Chapter 178
Chapter 178
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 178
Chapter Title: Fangs in the Factory
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Gorgota Palu stopped his fountain pen and glanced at Ramin Solrost.
Then he briskly checked the box.
"Excellent. That concludes the routine inspection. It doesn't seem like you've purchased any unusual items, so no need for a full sweep. I trust you, Ramin."
Ramin shrugged. As if that's not obvious, his gesture implied.
Gorgota rummaged through his messenger bag and pulled out a box that took up most of its volume.
"Your supply for the next month."
"...Thank you."
Ramin placed the box on the desk, pretending to be disinterested.
But he couldn't help being curious about its contents.
Inside were vials filled with human blood.
Vampires were divided into several ranks, determined by their proximity to Shaiven, the Demon King known as the first vampire.
The lowest-ranking vampires could survive to some extent without human blood, but they could never be truly healthy. Higher ranks required it absolutely.
During the Empire's process of accepting vampires, their dietary needs posed the biggest problem.
The very existence of vampires demanded blood—quite literally—from other races.
Unlike werewolves from the First Continent, who were integrated into society simply by taking regular suppressants for their violent tendencies, vampires took much longer.
Fortunately, time brought a solution.
As medicine advanced, the profession of doctors emerged, along with hospitals to organize them.
Prolonged wars led to frequent surgeries, and hospitals needed blood.
Facilities for storing and distributing blood appeared, preparing the Empire to accept vampires.
Vampire numbers were low enough not to strain hospital blood reserves significantly.
Confident in their control, the Empire conducted a census to identify all vampires.
Am I lucky, or unlucky?
The Empire's terms were unprecedented.
They rewrote laws that had made vampire existence illegal and offered blanket amnesty for unproven crimes.
It sounded obvious at first glance, but it directly challenged public perception.
The mere existence of a vampire implies they've harmed others to survive.
Initially, voices called for punishments scaled to vampires' lifespans, but arguments won out that managing them openly was better than driving them underground.
Despite the harshness war could breed, priests of the Pantheon raised their voices in defense of their rights.
Still, Ramin didn't feel particularly grateful.
Ramin instinctively glanced at the box.
The blood vials were sealed with stasis magic until opened, and as Gorgota said, it was exactly a month's supply.
It's a leash, plain and simple.
And this oversight came with humiliating procedures.
The Parallel Nations employee, Gorgota, spoke up.
"Now, just one last check before I go."
"Sure."
"Shall we take a look at these?"
Ramin obliged.
Gorgota pulled out a small ruler, smaller than his palm, and held it to Ramin's fangs.
"They're not too long yet. But we might need to extract them next month."
Vampires could produce venom from their two fangs to turn other races into kin.
Naturally, the Empire frowned on vampires increasing their numbers.
From the Empire's utilitarian perspective, vampires were a race that should fade away.
Regrettably, even extracted fangs regrew, and not on a long cycle.
Anesthetics helped, but extraction brought excruciating pain and psychological unease.
A kobold doctor studying the odd field of "psychology" claimed vampire fangs were akin to other races' reproductive organs.
Gorgota put away the ruler and noted Ramin's fang length on the checklist.
"I won't forget the hospital visit."
"Good. See you in a month."
As Gorgota closed the door behind him, Ramin clutched his head at the desk and growled.
He was agonizing.
Why didn't I say anything?
Ramin berated himself.
Yet deep down, he knew why he hadn't mentioned the zombie plague stacked in the warehouse.
No choice. This is the right call.
Ramin opened the box from Gorgota, uncorked a vial brimming with red blood, and drained it.
Thanks to the stasis magic, it retained the donor's body warmth.
A few days later, returning home, Ramin found a note tucked into his window frame.
Tonight at midnight, southeast industrial district, abandoned factory with the blue roof. Come alone.
It was the contact from the fang agent he'd been waiting for.
Ramin grabbed his wooden cane—useful for walking during anemia spells and as a self-defense tool.
The abandoned factory was easy to find.
Entering, a voice echoed from beneath dim gas lamps.
"Right on time."
It was the mask Ramin had seen before.
But besides the red mask, five other agents in similar attire stood present.
The red mask spoke.
"Did you check our gift?"
"Yes."
"Will you join our cause? If so, we'll share the full plan, your tasks, and the rewards afterward. Or..."
The red mask smirked.
