From half a street away, Reyn studied the pursuer.
He was a young man, about twenty-three, with an ordinary appearance and lean build. No visible weapons, clad in form-fitting clothes. He moved swiftly, deftly dodging pedestrians and obstacles while keeping pace with the carriage.
In his soul, Reyn found an element called "Inner Qi," confirming him as a fighter.
The Inner Qi element came from the Cicada-tailed Mantis demonic soul and was rare. It let superhumans channel physical strength into "Qi energy," delivering devastating strikes in close combat instantly.
Fighters relied on Inner Qi. They excelled in hand-to-hand, using their bodies as weapons, every attack bursting with Qi—blending speed, offense, and defense.
Fighters were uncommon, but each was a deadly foe.
This one had a secondary soul granting the common "Balance" element, meaning Level 2 professional—no pushover.
"Such a young, promising fighter—and an evil god follower."
Reyn silently thanked his luck.
Good thing he'd noticed in time. Caught in an ambush, he might not survive one strike.
Watching the fighter chase the carriage and vanish from sight, Reyn relaxed somewhat. He was now sure: the Discord Seal's detection radius for evil god followers didn't exceed a hundred meters, or the fighter would've realized he wasn't in the carriage long ago.
It might be less, but that was speculation.
Just thinking of the Discord Seal gave Reyn a headache. There were more evil god followers than expected, and the seal was like a time bomb ready to explode anytime.
Hiding at home nonstop wasn't viable—how to evade them otherwise?
"I need to find a way to remove the Discord Seal."
Reyn resolved firmly, then pondered: to eliminate it, start with the followers themselves.
First, learn how they sense it.
Beyond faith in the evil god, were there other methods?
If unsolvable, consider another tack—eliminate the problem-makers!
Strike first, wipe out a group of evil god followers, reducing encounter odds while absorbing their souls for a boost.
Plus, this fighter had likely seen his face. Reporting to other followers or the Shadow Blade organization would spell serious trouble.
Either way, this man had to die!
Reyn was a man of action, not one to passively endure threats.
Without hesitation, he turned and headed back to Silverstar district.
The carriage had come from Silverstar and just crossed the bridge. Thus, the fighter had tailed from there. Discovering him gone, he'd surely backtrack.
The only route from Los to Silverstar was the great bridge over the Ferreglen river.
Reyn reached the bridge quickly, crossed to Silverstar side, walked two hundred meters from its start, and entered a bookstore, ascending to the second floor.
He stood by a window overlooking the bridge, casually flipping through a book.
Less than twenty minutes later, the familiar figure appeared on the bridge—the young fighter.
He crossed slowly, scanning sides as if searching.
Reyn smirked inwardly. As expected, the evil god follower hadn't given up and returned hunting.
He activated the Voice of All Things, focusing on the target.
The world quieted; myriad sounds filtered out, leaving the fighter's footsteps sharply amplified. Without looking, Reyn tracked his position as if the pursuer were nearby.
Waiting until the fighter crossed into Silverstar, Reyn left the bookstore and tailed him from afar.
He stayed at least two hundred meters back, never entering the fighter's view. Unless the man had supernaturally keen senses—which Reyn was sure his soul lacked—detection was impossible.
The fighter walked unhurriedly, glancing back often.
He had no idea he was being tailed—or that his pursuer was the very man he sought.
So, each keeping their secrets—one in plain sight, the other in the shadows—they walked, stopping and moving again for almost an hour, until the fighter finally stopped searching and entered the tavern.
Reyn stopped a short distance from the tavern, thinking: "As expected." This place was not far from the Market of Demonic Souls; evidently, the fighter had encountered him right there on the market and sensed the Discord Seal.
He cautiously approached the tavern.
Following the fighter's footsteps came the sounds of opening and closing doors, scraping chairs. He sat down at a table, and nearby, it seemed, there were many drinkers, filling the room with loud noise.
"Hogan, you said you'd be back quick from the Market of Demonic Souls—why'd it take so long?" a woman's voice rang out.
The fighter, whom they called Hogan, seemed annoyed about something and only replied after a few seconds:
"Yeah, well, spotted an interesting target."
"What target? Tell us," said another man—his voice was low, and from his tone, it was clear his status was higher than Hogan's.
