The blood-forged figure stood unyielding, its body impervious to bullets. It expelled them effortlessly through its untouchable skin, scattering golden shells that clattered against the floor.
Lifeless eyes flared with crimson fire, shifting their gaze to lock onto Barrel.
A shivering chill seeped through the soldier's uniform, while a feverish tension spread within the heart of the young man with light brown hair. His cheerful smile hardened into clenched teeth as he fired relentlessly.
Through the thinning smoke, Barrel's ragged breaths broke the rhythm of silence. The gunfire drew every eye in the hall to him.
Chaos erupted as the Blood Soldier began to move. Its massive frame seized Professor Rendell and crashed through a door far too small for its size, charging straight at Barrel with a chorus of screams, as if a dozen voices howled within its body.
Victor retreated toward the crowd.
Dozens of professors on the upper walkway screamed. People fled deeper down the corridor in panic.
The Blood Soldier roared, slamming its fist into the ground. The impact shook the floor and hurled Barrel into the air.
Weightless for a moment, he then plummeted under the pull of gravity, his body crashing onto the fractured floor.
His dazed eyes searched frantically, as if seeking someone.
Drops of water fell from his head.
In that desperate moment, the Blood Sword reformed. The creature's arm reshaped itself, revealing a metallic gear at its base, its long blade entwined with veins of blood that looped endlessly in a cycle of expansion.
It raised the sword high and swung it down at Barrel.
Suddenly, a group in heavy coats forced their way through the crowd to intervene.
Flames erupted from a broad palm, recklessly meeting the descending blade. The sword pierced straight through the right hand of a burly middle-aged man.
A grin spread across his face, turning despair into defiance.
His short, tidy hair fluttered with the air as fire burst from his hand, engulfing the blade and racing up the Blood Soldier's arm.
The monster staggered back, shrieking in agony, its gaze faltering. Barrel's spirit flared, and a smile returned to his face.
"Chief of the Special Division! The Scorching Flame, the Soul-Melting Fist—Logan Lemson!!"
The man stood tall, muscles coiled with strength, veins glowing with fire beneath his skin. He threw his head back in laughter as he ruffled Barrel's hair.
"Ha! Embarrassing as hell! Don't shout my title like that!!"
The unshakable warrior suddenly seemed like a bashful uncle. Victor's eyes widened. The Blood Soldier's ferocity surpassed the incident at the university, yet in this moment, another hand had already seized control of the battlefield.
Victor turned away from the fight, tending to Selith instead. He draped his coat over her fragile body, keeping her warm.
Her breath was shallow, broken by faint delirious murmurs, but she quieted when his hand brushed her face. His soft whispers eased her unrest.
Victor's dark eyes returned to the battlefield. The difference was stark—between wielding a gun and commanding a supernatural power.
The Blood Soldier roared, its voice echoing with fury. It lifted Professor Rendell high above its head. Before it could act, Logan lunged, his fiery fist driving through its torso.
Flames exploded violently as the coated men opened fire at the creature's hands, catching Professor Rendell as he fell.
In an instant, the Blood Soldier shattered into burning fragments.
Orange light washed over every witness, and triumphant cheers shook the hall. As calm returned, Barrel hurried to support the professor.
The uniformed men saluted, stamping their feet firmly before departing.
Normalcy slowly returned.
Victor approached Barrel.
The young man's gentle face straightened, his empty smile returning as he holstered his pistol.
"Barrel, you're unharmed?"
A bright grin broke across his face.
"I'm fine. I'm glad you saved the one you love. People from other districts like you must've seen a lot, haven't you?"
"Of course."
Victor smiled faintly, his calm voice betraying nothing. His short reply carried the weight of a seasoned soldier, though it was only an act.
Barrel paused, then brightened.
"You must be exhausted! I'll take you to the guest lodgings. Just two blocks from the office, there's a place for travelers and honored visitors."
"Thank you, Barrel. I'll take her to rest first. Can you wait here? There's something I'd like to discuss."
"Of course! Go ahead, Victor!"