"Maybe no answer is needed. One of our agents saw the overseer visit your home. You said nothing about the warehouse goods. No movement from Heukrin Intelligence either."
"Yeah. I didn't say a word."
"Still, I need confirmation. Are you with us?"
Ramin walked toward the red mask without responding.
The red mask tilted his head curiously.
Another fang agent stepped forward to intercept.
"Hey, stop."
Ramin quickened his pace instead.
The intercepting agent drew his sword in panic, pressing it to Ramin's throat.
"You bastard...!"
Ramin swung his cane downward.
Or so it appeared.
His cane hooked the agent's blade, twisting it away.
The agent dropped his sword.
The blade spun through the air toward Ramin.
Ramin snatched it effortlessly with his left hand, thrust forward with his left foot, and closed in.
The now-unarmed agent didn't even register the left-handed thrust coming from his blind spot.
The sword pierced his throat and withdrew. Ramin stepped back.
All in one breath.
The stabbed agent bubbled blood from the wound, knees buckling late as he collapsed. A pool of blood spread.
"What the...?"
The agents fumbled for their swords in shock.
The red mask said,
"...What do you think you're doing?"
Ramin replied,
"My answer is no."
"What?"
The red mask gave a casual nod, as if done listening.
"...Capture him. If he won't join willingly, we'll make him."
The other agents charged.
But Ramin dodged three attacks with footwork alone, parrying nothing.
Then he swung once, decapitating one agent.
The attackers hesitated and fell back.
Ramin tossed his cane aside, kicked up a sword hilt, and caught it in his right hand.
"You know nothing about me."
He threw back his hood.
"I'll be 120 next year."
"...?"
"I learned the sword before the Empire unified, slew monsters on this land after the Age of Adventure began—before you were even born. Over a century swinging steel."
"...What?"
Ramin said,
"You picked the wrong mark."
The three agents excluding the red mask advanced.
Aiming for blind spots?
The textbook response was to strike first before they surrounded him.
But Ramin waited until they did.
That's how I take all three in one go.
The first sword thrust at his back.
Ramin twisted sideways, evading it.
His right hand moved, severing the first foe's throat. Arterial spray coated Ramin.
The second sword slashed at his thigh, the third stabbed at his chest.
His left sword sliced the second agent's sword hand.
Ramin spun lightly.
The right sword that felled the first now arced toward the third.
The third struck faster; Ramin was late.
No matter.
Using the spin's centrifugal force, Ramin released the sword like a thrown spear—straight and true—impaling the third agent's chest.
"..."
The red mask wasn't the fool Ramin hoped.
He drew a rubber pistol from his coat and aimed.
Rubber gun!
The multi-barreled pistol used taut rubber bands and small wedges.
Pulling the trigger released the rubber, firing the wedge.
Ping!
Ramin precisely blocked the muzzle with his sword guard.
The wedge struck the blade; Ramin dropped the sword momentarily.
Damn.
He rolled instinctively to dodge the next.
There was no next.
Looking up, Ramin saw the red mask fleeing through the factory exit.
"Coward."
Ramin retrieved his dropped sword to pursue.
If not for the familiar voice.
"Ramin Solrost."
Ramin turned.
A Froglin entered from another door.
"No need to chase. Other intelligence agents are on it."
"What? Gorgota? Why are you here...?"
Gorgota Palu said, flustered,
"I don't even know where to start. Honestly, I suspected you, Ramin Solrost. Intel on fang activity in Baseniol. I knew about the zombie plague in the west warehouse ages ago. Knew you shook a tail and slipped out of Baseniol. Seemed suspicious."
Gorgota eyed the corpses.
"But I was wrong."
"...You think I'd turn Baseniol into a western 'Abyss' zombie pit? Wait—no, you're intelligence?"
Gorgota raised an index finger.
"Ramin, one thing at a time. My turn to ask: Why didn't you tell me? Why handle it alone?"
Ramin scowled, deep in thought.
Failing a tidy excuse, he blurted the truth—it felt more sincere anyway.
"...Following Yacheon's will?"
"Pardon?"
Ramin's eyes rolled upward, avoiding Gorgota's gaze.
"Yacheon said not to settle for mere obedience—aim for greater value."
"Well, sure, but..."
"So I came up with a way to protect the Empire and my own pockets."
The Froglin Gorgota's mouth twisted downward.
Even Ramin could read the What the hell does that mean? on his face.