A City Painted in Blood

Raon narrowed his eyes, resonating the Ring of Fire.

It's not just their numbers...

There were strong ones among them too.

The White Blood Cultists grew their blood aura by devouring the flesh and blood of others. The blood energy seeping through the flow of mana like oil rising to the water's surface told him that quite a few experts had already died in this place.

I can't track it to the source.

He'd tried to find the origin of the blood aura, but he couldn't reach that far. The Requiem Sword's energy snapped midway, like a rubber band stretched too thin.

I'll need to be careful.

Given the faint stench of blood aura drifting on the air, and the Blood Fiends who didn't leak even the slightest presence, it would be best to stick with the original plan — investigate while posing as wandering mercenaries, without revealing who they really were.

"These buildings are all such interesting shapes."

Burren looked up at Gransavil's peculiar architecture and let out a whistle. The forms were nothing like the angular, cold buildings of House Zieghart, and his interest had clearly been piqued.

"Mm..."

Runaan was the same as always. She had no particular interest in the buildings, her gaze fixed solely on Molv Lake beyond the city. She was almost certainly thinking it looked like a good place to space out.

"Whoa, it's even more dazzling inside!"

"H-holy hell, why does everything glitter so much?"

"It's like this during the day — you saying the nights are even crazier?"

"This place is insane."

The other swordsmen, unable to sense the blood aura, were equally busy gawking at their surroundings.

Raon watched the Light Wind Squad's unsophisticated reactions and allowed himself a faint smile. It's better that it isn't an act. This was exactly the kind of genuine, rustic response you'd expect from bumpkin mercenaries visiting Gransavil for the first time. No one would ever take them for swordsmen from House Zieghart.

"Hah..."

Marta let out a rough breath and clenched her fists tight. It wasn't that she had perceived the blood aura. She had instinctively caught the scent of the White Blood Cultists' blood inside Gransavil.

So that's what an enemy is. They said a true enemy was hunted by the heart, not the head — and Marta seemed to have found the White Blood Cultists with her very soul. In a way, it felt similar to the Requiem Sword.

"You're embarrassing me. Stop looking so damn rustic!"

Raon waved a hand at the gawking members of the Light Wind Squad. He deliberately coarsened his speech, playing the part of a mercenary captain.

"Aww..."

"You're the one who got excited, Captain."

"Yeah. The biggest country bumpkin here is you."

"Hehehe..."

The Light Wind Squad members played their roles exactly as they'd been drilled on the way here, putting on a pitch-perfect impression of a small-time mercenary company.

"How rustic."

"That's what you get when you come in from the sticks."

"More suckers just walked in."

"They're gonna get cleaned out and go home broke."

"A few of them will end up as ghosts haunting this place."

The people passing by and the gatekeepers right behind them all sneered as they went. The act was landing perfectly.

"Shut up and follow me! We'll get lodgings first, then you can go play however you want!"

Raon grinned faintly and headed for an inn he'd stayed at in his previous life.

Raon called the unit leaders — Marta, Runaan, and Burren — into his room. After putting up an aura barrier, he sat the three of them down.

"The Biyeon Assembly's prediction was right. What's here are the White Blood Cult's Blood Fiends."

The faint, faded blood aura he'd perceived through the Ring of Fire and the Requiem Sword was leftover residue — the remnants of considerable experts who had been consumed by the White Blood Cultists.

Judging by the original magnitude of that energy, at least an Archbishop-level powerhouse or higher was hidden somewhere inside this city.

Marta ground her teeth. The moment the White Blood Cult's presence was confirmed, the energy she'd been holding back rode her rage and began to smolder, seething upward.

"Marta."

Raon looked down at her with cold eyes.

"If you can't control your emotions, sit this one out."

He spoke more coldly than usual — coldly enough that Burren turned to look at him in surprise.

"On this mission, there's no one watching our backs. If there's an Upper Master or a Grandmaster among the enemy, we may not be fighting at all — we may have to run. If you lose your reason to excitement, it won't just be you who dies. The rest of the squad dies with you."

Rimer wasn't here. Neither was Sheryl. The Light Wind Squad had to handle everything on its own, which meant retreat always had to remain an option.

"I know..."

Marta clenched her fists tight and slowly let out a breath. The turbid energy flowing from her lips carried the boiling aura with it, and it began to subside.

Having mastered her emotions and quieted her rage, Marta's eyes were clear again. The training he'd put her through on the way here — forcing her to regulate her feelings — had done its work.

"Then let's begin again."

Raon nodded in satisfaction and looked at the three unit leaders.

"Our first objective is reconnaissance. Even the Requiem Sword can't pick up their trail, which means the White Blood Cult's leader here isn't going to show himself easily."

If even the Requiem Sword's detection couldn't grasp the cultists' movements themselves, they were clearly using formations or martial arts to lock their blood aura down tight.

"Which means we search from the ground up. Even if you find a White Blood Cultist, you don't attack. You pretend you noticed nothing, follow them, and find the real nest."

White Blood Cultists were fanatics. Torture wouldn't work on them. To expose their true nature, they would have to identify a cultist first, then track them from behind.

"That sounds right. Understood."

"Mm."

Burren and Runaan nodded the moment they heard the orders, as if there was nothing to even think about.

"Hah..."

Marta gave no answer. She simply lowered her eyelids.

This one never fades, does it.

Even now, the moment she closed her eyes, that day came back. The hell of the 10th Apostle and the Blood Fiends tearing into the flesh and blood of the villagers, dragging her mother away.

She would probably never forget it for the rest of her life.

It was a scene that still visited her dreams every single night. Even if she killed the 10th Apostle and saved her mother, she might never escape that nightmare.

Until now, I've only been making excuses for myself.

Because she'd been through that. Because she dreamed that nightmare every night. She'd told herself that losing her reason at the sight of White Blood Cultists was inevitable. That her hands moving on their own, her mind going blank, was only natural.

I can't keep doing that.

It was time to throw away that self-comfort.

She wasn't a child anymore.

She couldn't live forever as the little girl who hadn't been able to do a thing. Just as she'd promised Raon and the members of the First Unit, it was time to move forward.

That aside, that guy really is a monster.

They hadn't even been in Gransavil for a full hour, and he'd already grasped ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠that the White Blood Cult was here and laid out a plan to deal with it. She felt it every time — it wasn't just his martial power. His vision and experience were on the level of a commander-rank expert.

I'll have to learn all of it.

There was no shortage of things to take from him, but what she needed most right now was cold reason. She wanted to emulate the composure that let Raon keep his calm no matter the moment.

Marta settled her heart, then opened her eyes. She looked at Raon with a gaze that didn't waver in the slightest.

"That's better."

Raon watched Marta's now-steady eyes and let out a short chuckle.

"Pass the same orders to the squad. And move in the three-person teams we assigned beforehand."

Traveling in threes meant that if something happened to one person, reporting and responding could happen at the same time. In a situation like this, groups of three were the most efficient.

"If there are no questions, dismissed."

Raon waved them back to the rest of the squad.

"You're going alone?"

Burren turned his head on his way out.

"Are you worried about me?"

"Right. No point worrying about a monster."

He gave an awkward laugh and scratched his cheek.

"Then what are you going to do?"

This time Marta narrowed her eyes.

"I have someone to meet."

Raon rose with a faint smile.

"The client who called us here."

Raon left the inn alone. He poked around here and there like a clueless mercenary, then slipped into an antique shop tucked in the corner of an alley.

"Come on in."

An old man in a monocle tipped his head as if the whole thing were a bother.

Raon slowly browsed the junk on display, then made his way to the counter where the old man sat.

"What are you staring at? Buying or selling?"

The old man looked Raon up and down and frowned.

"I've come to borrow something."

"What?"

"An axe to fell a great tree."

"Hnh."

The old man rose slowly. The irritation that had been in his eyes a moment ago vanished in an instant, leaving them as transparent as glass beads, empty of even the smallest emotion.

"This way."

Raon followed him behind the counter. They passed through several rooms of indeterminate purpose, and at the innermost chamber a gray window hung low on the wall.

"In here."

When the old man opened the window, a space of wavering darkness appeared, along with a flight of white stairs. A secret passage, treated with magic.

Raon nodded and descended. He sensed a few presences in the dark, but ignored them and kept going down.

"Humans can face the sun, yet they always hide underground. Pitiful creatures."

Wrath clicked his tongue, as if something about it displeased him.

"And what is this place supposed to be?"

It's where the client for this mission is.

"What kind of client buries themselves in the ground?"

The type of people who like to hide tend to gather in the Black Market.

Raon chuckled. The place he was heading for now was the Black Market — an information organization that spanned the entire continent, and the operator of Gransavil's countless gambling dens and taverns.

"Why would those bastards put out a request like this?"

Because the money here is flowing out.

No matter how much people loved their pleasures, they weren't about to enjoy them at the cost of their lives. With the missing persons piling up, fewer people were coming, and the Black Market's revenue would be scraping the bottom.

"Hmph. So the suckers are disappearing, then."

That's right. Even a mark has to be kept in a good environment if you want him to keep bringing you money.

As he said it, Raon looked steadily at Wrath.

I'm learning something here.

If he wanted the endlessly generous Wrath not to run away, he would have to take proper care of the food, at least. Except the macarons.

"Hm? W-why are you looking at This King with those eyes?"

No reason.

Raon waved a hand and chuckled.

The moment he reached the bottom of the stairs, a soft light bloomed along the pitch-black corridor. A signal to follow. He moved with the light, and an antique door appeared ahead.

He opened it and stepped inside. A woman in a purple robe, her hood pulled low, sat before a round table.

"Please, have a seat."

The woman offered a slight bow and indicated the place across from her.

"I am Denning Rose, Gransavil Branch Manager of the Black Market."

Denning Rose introduced herself and drew back her robe. She was a beauty with striking red hair cut short — and over her right eye she wore an eyepatch marked with a black rose.

"Raon Zieghart, Vice-Leader of the Light Wind Squad."

Raon took the seat across from her and inclined his head.

"Are you currently disguised as a mercenary?"

"Yes. Mercenary garb is the most convenient for an investigation."

Mercenaries were a freewheeling lot by nature, and almost never followed anyone's rules. It had been the disguise he'd used most often in his previous life as well.

"What a shame. I was hoping to see the face that captivated the Yonan family's youngest master craftsman."

Denning Rose smiled faintly and set a sheaf of documents on the table.

"The situation has changed ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a little since we sent the request."

The smile left her face as she slid the papers toward him.

"White Blood Cultists. And it seems a high-ranking officer among them has been confirmed here."

"H-how did you...?"

Denning Rose's left eye flew wide.

"When I arrived, I could feel a faint blood aura drifting through the city. Named experts seem to have fallen."

"That's right..."

Her jaw trembled, as if she couldn't quite believe it.

"People who could reasonably be called strong have been dying every day recently. The odds are high that an Archbishop or an Apostle is here."

Denning Rose pointed to the lower portion of the documents. The names of the recently missing were written there. Expert Mid-Class, Upper-Class, Peak-Class — and mixed in among them, one Master, well past his prime.

"All of these people..."

"Yes. They vanished recently — after the request was sent, in fact."

"Even a Master, gone without a trace..."

It was more dangerous than he had anticipated.

"You haven't identified which Apostle, or who the Archbishop is?"

"Not at all. We did catch one White Blood Cultist a few days ago, but he killed himself immediately. We got nothing from him."

Denning Rose narrowed her eyes, clearly frustrated.

"He was caught by one of our agents in the middle of covert recruitment, so they'll be even less inclined to show themselves now."

"So even the Black Market can't find the White Blood Cult."

Raon looked over the documents and clicked his tongue. He'd expected something useful to come of this, but it wasn't much different from what he'd already gathered since arriving.

"It's embarrassing to admit, but the White Blood Cult is something of a natural enemy to us."

Denning Rose let out a deep sigh.

