I had to formulate a plan for dealing with the newcomers—especially Changing Star.
The balance of the Dark City was already stretched thin, like a blade balanced on its edge. The Bright Castle—the Host, as they so arrogantly called themselves—lived for recruitment. They absorbed talent, crushed resistance, and erased threats before those threats ever realized what they were.
If they got their hands on Changing Star—someone apparently on my level—and her companions, Sunless and Cassia…
Then I was dead.
Not maybe. Not eventually.
Dead.
Which meant I had to study the three of them carefully. Dissect their habits. Their weaknesses. Their relationships. Before they became a weapon pointed at my throat.
I decided to start by relocating Caster.
He had no reason to remain embedded in the Host any longer. Whatever information he'd gathered was good enough for now. So I went to retrieve him.
It was a simple enough job.
I donned the Starlight Cloak, let its illusion swallow me whole, and walked straight into the castle. Guards passed through me without a second glance. Whispers slid by unheard. The place felt bright, clean, smug—everything the Dark City was not.
I headed straight for the clerk's desk.
The man there kept meticulous records: names, rooms, affiliations. After reading the list several times, I finally found him.
Hamster of the Ram Wii Clan. Room 6.
I stared at it for a long moment.
"…They didn't even try."
I made my way to Room 6, weaving through the hallways with practiced ease. Once I was certain no one was nearby, I knocked.
Once.
Nothing.
I waited.
And waited.
And waited.
"…Why the hell isn't he answering?"
Annoyance flared. I sliced a shallow cut into my finger, coaxed a thread of blood out, shaped it into a crude key, and unlocked the door myself.
The sight inside made my jaw drop.
Letters. Everywhere.
Piled against the walls. Stuffed under the bed. Spilling from drawers. Every single one stamped with the same name.
Aiko.
Debt notices. IOUs. Contracts. Mission orders.
Caster hadn't just gambled against her—he'd gone all in. Repeatedly. And when he lost, he'd agreed to work off the debt like a trained animal.
Then I saw the final tally.
Over one thousand soul shards.
I just stared.
"…Does this idiot even understand what a soul shard is worth?"
I had given him a hundred. He'd incinerated those—and somehow buried himself under nine hundred more.
I left the room without another thought.
Straight to the gambling den.
Aiko was going to pay me back every missing shard—and clear his debt—one way or another.
The door was open.
Inside, I spotted Caster immediately. He was sweeping the floors, jaw clenched, shoulders tense, clearly hating every second of it.
Strangely enough, he'd grown his beard back. Funny, considering how much he'd complained about it before.
"Oh, Caster," Aiko drawled from behind the counter. "Bring me my tea. And make it warm this time, will you?"
She didn't even look at him. Just smirked.
Caster muttered something about being a future clan head as he shuffled away.
While he was distracted, I let a few drops of blood fall to the floor. They slid silently across the stone, crept up the counter, and twisted into words only he could see:
[WHAT THE FUCK YOU BASTARD GET UP RIGHT NOW AND GO TO YOUR ROOM OR I WILL STAB YOU THROUGH THE CHEST
—ALUCARD]
[PS: BRING ME SOME OF THAT TEA TOO]
Caster nearly dropped the cup.
He froze, scanned the room, then carefully disabled the memory Aiko used to boil water—a strange cauldron she'd bought from Stev for cheap.
He poured three cups. Handed one to Aiko.
Then, forcing a smile that looked painful, said,
"Uh… sorry. I need to go. Important business. Very scary business."
Aiko eyed him while sipping her tea, then waved him off.
"Go. But remember—you're not getting paid if the den isn't spotless by tomorrow morning."
Caster hesitated, then bolted.
When he reached his room, he found me sitting on his bed, legs crossed. I held his debt letters in my real hand. A second hand—crafted from blood—propped my head up in exaggerated disappointment.
In short, Caster's privileged ass was about to experience what it felt like to show his parents a failed report card.
(Except Alucard was his drunk, double-divorced dad who peaked in his First Nightmare.)
"Oh—uh—hey, Alucard," he stammered. "Didn't see you there. How did you get inside?"
I gestured for him to hand me the tea.
He did.
I took one sip.
Then immediately spat it out.
"Goddamnit. Why does this taste like a rat's corpse?"
