The wind cut unevenly against the small, dark wings that fluttered in the air, creating a rhythm completely out of sync with anything that could be considered graceful, much less efficient. Damon, or rather—the diminutive, winged, and clearly irritated version of Damon—made an almost offensive effort to maintain a minimally stable flight path as he followed the noble couple below, who walked through the streets of Arven without the slightest idea that they were being followed by something that looked more like a mistake of nature than an elegant creature of the night. Each adjustment of direction was late, each wingbeat seemed too exaggerated or insufficient, and the result was a crooked trajectory, full of small oscillations that would make any more experienced vampire deeply question their life choices.

“This is fucking hard,” he cursed mentally, the irritation overflowing even without the ability to vocalize in his current form, his consciousness still trying to adapt to the fact that his body had been reduced to something so… inconvenient. The memory of Elizabeth’s voice surged with uncomfortably clear clarity at that moment, almost as if she were beside him just to provoke him.

“For ordinary vampires this is kind of natural… for the transformed it must take a while to learn~”

He would have rolled his eyes if he still had human eyes at that instant.

Natural, she said.

Natural my ass.

If that was natural, then he had clearly been tricked at some point in the process.

Still, despite the absurd difficulty, he didn’t lose focus. His eyes—now adapted to an even sharper night vision—remained fixed on the couple walking a few streets below, using the shadows of the rooftops and buildings to stay out of direct view. The city of Arven, seen from that angle, looked completely different from how it appeared during the day or even during the social events of the previous night. There was no music, no laughter, no artificial glow of candles in ornate halls. There was silence. There was discreet movement. There were… hidden intentions.

The nobles he followed didn’t walk like ordinary people returning home after a casual night. There was purpose in their driving, attention to detail—quick glances back, subtle changes in pace, detours that made no sense to someone simply wanting to reach a common destination. Damon noticed this quickly, and it was precisely this behavior that led him to follow them in the first place. It wasn’t a coincidence. It was a pattern.

With considerable effort—and a few near-collisions with structures taller than he anticipated—he managed to maintain a safe distance as the couple left the brighter areas of the city and entered progressively narrower regions, where streets gave way to alleys, and alleys to backstreets that seemed to have been forgotten by the rest of the population. The air there was heavier, laden with the smell of dampness, rust, and something else… something Damon couldn’t immediately identify, but which clearly didn’t belong in a healthy environment.

They stopped.

Damon almost drove right past them.

He was forced to make a sudden adjustment, slamming one wing against a stone wall before managing to steady himself again, awkwardly clinging to a ledge above the entrance to the alley where the couple now stood. He remained motionless, or at least as motionless as possible within his current limitations, while observing with heightened attention.

There was a door.

Made of iron.

Heavy.

Discreet enough to go unnoticed by someone not looking for it, but clearly too important to be just an ordinary entrance. There were no visible guards, no obvious symbols, but there was… intention. That door wasn’t there by chance.

The man from the couple approached first, lightly tapping the metal surface in a specific pattern—not random, not casual. A code.

Damon narrowed his focus.

Memorizing.

Counting.

Recording every detail.

Seconds later, a small opening appeared at eye level, and a muffled voice came from the other side.

“Identification.”

The man replied without hesitation.

“Inner circle.”

There was a pause.

Short.

Tense.

And then—

“Password.”

Damon’s attention was completely fixed on that moment, every fragment of his consciousness focused exclusively on grasping what would come next.

The man tilted his head slightly, as if it were just another formality.

“Broken moon.”

Silence.

A few more seconds.

And then the metallic sound of mechanisms being unlocked echoed through the alley, followed by the heavy creak of the door opening just enough to allow the two to pass.

They entered.

The door closed immediately afterward.

And silence returned.

Damon remained motionless for a few more seconds, making sure there was no more immediate movement, before finally exhaling—or the equivalent of it in that form—and making a decision.

Enough.

That was enough.

With a slight mental effort, he forced the transformation to reverse, his body briefly distorting into shadows before returning to its original form, larger, more solid… and significantly more comfortable. He landed softly on the alley floor, automatically adjusting his posture while running a hand through his hair, as if trying to banish any trace of that uncomfortable experience.

“Definitely not natural,” he murmured to himself, still with a slight trace of irritation in his voice.

But there was no time to dwell on that.

His eyes immediately returned to the door.

Now he knew enough.

He had the pattern.

He had the password.

He had the opportunity. Damon was never the type of person to let opportunities pass him by.

With a swift movement, he adjusted his clothes, straightened his posture, and softened his expression, assuming that characteristic air of a slightly bored nobleman, yet still sure of his position—a role he had played more times than he could count.

He approached the door.

Without hesitation.

He knocked.

The same pattern.

Precision.

Rhythm.

Confidence.

The small opening appeared again.

Eyes on the other side briefly analyzed him.

“Identification.”

Damon tilted his head slightly, as if that were almost offensive.

“Inner circle.”

The pause came again.

And then—

“Password.”

A brief second.

Just enough to fully align his posture, his voice, his intention.

“Broken moon.”

Silence.

Longer this time.

But not out of doubt.

Out of assessment.

