"The three masked ones," Erson continued, his voice barely above a whisper, "they call themselves the Crimson Harvesters."
I felt my blood run cold. "Explain."
"They've been overseeing the blood extraction from Isabelle. But it's not just her blood they want—it's what they're doing with it." His eyes darted nervously to the hallway again. "They're creating super cultivators—warriors with enhanced strength, speed, and power."
My fingers curled into fists, knuckles turning white. "Enhanced how?"
"The injections... they've been taking Isabelle's blood and refining it into so kind of elixir. When cultivators take it, their power increases dramatically." Erson swallowed hard. "I've seen it myself. A Mid-Tier Military Commander becoming as powerful as a Military General overnight."
The room seed to darken around as rage bubbled up from my core. They were using my Isabelle like a farm animal, bleeding her to create monsters. Each drop stolen from her veins was another violation, another reason for to tear their world apart.
"Where are these 'enhanced' cultivators now?" I asked, my voice deadly calm.
"They frequent a place called The Flourishing Lounge in the western district." Erson's words ca faster now, desperate to satisfy my questions. "They go there to... celebrate their transformations."
"How many?"
"Thirty, perhaps forty so far. The process isn't perfect—so don't survive the enhancent."
I barely noticed the wood of the chair arm splintering beneath my grip. "How do I identify them?"
"Crimson veins," he whispered. "If you look closely at their faces, you'll see faint red lines beneath their skin. And their eyes... they have a reddish tint around the pupils."
I rose from my seat, my decision already made. Every single one of these abominations would die by my hand. Every drop of Isabelle's blood they'd stolen, I would collect in their own blood.
"Is there anything else I should know?"
A calculation flashed behind Erson's eyes—one I recognized imdiately. He was weighing options, deciding whether certain information might lead to my death if acted upon. The slight lifting of his shoulders told he'd reached a decision.
"The Crimson Harvesters are usually there too. They... monitor their creations."
Perfect. I could eliminate all of them at once.
"You realize," I said, "that if you're sending into a trap, I'll return for your daughter before I die."
His face blanched. "It's not a trap! I swear on Lily's life!"
I studied him, reading the subtle tells of his body language. He was terrified, yes, but there was sothing else—a hint of hopeful anticipation. He was counting on walking into danger, even if he hadn't manufactured it himself.
"One last thing before I go," I said, reaching into my robe and withdrawing a small jade bottle. "A parting gift."
I placed it on the table between us. Erson stared at it suspiciously.
"What is this?"
"A pill for your daughter," I replied evenly. "Give it to her within three days."
His eyes widened in horror. "You expect to poison my own child?"
"It's not poison. It could be quite beneficial, in fact—strengthening her constitution, expanding her ridians."
"And if I refuse?"
I smiled coldly. "Then it becos poison. The ingredients are balanced precisely. If not consud within three days, they degrade into sothing... unpleasant."
"You monster," he whispered.
"I'm what your Guild created," I countered. "And this is insurance. If I hear that you've ntioned my survival to anyone, if a single Guild mber cos looking for because of your words, the pill becos lethal."
The lie rolled smoothly off my tongue. The pill was indeed beneficial, with no harmful properties whatsoever. But Erson didn't need to know that.
"Do we understand each other?" I asked.
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He nodded slowly, hatred burning in his eyes alongside the fear.
"Rember," I said as I moved toward the window, "your daughter's life depends on your silence."
I slipped into the night, leaving Erson Hols clutching the jade bottle, trapped in a prison of his own making.
---
The Flourishing Lounge glead like a jewel in the western district, its facade dripping with opulence. Crystal lanterns cast rainbow patterns across the marble entrance, where finely dressed attendants welcod the city's elite.
I approached in disguise—a simple but effective one. My hair was now jet black instead of its natural brown, swept back elegantly. Subtle alterations to my facial structure made unrecognizable to casual observers. My robes were midnight blue with silver threading, expensive enough to grant entry but not ostentatious enough to draw attention.
Inside, the lounge was a wonderland of excess. Plush red carpets covered the floors, gold-trimd furniture arranged in intimate clusters throughout the vast space. Servers glided between guests, carrying trays of colorful drinks and exotic delicacies. A small orchestra played soothing lodies from a raised platform.
I took a seat at the bar, ordering a glass of amber spirit I had no intention of drinking. From this vantage point, I could observe the entire main floor. My senses stretched out, probing for the unique energy signatures Erson had described.
It didn't take long to find them. Three cultivators sat in a corner booth, surrounded by fawning attendants. Even from across the room, I could see the faint crimson lines beneath their skin, like spiderwebs just below the surface. Their laughter was too loud, their movents slightly too aggressive—drunk on power they hadn't earned.
Stolen power. Isabelle's power.
I tamped down the murderous aura threatening to leak from my body. Patience was essential. I needed to identify all targets before making my move.
"Waiting for soone?"
The voice startled —not because it was unexpected, but because the speaker had approached without triggering my spiritual sense. I turned slowly to find a woman sliding onto the stool beside .
She was beautiful in a dangerous way—sharp features, piercing violet eyes, and dark hair that cascaded over one shoulder. Her dress was black with subtle crimson embroidery, hugging curves that would distract lesser n. But what caught my attention was the power she radiated—contained and controlled, but unmistakably at the Marquis level.
"Just enjoying the atmosphere," I replied carefully.
Her lips curved into a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Strange. You don't look like you're enjoying anything."
"Perhaps I have high standards."
"Or perhaps," she said, leaning closer, "you're hunting."
I kept my expression neutral, though inwardly I tensed. Had my disguise failed so quickly?
"What makes you say that?" I asked, matching her casual tone.
"Your eyes," she whispered. "They're scanning the room systematically. Not like soone seeking pleasure or business. Like soone marking targets."
I turned to fully face her, reassessing the threat she presented. "You seem to know a lot about hunting."
"I know a lot about many things." She sipped from a glass of blood-red wine. "Including the fact that you're suppressing an impressive amount of killing intent. I can practically taste it."
This was dangerous. If she could sense what I was carefully containing, others might as well.
"You have an active imagination," I said, moving to stand.
Her hand shot out, gripping my wrist with surprising strength. "I didn't say I disapproved."
Our eyes locked in silent challenge. Who was this woman? A Guild spy? One of the enhanced cultivators? Or sothing else entirely?
"I'm not looking for approval," I said coldly. "Or company."
"No." Her smile widened. "You're looking for the n with crimson veins. The question is why."
My heart rate increased slightly. She knew too much.
"That's my business."
"It could be our business," she countered, releasing my wrist but maintaining eye contact. "We might have aligned interests."
"I doubt that."
She laughed softly. "Don't be so quick to dismiss potential allies, mystery man. Especially when you're walking into the den of so very dangerous predators."
I leaned closer, dropping my voice to ensure only she could hear. "Being too smart can lead to your own destruction."
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