Hogan seemed reluctant to speak, but the man with the low voice snorted in displeasure.
"Fine, I'll tell you," Hogan reluctantly lowered his voice. "I met a guy on the market with a Discord Seal." As he said "Discord Seal," he dropped his voice almost to a whisper.
"What?" the woman exclaimed.
"Carrida, quieter," the man warned her, then asked: "Lord's Altar—you sure you didn't make a mistake?"
"Of course."
"Then where is he?" the man pressed.
"Lost him," Hogan replied uncertainly.
The man seemed furious, but in the tavern, he didn't dare show his anger and merely scolded him sternly:
"You let such an important target slip away? You're experienced—I shouldn't have to teach you what to do, right? At the very least, you should've found a way to let us know so we could act together, but in the end?"
"Sorry, Wilt," Hogan explained. "The situation was urgent—that guy was just leaving the Market of Demonic Souls, got in a carriage and rode off. I didn't have time to warn you."
"Hmph, don't think I don't know what you're thinking," Wilt rejected the excuse and said firmly: "A few days ago, they attacked Trevor's estate outside the city. Not only was he himself killed, but several brothers died too, and the Lord's Altar was destroyed."
"That guy you spotted is very likely the blasphemer who desecrated the Lord's Altar."
"I know you want to stand out, please the evil god, but the enemy took out Trevor's whole squad. With your strength, are you his match?"
Hogan didn't argue, muttered something, and fell silent.
All three were quiet for a while, then Wilt sighed and asked:
"You saw that guy's face—could you recognize him?"
"I saw it, but I'd never met him before," Hogan replied quickly and began describing: "A man, very young—I'd say under twenty. Looks... hm, looks really attractive, the kind women like. Can't say more precisely, but overall, if you see him once, you won't forget."
"Under twenty—you sure?"
Wilt hesitated. Such a young superhuman—his professional level usually didn't exceed the first. Did he have the power to kill Trevor, a second-level shadow warrior, and even an Iron Guard?
Hogan swore he wasn't mistaken, and the Discord Seal on the target was genuine too.
Then the trio began speculating about Reyn's identity. Wilt even wanted Hogan to draw his portrait, but he couldn't, and couldn't describe him properly either.
Reyn listened from outside the tavern wall for a long time. It was a bit strange to hear others discussing him.
Especially when they mentioned his attractive appearance—he felt a slight smug satisfaction.
But the thought that these three followers of the evil god wanted to kill him quickly dispelled that pleasant feeling, replacing it with utter irritation.
Only toward evening did the three finish talking and, leaving the tavern, go their separate ways.
Reyn thought it over and decided to keep tailing the fighter Hogan. Only he had seen his face; the other two could wait.
Hogan suspected nothing and headed home—to a house on the east side of the Silverstar district, by the river.
Reyn memorized the address and slipped away unnoticed.
Returning by carriage to his apartment in the Los district, Reyn set down the glass jars and was still thinking about the evil god's followers.
It was obvious Hogan was hiding something from his accomplices.
During the day, while tailing the carriage, upon realizing he wasn't in it, he could easily have attacked the coachman and gotten the address out of him.
That time, Reyn hadn't given the coachman his exact apartment address—just told him to head to Koshem Street.
Koshem Street was one of the most densely populated in the Los district, with tons of rentals and at least five or six thousand residents. Finding someone specific there wasn't easy.
However, relying on the Discord Seal's intuition, if Hogan had poked around Koshem Street a few times, even at random, he could've easily found him.
"This Hogan didn't tell the whole truth. He still wants to act alone, kill me, take the Discord Seal, and please the evil god."
"Can't stay in the apartment anymore."
A sense of urgency gripped Reyn. Hogan might show up by midnight.
Though it was just a guess, and the odds were low—Hogan didn't seem sharp—he didn't want to risk it.
But before leaving the apartment, he needed to kill the gold-devouring ants and store their demonic souls in soul stones—otherwise, carrying them around would be inconvenient and draw attention.
Reyn picked up a glass jar, looked at the gold-devouring ant inside, and suddenly found himself in a bind.
He had no suitable tool, and killing a gold-devouring ant turned out not so simple...