Victor carried Selith into the lodging. Attendants rushed to prepare a room, but he spoke firmly.
"No need for extra cleaning. I only require a place to stay for tonight. Having shelter is more than enough."
Soon, the modest room was ready.
He stripped off his blood-stained uniform and changed into simple attire: a white shirt and dark trousers. He combed his hair, tucked in his shirt, then covered Selith with a blanket.
Her body was still warm, her breath steady. His rough hand held her soft fingers under the lantern light, feeling her pulse—calm and unwavering.
"When you wake, I'll be back."
He whispered gently, brushed her forehead, and left the room.
Outside, Barrel leaned against the wall, dozing. He startled when a cold hand touched his shoulder.
"What's wrong, Barrel? Still afraid?"
"I'm not afraid! You startled me, Victor!"
"I need to know the truth about what happened at the university. My district may not be safe without it."
Barrel's face grew grim.
"I can't speak here. Please, follow me."
They walked the brick-paved street, lanterns casting dim light. The night was still, its silence carrying a biting chill.
"Do you remember what I told you? About the professors who vanished forty years ago? They said it was just rumor, but every year professors die—accidents, or perhaps murder."
"…"
"Each report was always inconclusive. Investigations were made, but no one questioned it deeply. As if someone tied up the ends to bury the truth."
"You mean everything happening now is under someone's power… someone's control?"
"Perhaps. This time, someone claimed to be a professor's assistant. That's how I ended up undercover on this mission."
"Why assume imposture? When you drove the carriage, I forced the nobleman to speak. He admitted—someone had been released to spread chaos."
Barrel clenched his fist, staring at the river from the bridge.
"I felt it… something was wrong, from the first time I met that 'assistant.'"
"How so?"
Barrel lifted his hand. On his palm glowed the number 2.
Victor's eyes widened. The air grew heavy, the night wind biting colder.
"I am a bearer of Choice—Premonition. Like the Special Division. I tell you because I don't know whom to trust in the Sixteenth Sector. Not even Logan."
Victor's eyes sharpened.
"Go on."
"My power is foresight. I felt ill at ease about all this. When Racentiven Sector got word, they rushed in to disrupt the plot. But after that, the 'assistant' vanished completely…"
"Then wasn't that assistant one of them all along?"
Barrel chuckled softly.
"You always assume the worst of people, don't you, Victor? Always cautious."
"I only follow simple reasoning."
"You might be right. Still, we lack proof. If the impostor held a high rank, we may never uncover their role—or their intent. Unless… yes, this was deliberate, to stir unrest. They may have sought to free the young noble."
Victor smirked.
"That noble is an envoy from the Blood Empire. Do you think risking civil war, only to spark a war between nations, is worth it? If it all began forty years ago… there's only one answer."
He raised one finger.
"The leaders of the Venn Republic want the Revolutionary Committee annihilated—root and branch. That young noble's life is already forfeit."
Barrel's eyes widened, his dark gaze trembling. A cold weight crushed his heart until numbness set in.
But within Victor, thoughts raced. His heartbeat remained steady, strong.
The pieces aligned: the organization was rotten from the start. The Republic knew everything—its location, its operations—yet never struck. Why? Because infiltration was easier. Decay from within.
They wasted no soldiers, no resources. Only long patience.
A terrifyingly simple plan.
Victor steadied his coat, staring deeply into Barrel's eyes.
"Do you know where the noble is held?"
"Y-yes! If imprisoned, he'd be at the hilltop prison near the river's source. But maybe… the Racentiven Manor too, the guest residence for the Sixteenth Sector's delegates."
"Then you check the prison. I'll return to my allies at the inn, then head for the manor."
"Then—!"
"Don't worry. My allies move swiftly. But how do we escape afterward?"
Barrel thought for a moment.
"There's a secret route known only to the Special Division, for emergencies. If you find the noble, head to the river's source hill. I'll be waiting."
Victor nodded and stepped away.
In the dim light, their shadows split in opposite directions. Without looking back, both broke into a run.
The wind roared in their ears. Only the pounding of leather soles on stone remained.