unnerved by the freezing pressure suddenly radiating from my petite frame, and hurriedly stamped my clearance ledger. He waved his hand toward the inner gate, muttered a half-hearted mock under his breath, and stepped back into his guard box.
I snatched my status card back, turned sharply on my heel, and marched straight past the iron barrier. I tore through the cobblestone alleys of the 3rd District, leaving the annoying gatekeeper far behind as I finally approached the quiet, isolated cul-de-sac where my property sat.
Standing before me was House 132… my personal sanctuary, a unassuming two-story brick building hidden from the main thoroughfares. I unlocked the heavy, reinforced front door, stepped inside, and slammed it shut behind me, engaging the heavy iron deadbolts and throwing the localized security latches into place.
The interior was completely silent and cast in deep, cooling shadows… a perfect refuge for my sun-allergic skin. I walked straight into the kitchen, setting the heavy wicker basket of Erlenmeyer flasks, sodium hydroxide pellets, sulfur dust, and pressurized chlorine gas heavily onto the wooden counter. The sun was beginning to dip, and the midnight deadline was fast approaching. It was time to lock down the facility, begin the alchemical extractions, and brew the volatile payload that would systematically tear the purebred vampire apart.
My first instinct was absolute: security and environmental control. I marched swiftly across the ground floor, grabbing the thick, light-blocking velvet curtains and pulling them tightly across every single window. I overlapped the edges and pinned them down, sealing the house in complete, impenetrable darkness. My sun-allergic skin instantly relaxed as the remaining afternoon glare was entirely choked out, leaving the interior illuminated only by the faint, ambient glow of a low-tier ether lamp.
With the perimeter completely secured, I lifted the heavy wicker basket and carried the alchemical precursors and glassware into the dining room. I cleared the wooden surface, systematically laying out the apparatus I had secured from the 6th District artisan: the 250 mL Erlenmeyer flask, the 50 mL graduated burette, the heavy iron stand, the precise glass thermometer, and the rows of tightly sealed chemical jars containing the sodium hydroxide pellets, aliphatic monocarboxylic acid matrices, sulfur dust, pressurized chlorine, and ethyl alcohol.
This dining room table was now the extension of my hidden basement laboratory. Every movement of my newly restored left arm was smooth, calculated, and perfectly balanced. I had the formulas mapped out flawlessly inside my mind; there was no room for error, no room for a volatile surging that could compromise House 132.
I set the thermal tripod down and adjusted the wire gauze, striking a localized match to ignite the steady, blue alchemical flame underneath. I checked my pocket watchm.. the countdown to midnight was ticking away, and I needed both chemical payloads packed, stabilized, and locked into my makeshift utility belt before my wings took to the sky.
I picked up the first glass flask, measured out the distilled water matrix, and prepared to introduce the solid alkaline compounds to begin the synthesis.
It was time to cook.