Caster opened his mouth, clearly about to ask how I knew what a rat's corpse tasted like—then wisely decided against it.
"You suck at making tea."
He bristled.
"That's not my fault! It's Aiko's favorite!"
I raised an eyebrow, filled the cup with blood, swirled it, and drank again.
"Much better."
I leaned back.
"Now. Let's talk about what happens next."
Caster swallowed.
"You owe Aiko a thousand soul shards," I said calmly. "I'll pay five hundred right now if you spy on Changing Star and her friends. Do a good job, and I'll clear the other five hundred."
His shoulders slumped.
It was either serve Aiko for a decade as her slave… or help me.
Shockingly, slavery didn't seem that bad in comparison.
"Oh," I added, "and I read your letters about killing Nephis. I don't care who you kill. Hell, I might even help."
I leaned forward.
"But after we escape the Forgotten Shore."
"Until then," I said softly, "she's an ally."
Caster nodded.
"…Fine. I'll spy on her."
"Good boy," I said, rising from the bed. "Now I'll go make sure that debt of yours is paid off. You pack your things. We're leaving."
Caster scowled, clearly wanting to argue—then remembered who he was talking to.
"…Yeah," he muttered. "Alright."
He started stuffing his belongings into his pack with far more force than necessary, like the bag had personally wronged him.
I didn't wait around.
The Starlight Cloak slipped over me once more, reality bending just enough for me to vanish, and I retraced my steps through the castle halls. Guards passed. Voices echoed. None of it mattered.
The gambling den welcomed me back with noise, laughter, and the clatter of soul shards changing hands.
Aiko was behind the counter again, relaxed, smug, sipping her tea like she owned the world.
I stepped right up behind her.
And whispered into her ear.
"Hello there, my favorite tax evader."
She shrieked and jumped so hard her chair scraped backward, tea flying everywhere. The cup shattered on the floor.
"—WHAT THE HELL?!"
Her heart was pounding. I could practically hear it.
She clutched her chest, breathing hard.
"…Goddamnit. I'm really losing it," she muttered. "Now I'm hearing voices."
I didn't answer.
Instead, I let blood seep out from beneath her desk. It crept upward, thin and deliberate, shaping itself into words right in front of her eyes:
[CLEAR CASTER'S DEBT
OR I WILL GOING YOU]
She stared.
Once.
Twice.
"…Going me?" she muttered in confusion.
I sighed internally.
Even now, I somehow managed to misspell it.
Losing a bit more blood, I reshaped the letters with slow, deliberate care until they finally looked right:
[CLEAR CASTER'S DEBT
OR I WILL KILL YOU]
There. Much better.
Her face went pale.
She looked around wildly, eyes darting to every corner of the room, every shadow, every gambler who definitely wasn't paying attention.
"…No way," she whispered. "No, no, no. That's not—"
Her gaze snapped back to the blood.
"…Blood manipulation?" she said slowly. "Oh my god. That's—"
I leaned closer.
So close my breath brushed her ear.
"Me?"
She froze.
Every ounce of smug confidence drained from her posture. The woman who ran the den, who bled people dry with a smile, suddenly felt very, very small.
"…You're not supposed to be here," she hissed under her breath. "You're not supposed to be anywhere near the Host."
"And yet," I murmured, "here I am. Standing behind you. Again."
She swallowed.
"…What do you want?"
I smiled, though she couldn't see it.
"You already know," I said softly. "Caster's debt. Gone. Wiped clean. Every shard."
She hesitated.
"That's over a thousand—"
I tapped the desk.
Blood ticked against the wood.
"One thousand and twelve," I corrected. "You've already squeezed enough labor out of him to make a profit anyway. Don't pretend otherwise."
Her jaw tightened.
"…You're really serious about this."
"I don't joke about finances," I replied. "Or my property."
That last word made her flinch. (Alucard singlehandedly set back the Alister ship back by a decade)
She exhaled slowly, then reached under the desk, pulling out a ledger. Her fingers moved fast, practiced, scratching out numbers, stamping seals.
"…Done," she muttered. "Debt cleared."
The blood on the desk receded.
"Oh," I said as an afterthought, "your tea still tastes like garbage."
And with that, I was gone—already slipping back through the den, through the city, toward a very annoyed, very indebted spy who was about to have his entire life rearranged.