When Theresis uttered those words, his gaze remained tightly locked onto Heal.
He waited carefully, gauging if Heal might react—but in the end, she didn't respond at all.
Does this mean the Index really has nothing to do with her? Perhaps I was overly suspicious.
Theresis quietly sighed, lost in these silent thoughts.
"The Index, huh… They've already caught your attention? It seems they've truly arrived in Kazdel."
Heal lightly tapped the table with her fingertips, replying in a casual tone:
"Those fellows are from The City, a bunch of fanatics. Still, they are rather interesting—they only act upon the existence known as 'Instructions.'"
"No one knows what Instructions are or how they appear. Perhaps only those within the Index understand clearly. But since they've shown up here, it's likely due to the Instructions guiding them."
"What about it? Did they do something notable here in Kazdel? Do tell—I find this sort of development fascinating."
Heal quickly shifted into an expression of keen interest, directing her inquiry toward Theresis.
"It's nothing particularly serious. Just a sudden grassroots organization growing at an alarmingly fast rate. Anyone would find it concerning."
"In just three short days, this group calling themselves the Index has made quite a name for itself—recruiting members, offering nearly unconditional protection, and doing so with swift decisiveness. Such clear purpose and efficiency certainly merit caution."
Theresis exhaled deeply, answering in a solemn voice. After a moment's thought, he asked Heal further:
"They're also from The City?"
"Mhm. Quite a few City dwellers have arrived recently, haven't they?"
Heal responded with a faint smile, eyes holding subtle amusement as she continued:
"You'll get used to it soon enough. This is part of The City's current trajectory. Instead of worrying, perhaps you should consider another matter—"
She straightened slightly, voice filled with a hint of playful curiosity:
"What sort of change might the Index bring to Kazdel?"
"How might they breathe fresh life into the Sarkaz and help you navigate this delicate period of peace negotiations?"
---
In just half a day, guided by the Instructions, Suo had swiftly selected several suitable candidates as Index Proselytes.
When receiving their respective Instructions, every candidate had flushed with excitement—confirming that this was exactly what they sought.
The Index itself pinpointed the hearts and desires of those who wished to join, allowing Suo to efficiently distribute the Instructions.
Moreover, Suo's own secondary filtering had ensured these recruits all carried a distinct streak of zealotry—perfect for Proselytes.
Thus, by that afternoon, the Index's number of Proselytes had reached eight. At this point, Suo decisively stopped further recruitment.
Eight Proselytes were sufficient—enough to form two complete teams for immediate operations.
If he increased their ranks further, it would inevitably become difficult to manage, potentially causing unnecessary complications. Recognizing this, Suo had prudently halted recruitment.
Thus, the Index had successfully completed its initial accumulation of resources. Only after finishing his tasks did Suo finally find time to check on Don Quixote, curious about his current circumstances.
I wonder how that fight turned out? Did they finally reach a conclusion…?
And so, the perspective shifted over to Don Quixote and Duq'arael's location. Naturally, their battle had not yet concluded.
"There's no point hiding in blood any longer… I can clearly see you."
A sea of crimson stretched all around, Don Quixote's luxurious red cloak fluttering dramatically. He held an immense blood-red spear firmly in his left hand, head lowered slightly as he paced through the blood-sea like an inexorable hunter, exuding heavy, oppressive menace.
The battle had already lasted nearly half a day.
Initially, neither side had gained any clear advantage.
Both Don Quixote and Duq'arael could regenerate continuously through blood manipulation. By now, the blood coursing through their veins probably wasn't even their original supply. At full strength, both found it difficult to overwhelm the other.
However… as the battle wore on, Duq'arael slowly realized something was off.
As a Bloodfiend from Terra, Duq'arael struggled to comprehend the "bloodlust" concept that defined City Bloodfiends.
This misunderstanding resulted in Duq'arael inadvertently feeding Don Quixote excessive emotional energy through his blood. Although Don Quixote's bloodlust wasn't severe—due to his dream tempering his desires—consuming this blood still substantially enhanced his strength.
Gradually, Don Quixote had shifted from half-strength back to full, decisively tipping the scales.
The momentum swiftly turned against Duq'arael.
Don Quixote pressed his relentless assault, forcing Duq'arael repeatedly into evasive tactics, desperately seeking opportunities to counterattack—
—but unfortunately for Duq'arael, his opponent was the blood-satiated Don Quixote:
La Mancha's finest, arguably the strongest Fixer in the entire City at present.
As a result, Duq'arael simply couldn't find an opening to regain the advantage. On the contrary, Don Quixote grew increasingly enthusiastic as the fight dragged on, pursuing Duq'arael ruthlessly with his blood-spear.
Even Duq'arael himself couldn't help but feel exasperated at this point.
Just what kind of monster am I facing?
Since when did Terra harbor a Bloodfiend even stronger than a King's Court Lord?
"You and your petty tricks are completely useless. Stop wasting your efforts."
Standing confidently at the heart of the crimson ocean, Don Quixote spoke dismissively:
"Apart from buying yourself a few extra moments, you have no chance of winning at all."
"Just admit it—my dream of coexistence far surpasses your desire for conquest. Only my path represents the Bloodfiends' true future…"
"Utter nonsense!"
Before Don Quixote could finish speaking, Duq'arael's figure erupted violently from the blood-sea, his face contorted with fury as he roared:
"How can you possibly prove that?!"
"Because I'm the one who will win."
Don Quixote's voice resonated with unwavering certainty.
"Coexistence, you say? You understand nothing about the Sarkaz, much less Bloodfiends…"
"Perhaps it's you who doesn't understand Bloodfiends? Conquest? Conquer whom? Conquest offers Bloodfiends nothing but short-term gain, draining the very emotions we depend upon…"
Both had shouted simultaneously, their words hanging heavily in the air as they suddenly halted their battle.
At that moment, both men seemed to simultaneously realize something fundamental:
Could it be…that when each spoke of "Bloodfiends," they hadn't even been referring to the same thing?