Sanguinarch of the Vampires, Duq'arael found everything outside the room unbearably noisy.
He hadn't arrived at Scar Market for very long—whether passing through or due to Theresis's suggestion—but upon arrival, the one-eyed Cyclops known as "Scar" had swiftly ushered him into this room.
Then, Scar had personally attended to him.
Scar was taking this meeting very seriously—perhaps out of fear. Duq'arael calmly eyed the towering Cyclops standing before him. Despite the giant's outward composure, it was painfully obvious his hands were trembling slightly.
Scar was afraid—afraid Duq'arael might voice some dissatisfaction…
For example, right now.
"What's causing all this noise?"
When Duq'arael furrowed his brows and posed this question to Scar, the Cyclops nearly crushed his own finger bones in anxiety.
"Perhaps there's some minor trouble outside. Conflicts among Sarkaz mercenaries happen frequently."
Scar responded with forced calmness, silently wishing the living deity before him would swiftly depart from his sight—and preferably leave Scar Market entirely.
Duq'arael merely shrugged, seemingly indifferent.
He didn't seem interested in pursuing the matter further. But circumstances quickly changed.
For instance… after waiting inside the room for about ten minutes, and realizing the noise outside hadn't subsided, Duq'arael's patience began wearing thin.
He could distinctly hear someone outside fiercely debating, passionately condemning the Sarkaz mercenaries' actions.
Yet Duq'arael could tell clearly—the person making these accusations… hadn't actually been harmed by any Sarkaz mercenaries, had they?
Just what exactly was going on here?
"My apologies—it appears there's an issue within Scar Market. I'll go handle it immediately. Excuse me for a moment."
Scar, keenly sensing Duq'arael's shifting mood, stood up quickly.
He turned, preparing to exit the room—but Duq'arael raised a hand, signaling Scar not to hurry away just yet.
"No need to rush. I'll accompany you to take a look."
As Duq'arael stood to follow, Scar's eye twitched imperceptibly.
Why do you have to come along now, of all times?!
Scar inwardly grumbled irritably.
Yet since the Sanguinarch had made up his mind, Scar had no right to refuse him.
Resigned, Scar reluctantly led Duq'arael outside. Immediately upon stepping out, Duq'arael's eyes fell upon Don Quixote, currently surrounded by a crowd of mercenaries at the center of Scar Market.
Standing amidst them, Don Quixote passionately continued his long-winded tirade, sternly lecturing the Sarkaz mercenaries encircling him.
The mercenaries around him, however, were clutching their ears with pained expressions—clearly suffering under the relentless verbal assault, their faces practically begging, "Spare us, please!"
Beside Don Quixote, Nearl stood with the composed demeanor of someone who'd seen all this coming.
"Hey! You useless lot! Are you just going to stand there?"
Scar furiously rebuked his mercenaries:
"Why aren't any of you attacking?"
"We can't, boss," one mercenary nearest Scar grumbled bitterly, lowering his hands from his ears, his face twisted in anguish.
"When that guy first showed up, he started endlessly ranting about… whatever this stuff is. After a brief skirmish, no one can even get within three meters of him. And he shows no signs of stopping anytime soon."
"We have no choice but to wait it out..."
Hearing this explanation, Scar shot another look at Don Quixote, frowning deeply.
Even though they were only mercenaries, among them were still some capable fighters.
Yet no one could approach within three meters?
Exactly what sort of existence—or monster—was this man?
While Scar puzzled over this, he turned back and happened to notice a thoughtful look crossing Duq'arael's face.
"What exactly is he saying?"
Duq'arael stared intently at Don Quixote, evidently intrigued. Then he lowered his gaze to question the mercenary.
"Something like… 'Mindlessly committing disorderly acts violates the principles of justice,' and 'Those like us should uphold justice's boundaries'... he's been rambling about that for ages," the mercenary scratched his head in response.
Scar watched apprehensively as a peculiar smile crept onto Duq'arael's face.
Definitely nothing good will come of this.
Scar felt dread pooling in his gut.
"Hah… justice, you say? Someone actually comes to a place like Scar Market seeking justice?"
No… rather, in a place like Kazdel itself?
Duq'arael sneered, his tone thick with mockery.
At that very moment, Don Quixote turned his gaze toward Duq'arael, his expression similarly growing wary.
"And you are?"
He sensed immediately that the person before him was strong—far stronger than the bulky Cyclops beside him.
"You come here, yet don't know my name? That question should be mine to ask of you."
Duq'arael's voice rang coolly. Don Quixote paused briefly, considering his reply carefully, then announced clearly:
"I am Don Quixote, Fixer of La Mancha Office, from The City—Bloodfiend Fixer."
"A Bloodfiend Fixer who strictly adheres to justice, aspiring to the legend of Fixers!"
After a brief pause, Don Quixote emphasized his final words again. Hearing Don Quixote's proclamation, Duq'arael's brow immediately tightened.
He had heard of The City recently; Theresis occasionally mentioned it.
But… Bloodfiend Fixer?
What exactly was that?
Duq'arael carefully examined Don Quixote from head to toe, skepticism deepening on his face.
And you think you're a Bloodfiend?
He exhibited neither Sarkaz racial features nor obvious Vampire characteristics. Exactly what was this fellow?
Anything was possible, perhaps—but definitely not a Vampire.
"Heh… Bloodfiend Fixer? I've never heard of such a profession before."
Slowly, Duq'arael raised one arm toward Don Quixote.
"But, by coincidence, I happen to truly be a Vampire. Duq'arael, Prince of Blood, of the Ten Kings Court of Sarkaz."
"Now, I question you. By what right do you dare to claim the title of Vampire, falsely assuming our name?"