"We're an organization the people at the bottom built to protect themselves. In Gransavil's case, gamblers, thieves, courtesans, clerks, servants — any number of people bring us information. But White Blood Cultists aren't something you can find that way."

"Fanatics..."

"Yes. They never reveal their identities to anyone who doesn't believe in the Blood God. And the lower-ranking cultists have blood that's nearly the same color as an ordinary person's, so they're not easy to tell apart."

"Which would explain why Gransavil's revenue is dropping exponentially."

"How did you know that, too...?"

"There aren't that many lunatics who'll enjoy themselves to the point of dying."

As he'd told Wrath, most people didn't stake their lives on pleasure. There were plenty of entertainment cities as large as Gransavil, or larger.

"Mm..."

Denning Rose swallowed dryly as she met Raon's calm gaze. He's different. Truly different. To sense the blood aura the moment he arrived in Gransavil and realize the White Blood Cult was hiding here — no one had ever grasped that before. This man was on a completely different level from ordinary Masters.

He wouldn't fall behind the Continental Twelve Stars.

She had never felt this kind of astonishment even from the Continental Twelve Stars she'd met. If it was Raon, he looked capable of standing against even those among them who were a generation older.

How can someone who isn't even twenty be like this?

What was more surprising still was his temperament and his cunning.

She'd expected arrogance from someone so young who had already claimed both martial power and fame, but there was none of that. He observed a proper courtesy, thought only of the mission, and absorbed information at a startling speed.

A dangerous man.

The world only looked at Raon's martial power. What they really ought to be watching, she suspected, was his judgment and his insight.

"If there is anything we can support you with, we will do it. You don't even need to deal with the entire White Blood Cult — just kill the high-ranking cultists in this city."

Denning Rose gathered her thoughts and bowed her head. Gransavil produced enormous revenue relative to its size. If they could just drive the White Blood Cultists out, she truly would do anything.

"Anything, you say..."

Raon smiled and rose from his seat.

"I'll remember those words."

After meeting Denning Rose, Raon drank his way through the whole of Gransavil, then headed for Molv Lake. Quite a few people were out pleasure-boating with courtesans, so he killed his presence and walked across the water.

He climbed the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠hill on the opposite shore and looked back at Gransavil.

"What are you doing now? Are you not eating dinner?! This is supposed to be a city of gourmet food!"

Gourmet food or not, work comes first.

"They say even a demon that eats itself to death has a fine complexion!"

You need to work to earn the money to buy food.

"Food!"

Work.

Raon tossed Wrath — who kept shouting about food — toward the lake, and looked down at Gransavil. The longer this dragged on, the more danger the Light Wind Squad and ordinary people would be in. He needed to grasp this place's secret as fast as possible.

Excessively dazzling.

Night fell, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and brilliant lights flared to life, dyeing the city in a splendor of an entirely different order from the day. Disappearances, murders, the blood cult — none of it seemed to exist. Nothing overflowed here but pleasure.

There's something here.

Nighttime Gransavil carried a dank stench different from the day's. The flow of blood aura had grown more secretive, and the Requiem Sword's demonic energy felt crushed, as if something were pressing it down, its strength draining away. The White Blood Cult had clearly done something to the entire city.

From here, it should be possible.

It was time to look at the forest, not the trees, so he had left Gransavil and climbed a hill from which the whole city could be seen.

Raon lowered his eyelids and slowly emptied the breath that filled his lungs. He felt the tightness leave him, and opened his eyes.

The pulse of the river, the movement of the air, the drifting clouds — all of it flowed as slowly as a slug.

Raon poured another layer of power into the rapidly spinning rings. The instant their clear, ringing tone united with his mind, he gripped the Requiem Sword.

And one more.

Raon bit down on his lip and invoked the Demonic Eye of Wrath. The wrath clinging to his soul drove into his reddened vision.

The flow of the world revealed by the Ring of Fire, the demonic energy of the Requiem Sword that perceived blood aura, and the penetrating sight of the Demonic Eye of Wrath all wove together — and a sight beyond imagination entered his eyes.

A ghastly spark of light flared in Raon's pupils.