“There really was more behind William’s case. The one pulling the strings was The Blood of Decay. They actually followed William all the way to Wynchester—truly like a lingering haunt.”

  “But The Blood of Decay still acts with caution. They even outsourced the strike to a club. The Bloodcoat Club has a tangled background, but it should belong to believers of The Night-Mother, which means there’s a natural basis for cooperation with The Blood of Decay. If the club acts, then even if the matter is exposed, the trail generally won’t lead back to them.”

  “The Blood of Decay’s hunting unit is a team dedicated to tracking Sothos’ direct bloodline, led by a Beyond Mortality-grade existence. Their combat power is formidable…”

  The Blood of Decay only hunted Sothos’ direct bloodline. As for Kingdom nobles—collateral branches, or lines separated by who knew how many generations—they were outside the target range.

  “And among the direct bloodline, besides Sean, there were only two branches. Shaya’s line is nearly extinct. Ginny’s line is mostly concentrated within The Green Banyan Council…”

  Javon guided William’s body back to his rented room and laid him on the bed.

  The Malevolent Spirit Oclair withdrew from William, slipped into the wall, and disappeared…

  “Mr. E only made contact with Rafael, but through Rafael, I should be able to locate Lowfman.”

  The Lower District.

  Outside a cheap bar.

  Streetwalkers leaned against lampposts, thin cigarettes between their lips.

  When passersby went by, they braved the cold, tugged open their coats, bared their bodies to the wind and to wandering eyes, and threw out flirtatious looks… using that as their means to draw business.

  At that moment, the bar door opened. A man in a black coat—hook-nosed, in his thirties—stepped out, and the girls’ eyes immediately lit up.

  They recognized him. Mr. Rafael might live in The Lower District, but he spent lavishly. His tips were generous.

  Because of that, Mr. Rafael was popular.

  Several of them brightened and surrounded him at once, doing their best to display their charm, and warning off competitors with their eyes.

  “Sir, come have a passionate night?”

  “We can do it together.”

  “Mr. Rafael, we had such a wonderful time last time, didn’t we?”

  Rafael looked at them, and a smile rose on his face.

  The job’s about to be done. Once the last of Shaya’s descendants is eaten by the club, I can finally go back. Tonight… I should enjoy myself properly.

  Rafael had been restraining himself the whole time. Each time he indulged, he forced down the urge to tear these streetwalkers’ throats open and drink their blood.

  Because this was Wynchester—lately, the National Bureau of Occult Affairs had been monitoring everything like madmen. But he was leaving tomorrow. Tonight, he could loosen the leash and not worry about consequences.

  “Let’s—”

  Rafael looked at a pair of sisters with similar features. He’d had his eye on them for a long time; the finest things, of course, were saved for the last bite.

  Just then, a cold gust swept past.

  In the glass of the surrounding shops, the hem of an ornate formal suit flickered by.

  Rafael’s body jolted. His expression turned cold at once. “I don’t need—”

  He shoved aside the disappointed girls and vanished at the far end of the street.

  “Tch… is that bastard’s brain broken today?”

  The streetwalkers showered Rafael with affectionate language and went back to soliciting.

  Rafael, meanwhile, slipped into a pitch-dark alley, muttering under his breath. When he reached the end, tears of terror spilled from his eyes—yet his hands, beyond his control, seized his own head and wrenched it around with the strength he’d always been proud of, producing a screech of cracking bone…

  A corpse collapsed to the ground, perhaps destined to become tomorrow’s scandalous gossip, and the streetwalkers’ favorite new topic.

  But none of that mattered to Javon anymore.

  He was already using the Malevolent Spirit’s traits to move soundlessly through Wynchester’s streets, heading for the outskirts.

  According to Rafael’s confession, the hunting unit’s leader—Bloodthirster Lowfman Soren—was hiding in a noble estate on Wynchester’s outskirts!

  If I wait until tomorrow, once the deaths of Rafael and Mr. E come to light, he’ll likely relocate—or lay a trap. So… let’s finish this fast.

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  A Malevolent Spirit moved quickly, and without a sound. Only the corners of glass, and children with unusually pure Essence—perhaps black cats—could occasionally glimpse a trace of it.

  All at once, Javon’s intuition stirred, and he glanced toward the entrance of a company on the street.

  Goldfeller Jewelry.

  A window suddenly shattered. A dark figure leapt out—followed by several furious Transcendent security guards.

  “Catch him!”

  “It’s Magician Lucivar!”

  Some guards drew revolvers and fired at Lucivar. Some threw talismans and chanted. Others directly unleashed their extraordinary abilities—ice, flame, and more.

  “Haha… I told you, you can’t crack my magic, because I hold the strongest arcane artifact! Before it, all extraordinary abilities will fail!”

  Lucivar moved fast, dodging the gunfire. He raised the black cane in his right hand. The ruby at its tip flashed.

  In an instant, whether talisman-light or conjured flame, everything burst like soap bubbles. Seizing that moment, Lucivar snapped his fingers.

  A sewer cover exploded, revealing a dark passage.

  He placed a hand to his chest, bowed to the enraged guards, and then—like an actor exiting the stage—vanished into the sewers.

  Magician Lucivar? His bounty has risen again—and he has that arcane artifact Gantiss wants, with a 6,000-pound offer!

  Javon glanced at the sewer mouth and continued on.

  Only at the third Sephiroth and he’s this reckless, committing crimes despite the risk and consequences. Either he’s a madman, or he’s trying to build enough “impact” to fulfill his so-called achievements. That arcane artifact is interesting, too.

  Outskirts.

  Within Baron Jacques’ estate.

  In a lavish bedroom.