And then—

The metallic sound.

The mechanisms giving way.

The door opening.

Damon kept his expression intact.

Calm.

Confident.

Indifferent.

As if he had done this dozens of times before.

And then—

He entered.

The door closed behind him with a heavy sound, isolating him completely from the outside world.

The air inside that place was different.

Denser.

More charged.

As if each breath carried with it something that shouldn’t be there.

The space in front of him wasn’t exactly an ordinary corridor, but it wasn’t completely open either. There was dim lighting, from indirect sources, creating long shadows that stretched across the stone walls, while low voices echoed in the distance, blending into a constant murmur that made it impossible to distinguish specific words from afar.

Damon didn’t stop.

He didn’t hesitate.

He kept walking.

As if he knew exactly where he was going.

As if he belonged there.

But inside—

His focus was completely sharpened.

Every detail was recorded.

Every movement around was analyzed.

Every possible exit, every presence, every pattern.

Because this—

This wasn’t just a hideout.

It wasn’t just a meeting point.

It was something bigger.

Much bigger.

And he was exactly where he wanted to be.

‘Time to infiltrate the city’s underworld… again,’ he thought, as a slight smile crept onto the corners of his lips.

But this time—

It was different.

Because now he knew.

This wasn’t just crime.

It wasn’t just politics.

It was something deeper.

More structured.

More dangerous.

And he was going straight into the heart of it all.

Uninvited.

Without permission.

And exactly—

Where he shouldn’t be.

…

The carriage swayed gently as it followed the uneven road that left Mirath behind, the rhythmic sound of the wheels against the packed earth mingling with the occasional creaking of the wood, creating an almost hypnotic cadence. The morning light streamed through the partially open curtain of the window, casting golden beams that swept across the interior of the vehicle, intermittently touching the face of each occupant.

Elizabeth sat impeccably, posture straight, hands resting on her knees, her gaze fixed ahead as if she saw something far beyond the carriage’s interior. Aria, on the other hand, sprawled across the opposite seat, one leg crossed over the other, distractedly observing the road through the window with a half-smile that suggested she found it all vaguely amusing.

Esther had remained silent since they left, but now, finally, her patience had reached its limit.

She turned her face slowly, eyes narrowed.

And pointed.

Not at Elizabeth.

Not at Aria. But to the figure seated beside Aria, calmly observing the landscape as if simply enjoying a pleasant stroll through the countryside.

“And why is she here?”

The tone wasn’t aggressive, but it definitely wasn’t welcoming.

Lily, the succubus, didn’t react immediately. She continued gazing out the window for a moment before slightly tilting her head toward Esther with a lazy smile—a smile that made it perfectly clear she wasn’t the least bit offended by the question.

“Because I’m charming?” Lily suggested, with an almost cynical nonchalance.

Aria chuckled through her nose.

“Fair enough.”

Esther didn’t laugh.

Elizabeth finally looked away from the window and fixed her gaze on Esther, showing no irritation, but also no indulgence.

“Because she’s necessary,” Elizabeth said bluntly.

Ester blinked once, clearly dissatisfied with the lack of details.

“Necessary… how?”

Elizabeth slowly uncrossed her hands, resting them on her knees.

“Because she’s good at interrogations.”

The sentence was uttered with an almost disconcerting naturalness.

Ester remained motionless for a second.

“Interrogations.”

“Yes.”

Elizabeth tilted her head slightly, as if explaining something obvious.

“Succubi have considerable mind control abilities. Not just superficial seduction, as most people think. Emotional influence, memory manipulation, inducing states of psychological vulnerability. Useful tools.”

Lily tilted her face slightly, resting her chin on her hand, observing Ester with an expression that mixed amusement and elegant boredom.

“You humans always think it’s just cheap charm and bed tricks,” she commented, her voice honeyed, yet laden with sharp irony. “It’s a little offensive.”

Ester took a deep breath through her nose.

“So she’s here to extract information.”

“Among other things,” Elizabeth replied bluntly.

Aria leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees.

“She’s also excellent at detecting lies,” she added with a sideways smile. “And at making them crumble.”

Lily smiled.

Not kindly.

But… professionally.

Ester crossed her arms slowly, still clearly not entirely convinced.

“And you trust her?”

Elizabeth didn’t answer immediately.

The question hung in the air for a few seconds.

Until—

“Trust isn’t necessary,” Elizabeth finally said. “Competence is.”

Lily chuckled softly.

“What a charming compliment.”

Aria let out a small laugh.

Esther, for her part, frowned slightly, but didn’t insist.

Silence returned for a few moments, filled only by the creaking of wheels and the distant sound of birds flying overhead.

Lily looked out the window, watching the scenery pass by with distant interest.

“Besides,” she added, almost lazily, “there’s a certain… elegance in extracting secrets without spilling blood. Don’t you think?”

Aria smiled.

“I like her.”

Esther sighed.

“Of course you do.”

Elizabeth remained silent, but there was a slight hint of approval in her eyes.

Because, regardless of the initial discomfort—

Lily wasn’t there by chance.

She was a piece.

A tool.

And, considering what awaited them in Arven, they would need every tool they could get.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep