Unlike Vina, Horn had a thorough understanding of the Duke’s armed forces. As a member of the Tempest Platoon, she had never directly engaged the Duke’s private army, but she had observed them from afar during missions in Londinium.

She had to admit that the Duke’s private forces were stronger than Victoria’s regular army. The Tempest Platoons, as the army’s first echelon, received priority access to equipment, and even standard soldiers underwent rigorous training. Yet those selected to serve as the nobles’ private troops were handpicked elites, each refined through special training to stand above the rest.

Even with Victoria’s finest personnel and equipment, they had been shaken when Patriot charged in and out of their ranks seven times alone, only for his entire team to crush them head-on soon after.

Horn knew that Tomorrow’s Development Legion possessed immense strength and advanced technology. Even so, watching the nobles’ prized private army fall like livestock awaiting slaughter left her with a lingering sense of unreality.

If His Highness truly intended to defeat Victoria and claim this land, perhaps it was not empty rhetoric. With the adventurers, the legions, and His Highness’s overwhelming power, combined with his unmatched prestige and charisma, Victoria could conceivably fall under Kazdel’s control in a short time.

Yet His Highness had not chosen that path.

Horn pressed her lips together and glanced at Vina, who rested with her eyes closed, and at Baird, leaning against the tent wall deep in thought. She swallowed the turmoil in her heart. She longed to find her teammates and confess the stagnation and bitterness weighing on her. What she had wanted to do, to prove, to protect, seemed to have dissolved in Victoria’s current chaos.

But she could not. She was the team leader. That alone was reason enough.

About an hour later, Stainless returned, wiping his work clothes with gloves stained in machine oil. “The leader is back. She wants to see you.”

The group followed him to a makeshift meeting room, little more than an open tent. There, Vina met the leader of the Self-Salvation Corps.

“Hello. My name is Clovisia.”

The young girl’s height and appearance reminded Vina of Amiya, the nominal leader of Rhodes Island Pharmaceuticals. She too was young, yet burdened with immense responsibility. As an operator of Tomorrow’s Development, Vina could not help but admire Amiya. That girl had carried heavy duties from a young age, while Vina, in her previous life, had thought only of escape.

“Vina.”

Vina inclined her head and noticed the long horn extending from Clovisia’s head. She found herself wondering about the other girl’s race. After traveling across this land for so long, Vina had encountered many near-immortal beings. Within Tomorrow’s Development, it was practically an open secret that Kal’tsit was immortal. The operators had studied Kazdel’s history and seen the record of a white-haired, green-clad Feline shattering the Sarkaz Kings’ statues during the last great war. They had looked at Kal’tsit, then at the book, and silently reached the same conclusion.

Theresa was also immortal, though she did not feel like someone who had lived for ages. Her smile, her speech, her every gesture carried traditional gentleness mixed with a hint of modern liveliness. The members of Tomorrow’s Development cherished her companionship, and the former Babel operators continued to respect her as they always had.

“I know of you, Operator Vina. Stainless has spoken of you and Tomorrow’s Development,” Clovisia said calmly. “Though I have never met your leader, I can judge his character by his actions. That is why you have earned the Self-Salvation Corps’s trust.”

Vina and Horn exchanged a glance. Vina then asked, “What is the situation in Londinium now?”

Clovisia gestured toward a map dotted with red thumbtacks. Pointing to one of them, she said, “Recently, the Sarkaz mercenaries of the Military Commission have been reducing food rations while increasing their intimidation of Londinium’s residents. Oppression and brutal killings are no longer rare.”

“The sixth squad of the Self-Salvation Corps went to the warehouse district to scout and attempt to relocate supplies,” she continued. “We lost contact with them three hours ago. Vina, can you assist us? We will coordinate with you for the next operation.”

Vina nodded. She glanced at Clovisia, then sent a message to Hellagur. His reply came swiftly: “Understood.” Vina trusted that he would lead members of Tomorrow’s Development to the coordinates Clovisia had indicated. In Londinium, Hellagur would not lower his guard. A task he might normally handle alone would now warrant bringing a deputy.

After a brief exchange, Clovisia departed once more. Vina noticed her and several Self-Salvation Corps members gathered around another map, deep in discussion. If one listened closely, it was clear they were debating where to strike in order to break the deadlock.

This was not Vina’s objective. They were not here to wage open war within Londinium, but to conduct guerrilla operations.

With Mr. Hellagur present, things should be under control. Vina bit her finger lightly. All she could do now was trust him. They needed the Self-Salvation Corps’s cooperation, and once the Sighs of Kings was secured, their infiltration of Londinium would be nearly complete.

As dusk fell and the sun sank below the horizon, the shattered gas lamps along Fifth Avenue flickered faintly through the dense fog. Hellagur led Neon down the street. Victorian civilians walked with their heads lowered, too afraid to meet the eyes of the patrolling Sarkaz mercenaries. From nearby alleys came the dull thuds of blows and piercing screams, grim reminders of the mercenaries’ brutality.

Hellagur had never set foot in Londinium before, though he had heard it described as an impregnable, industrialized metropolis. What greeted him instead was a ruined city under occupation. The prosperity of the former king’s reign had long since faded, leaving behind only desolation and decay.

Walking side by side, Hellagur and Neon appeared no different from a father and daughter. Still, his towering frame and the weapon strapped across his back were too conspicuous. As he turned a corner, he sensed it immediately—they were being watched.

Neon felt it as well. Without a word, she calmly followed her father into a side alley.

“Hey, who are you—”

A muffled thud.

Hellagur struck the Sarkaz mercenary at the base of the neck with a swift palm strike, knocking him unconscious. Together, he and Neon dragged the body aside and stuffed it into a trash bin.

From that point on, they could only take side paths.

After a few steps, Neon suddenly frowned. The ground beneath her shoe felt unnaturally flat and dry, like stepping on fabric. She looked down, and her face drained of color.

It was a corpse.

A shriveled woman lay at her feet, her body completely desiccated, as though every drop of moisture and blood had been drained away.

Though Neon had seen countless horrors on the battlefield, this was her first encounter with such a grotesque death. It unsettled her.

Hellagur crouched and searched the body, retrieving a cigarette case from the victim’s pocket. It appeared untouched. When he opened it, a photograph slipped out—an image of the man with his family. On the corner was a small emblem, one he recognized as a token used by the Self-Salvation Corps to identify its members.

“Father… how did they die?”

Hellagur studied the corpse again. “…A Vampire.”

“Like Miss Luna?”

Neon blinked. “Miss Luna once told me the Vampire royal court operates within the Military Commission…”

“Father, this mission may be more dangerous than we anticipated.”

Hellagur said nothing. He merely tightened his grip on the longsword in his hand.

By the time they entered a warehouse in the storage district, the setting sun was slanting through a shattered skylight. Five members of the Self-Salvation Corps remained frozen in charging stances. Their skin clung to their skeletons like discarded cicada shells, every trace of bodily fluid drained just as with the earlier corpse.

Neon’s detector shrieked—a piercing alarm indicating activated Originium dust lingering in the air.

Both had already donned masks against the contamination. Hellagur surveyed the warehouse before fixing his gaze on the bodies.

“Do not remove your mask.” He tapped a steel beam lightly with the hilt of his sword. The vibration sent rats scrambling from the shadows, hoping to scavenge what remained. “These are the marks of a Vampire. Based on the data reported by the Clever, it appears to be the work of a single individual.”

His boots crunched over crystallized droplets of blood, the sound sharp and brittle like breaking glass. “According to Miss Luna’s report, it should be that one.”

“…Father, you mean the Vampire Lord.” Neon’s eyes widened. “We are no match for the Vampire Lord alone. Even with operators from Tomorrow’s Development supporting the perimeter, we cannot recklessly challenge such an enemy here.”

Hellagur understood her concern and offered a faint smile. Moments later, his expression hardened. From another warehouse nearby came the sound of movement—followed by screams.