  Bloodthirster Lowfman Soren, his face gloomy and sharp, wore a magnificent formal suit. He had sunk his fangs into the pale, smooth neck of a beautiful maid in black-and-white uniform, greedily drinking her blood.

  Her complexion grew paler and paler until she stopped moving. Even then, Lowfman didn’t stop.

  To the estate’s servants, Lowfman was a demon that never stopped craving blood.

  A dried corpse collapsed to the floor. Lowfman drew out a handkerchief and dabbed the corner of his mouth.

  “Rafael should be back tomorrow. The old men in the organization are still as overly cautious as ever.”

  Lowfman was dissatisfied with some of Bojin’s arrangements.

  Bojin was too careful; it made Lowfman feel caged. Yet Lowfman had to admit that it was precisely that caution that made The Blood of Decay stronger and stronger.

  “Forget it. That brat was a small matter. Our real target is always The Green Banyan Council!”

  “Verdant City… the old man is so afraid of that rumor he won’t even let us get close. The dead returning to life? Even if it really is that person returning, we have The Night-Mother’s protection!”

  “The Jacques family’s ‘meat slaves’ taste fine, but they don’t have that wild freshness—too docile…”

  Lowfman felt a touch of regret.

  He had come to Wynchester not for William, but for something else entirely.

  But just as he rang the bell to have someone come dispose of the body, a chill, bone-deep cold suddenly swept through the entire room!

  A gunshot rang out without warning, and Lowfman’s head exploded.

  Yet his body did not fall. Instead, he suddenly reached out with his right hand and grabbed at the air. In threads of dark red, a shadowy figure was wrenched forcibly into view.

  Gurgle, gurgle…

  The shattered head turned into blood, gathered back at Lowfman’s neck, and regrew into a new head. His purple eyes gleamed with bloodlust. “A Malevolent Spirit?!”

  As expected… this blood-mist body technique is in the same line as the Blood-Spiller. It’s the Secret Lore I left behind back then.

  Javon’s figure appeared. He wasn’t surprised at all. He simply spoke in Spirit Language:

  “LAW—Death!”

  Red light flashed in Lowfman’s eyes.

  In that instant, every living thing on the estate bled from its pores, drained dry in a heartbeat.

  That blood surged into a shield before Lowfman—only to be steadily worn down by the LAW of Death…

  Mortis counters Sanguis well, but this Lowfman barely counts as half a hidden profession. Otherwise, just that one move—draining every living thing in the area—could have caused a localized disaster. Too bad a Malevolent Spirit has no blood…

  Javon dared to assassinate a Beyond Mortality-grade existence because of elemental restraint—yes—but also because he knew this Path intimately.

  Bzzzz!

  Demon insects burst forth, descending like a black cloud. They threw themselves greedily onto Lowfman and the blood-shield, rapidly consuming the blood.

  Even though the toxins and curses within would kill them the instant they touched and fed, they did not retreat in the slightest.

  Soon, a layer of demon-insect corpses piled across the floor, and the blood-shield in front of Lowfman grew thin.

  At that point, Javon raised his revolver again and fired repeatedly into the blood fog surrounding Lowfman.

  Bang, bang!

  Each bullet flared like a signal flare the moment it touched the blood-shield, bursting into flame.

  Lowfman had already changed.

  His frame grew taller and more slender, his features turning more and more delicate. Long fangs protruded from his mouth.

  According to Lilia’s materials, The Blood of Decay’s fourth Sephiroth was called—

  Scarlet Aristocracy!

  It possessed a suite of formidable powers: turning into bats, high-speed movement, curses, blood manipulation, and more.

  Javon pulled the trigger again. An exorcism bullet hit Lowfman cleanly—but Lowfman’s body scattered into countless small bats. Most swarmed toward Javon; a few tried to flee.

  Javon directed the demon insects to block the escapees and force them back.

  The bats that rushed him regrouped into two identical figures, attacking the Malevolent Spirit from both sides. Their nails were like knives, slashing for Oclair’s throat.

  Rip—!

  A black wound opened across the Malevolent Spirit’s body.

  He had been cursed.

  The two Lowfmans retreated several steps and stood side by side, staring at the Malevolent Spirit’s face. “Purple eyes… you’re the Malevolent Spirit from the Oclair ruins? What a surprise. But why attack me?”

  Javon didn’t answer. He simply continued guiding Oclair, sealing the bedroom’s doors and windows with ice.

  “You still think you can kill me? Hahaha… even among Beyond Mortality-grade existences, Scarlet Aristocracy is powerful. And I’m about to open the fifth Sephiroth. Where do you get the confidence to kill me?”

  “Just with those ‘itch-scratching’ special bullets, and a single Beyond Mortality-grade arcane artifact?”

  Lowfman sneered. “Of course… I can’t guarantee I can capture a Malevolent Spirit alive. But at least I can kill you once—make sure you can’t appear again for centuries. In that time, I’ll find your Phylactery!”

  “Pray as much as you like!”

  Laughing wildly, one of the Lowfmans tore out his own heart.

  Javon instantly sensed a new mystical linkage snap into place between Oclair and that heart.

  “With the trace aura of the Malevolent Spirit I hold as the medium, and half my life as the price—no curse can be stopped, not even by a Malevolent Spirit.”

  Both Lowfmans spoke at once. The one holding the heart opened his mouth wide—his sharp canines sank into the still-beating heart, crushing it.

  That body fell. The other Lowfman turned deathly pale, but his gaze upon Oclair was twisted with delight.

  Javon suddenly felt a curse surge toward him—one even a Malevolent Spirit’s rank could not suppress.

  Oclair’s clothing began to rot away at once. Transparent, ghostly chunks of flesh fell to the floor until only a skeleton remained. Then even the skeleton turned to ash, leaving only a black iron case and a revolver on the ground.