Neon heard it too. Together, they advanced cautiously.

Inside, they found the remaining dozen members of the Self-Salvation Corps. Before them spread a churning sea of blood.

“It hardly qualifies as an appetizer.”

From the crimson pool, the figure of an elegant man slowly emerged. He frowned in disdain. “How much longer must we endure the taste of vermin before the main course arrives?”

“Fall back!”

Hellagur’s longsword flashed forward, carving a blazing white arc through the dying light. The blood serpents surging from the pool were severed in an instant. Wherever the blade struck, the blood evaporated on contact.

He shouted to the surviving members of the Self-Salvation Corps, “Run!”

Neon gritted her teeth and braced herself at the doorway, supporting the trembling members of the Self-Salvation Corps. She had no intention of retreating. Her father was still fighting. How could she possibly leave him behind?

“This scent… how familiar.” The Vampire Lord inhaled slowly. “The stench of Ursus.”

“Evacuate with the survivors.” Hellagur lowered his blade until its tip touched the ground. The posture appeared relaxed, yet it sealed off every possible angle of attack from the Vampire Lord. “The scout detected faint signs of life in the northwest corner of the cold storage.”

Neon did not hesitate. She cast aside any childish stubbornness and accepted the truth: staying would only hinder him. The mission had taken a disastrous turn. No one could have predicted an encounter with the ruler of the Vampire Court within the Military Commission itself. She immediately alerted every Tomorrow’s Development operator in the vicinity and rushed toward another cold storage facility.

On the way, she encountered four ragged Sarkaz mercenaries, each encircled by blood-red spheres.

Neon recognized the phenomenon at once. It was the Vampire’s Originium Arts, the ability to extract and devour terran blood to amplify their power. There was no doubt. These four had already become Vampires.

“Another one’s here!”

“Out of my way!” Neon’s longsword flashed free in an instant.

Seeing her depart, Hellagur exhaled softly in relief. His gaze hardened as he lifted his sword once more.

The Vampire Lord snapped his fingers.

With a thunderous explosion, the warehouse roof burst apart. The setting sun poured in alongside a rain of blood, both streams converging upon the Vampire Lord’s body. The surge of power that erupted from him forced Hellagur back three steps.

That aura… far stronger than Miss Luna’s.

But surrendering here and waiting for death was not an option.

Hellagur silently raised his longsword horizontally before his chest and take a deep breath. One by one, the Originium patterns etched along the blade ignited. In the next instant, his figure blurred into motion, streaking forward as his blade slashed toward the Vampire Lord’s throat—only to scatter a cloud of blood mist.

The true Vampire Lord appeared three meters away. With a casual flick of his finger, three drops of blood shot forward like bullets, piercing Hellagur’s left shoulder.

“Too slow.” The Vampire Lord’s voice echoed from every direction. “Did you not realize that the air in this warehouse is saturated with blood mist?”

Hellagur retreated sharply, but beneath his mask he had already inhaled the frigid haze. It felt as though shards of ice had lodged in his lungs. Each breath carried a metallic sting, flecked with droplets of blood. The ground writhed as crystallized blood coiled around his ankles like venomous serpents.

His longsword swept down, shattering the restraints. Yet the fragments suspended midair, reassembling into slender crimson blades that lashed across his back, carving five deep wounds to the bone.

This was the worst kind of opponent.

Hellagur’s brow furrowed as he coughed, blood mist escaping between his breaths. Against an enemy he could neither grasp nor strike directly, there was only one choice—break through.

When a chain of blood speared toward him, Hellagur did not evade. He met it head-on with his blade, using the force of impact to propel himself into the nearest load-bearing pillar. Already weakened by the Vampire’s corruption, the steel column shattered on impact. As the ceiling began to collapse, he rolled behind a stack of cargo containers. After several swift leaps, Hellagur withdrew without hesitation.

“These insects are unpleasant, but they serve as passable amusement before the main course.”

The Vampire Lord chuckled softly. “Very well. I shall savor your blood another time.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep