After the violent explosion, everything finally settled into silence.

Under the soundproofing spell pre-arranged by the mages, the blast noise that could have awakened half the city was unable to penetrate the courtyard. However, the billowing smoke and dust still mingled with the thin mist along the riverside breeze.

After three shots from the magic artillery at maximum power and the expenditure of a total of 1,350 arrows, the basement had been completely transformed into a massive pit. The unshielded ceiling provided a view of several faint stars peeking through the gaps in the dark clouds.

The blood pool had been forcibly filled in, and within the enormous pit, there was no longer any "non-human" creature capable of standing upright.

The rioters had already retreated under Moen's orders, leaving the vast and vacant pit. Moen stepped across burnt pieces of charred flesh, moving toward the edge.

In the farthest corner, the banshee showed only a half-torn body, stripped of her former allure and beauty. She now emitted a foul odor of burnt flesh that made her less appealing than a beggar by the roadside.

Yet somehow, she was still alive. Her mangled body twisted and writhed, her blackened heart exposed and still beating. Her once stunning face, adorned with heavy makeup, was almost entirely burned beyond recognition.

What an incredible vitality. But this was merely one of her avatars.

It was enough to extrapolate how formidable and troublesome her true form must be.

What a pity—it wasn't the real body.

"How does it feel, Miss Banshee? Do you like my big gift for you?"

Moen removed his hat and asked politely.

The banshee turned a resentful gaze toward Moen, as if his nonchalance had stung her. Her scorched lips wriggled incessantly, as though cursing him.

"Hmm?"

Moen couldn't hear anything and was momentarily stunned before realizing the issue.

He removed the "earplugs" designed to shield him from the cannon's deafening roar and gave the banshee an apologetic smile.

"Sorry, what did you just say? I didn’t catch that…"

"......"

Seeing the banshee widen her eyes in rage, looking ready to devour him alive, Moen blinked and solemnly suggested:

"How about… you say it again? This time, I promise I'll listen carefully."

"I'll kill you! I swear I'll kill you!"

The banshee roared with a grotesque expression, her piercing shrieks filled with unspeakable hatred.

In her blurred vision, she could barely make out the shadow butcher, his body completely reduced to scattered ashes under the magic cannon beam. Only his half-smeared butcher knife remained stabbed among the disarrayed rubble, looking particularly desolate.

As for the other moonbeasts and undead... Who knew where they’d been blasted to.

"So you can feel hatred over the death of your companions, huh?"

Lowering his gaze, Moen studied the banshee's distorted face and murmured softly.

"Hatred? Of course, I feel hatred."

The banshee wailed mournfully, crystalline tears inexplicably streaming from her eyes.

"He—he was my backup food supply! Do you even realize how much harder losing him will make my path to ascension? I was waiting, waiting for the great moon's descent so I could devour him, fuse with him, and achieve greater…”

*Pfft.*

Moen plunged his short blade into the banshee's remaining body, pouring holy light inside. The violent burning sensation interrupted her words, prompting screams of agony.

His face turned cold once more. Suppressing the nausea within him, his tone too grew chillier.

"I almost believed someone like me capable of shedding real tears. How naive of me."

"Someone like me?”

Even under excruciating pain, the banshee laughed upon hearing Moen's remark, as though she'd heard the world's greatest joke.

"It sounds like you really dislike coldhearted people like me, haha… marvelous, simply marvelous."

Moen frowned.

Her laughter exacerbated his irritation, so he decided not to waste any more time and directly cut to the point.

"Answer me. Where’s Senior Anna?"

"I don’t know."

"Liar."

"I have no reason to deceive you. I made a small deal with her. According to our agreement, I cannot interfere with her actions for now. So where she goes is entirely up to her."

"You expect me to believe you’ll let her walk away so easily?"

"Let her go? You make it sound like we’re villains intent on hurting her."

"Aren’t you?"

"Ha, haha. Of course not. Quite the opposite—on this planet, we are the only ones who will never bring her harm. Eventually, she will come back to us."

The banshee flashed an authentic smile, her words laced with heartfelt emotion.

"We… are her families."

"Shut up!"

The short blade plunged into the banshee's body once more. Moen’s coldness was unwavering as he denied her claim.

"You are not her family."

"Oh really? Then who is? You? Moen Campbell? What position do you even hold to be standing here?"

The banshee's mocking laughter grew sharper.

"Such questions are none of your concern," Moen replied, lowering his gaze.

"Haha, you’re right—it’s irrelevant to me. But I’m curious, Moen Campbell. Even if you find Anna Kablin, then what?"

"I’ll save her."

"Her serpent transformation has already reached its final stage. She’s one of us now. Even if you don’t care, do you think anyone else will accept her?"

"Not your concern."

"You seem confident. Do you have the cure for serpent transformations? …No, you clearly don’t."

The banshee's eyes widened as if she'd suddenly uncovered a secret.

"Moen Campbell—you are the son of a Duke, the son of Campbell himself. You could effortlessly summon a military-grade magic cannon in Belland’s district. If you wished, leveraging the Campbell family’s influence, you could surely hire one of The Crowned without issue.

Even during this unusual time, if a Crowned can’t be summoned, you could still enlist the knight order, the guard force, or even the Adventurers’ Association—or perhaps the mercenaries under Mitsuyoshi Corporation. And yet…”

The banshee leaned her head closer to Moen's face, trying to penetrate the cold, false mask to shatter his fragile psyche.

"And yet none of that happened. Instead, you went out of your way, concealing your identity to enlist vermin in carrying out your tasks. Why? Why go to such lengths? Why not rely on your resources?

—Because you’re afraid, Moen Campbell.

You know Anna Kablin has become humanity’s enemy. But you’re not confident you can revert her state completely. The more you wish to save her, the less you trust anyone else.

In the end, just as I anticipated, you’re left—all alone—pitifully fighting this battle solo.

Ha, isn’t it laughable? Despite your noble status, your boundless resources and power, you’ve been shackled by your lofty heritage—reduced to this pathetic display…”

Her mocking laughter cut short.

The surrounding rubble shuddered abruptly, and the settling smoke once again surged outward.

Moen gripped the banshee’s throat and slammed her down onto the ground with a forceful blow.

His blade aimed at the blackened heart.

The face not belonging to him still wore an expressionless facade, yet those pale blue eyes seemed frozen into unyielding ice.

"Enough of this nonsense. I’ll ask you one last time—where is Senior Anna?"

"I already told you—I don’t know."

"Is that so? Then you’re worthless."

The pristine blade slowly pierced the black heart, noxious blood oozing forth as the banshee’s remnants spasmed violently.

Even as an avatar, it appeared this body still possessed pain receptors; hence, the accompanying convulsions brought forth anguish-filled howls.

Watching her cries, Moen lamented for the third time tonight—what a pity it wasn’t her true form.

"White Chapel District!"

Suddenly, the banshee spoke.

"Though I don’t know her exact location, the last place she vanished was in White Chapel District."

"Hmm?"

Moen raised an eyebrow, staring at her in confusion.

This chick... gave in so easily?

Or… was this yet another trap?

"I’ve changed my mind."

Her face contorted, sharp malice flashing in her eyes as she glared at Moen.

"Perhaps letting you meet her would be great."

"..."

"I’m so looking forward to it now: the moment you see her current state—what will your expression be? Watching your hope plummet from the heavens into the abyss, morphing into despair—haha… I truly can’t wait!"

*Sssss.*

Massive sacred light flooded into the vile heart. Amid searing pain and relentless flames, the life in the banshee’s eyes ebbed away.

Faint starlight filtered through the clouds, illuminating Moen’s marble-like, icy profile.

Moen gazed at the banshee, his voice soft:

"Could you do me a favor—deliver a message to your true self?"

"Ha… please speak."

"Tell her: next time we meet, I’ll kill her."

Lowering his gaze, he declared with resolute, unwavering determination.

"I will kill her myself in the most painful way."

…

…

"What a shame."

Outside the courtyard, the Rat King stared mournfully at the automated disintegration of the magic cannon’s core after its third shot, now reduced to scrap metal—reluctant to part with it.

It was too thrilling.

When he operated the cannon moments ago, watching its blinding beams tear through everything, a sense of exhilaration comparable to ecstasy surged through him.

What a pity—only three rounds.

He hadn’t had enough.

And imagine if he owned such weaponry—there’d be no doubt he’d become the most formidable player in Lower City District.

"Power that doesn’t belong to you will invite destruction."

A cold voice echoed near his ear, making the Rat King immediately straighten.

"Mr. Bruce." He bowed respectfully.

In just one short night, this man had displayed enough power to completely subdue him, erasing any thoughts of rebellion.

Now, Rat King Tom had become the loyal dog under Bruce Wayne’s command.

"Magic cannons like these—if found by the guards or knight order—you’d lose ten heads, and it still wouldn’t be enough."

Moen glanced at him and said indifferently.

"I… I understand—just imagining, just imagining, that’s all!"

The Rat King wiped away cold sweat, driving away the dangerous thoughts that shouldn’t have lingered.

"Does Mr. Bruce have any other instructions?"

"Have you found what I asked you to look into?" Moen asked.

"Yes, I have!"

The Rat King immediately straightened his back. He waved his hand, and one of his subordinates quickly ran over, offering up a thick stack of documents with both hands.

"Everything you wanted me to investigate is right here."

"That's a lot."

Moen took the documents and remarked in awe.

"Well, of course. What you asked us to investigate covers an extremely broad range," the Rat King replied.

Urban legends.

Rumors and hearsay.

People acting suspiciously.

Those hiding their true identities.

Unusual patterns in human movement.

Although limited to just the past two days, the scope was still immense given the vast population of the Lower City District. When compiled together, the information was staggering.

"To be honest, I’m a bit puzzled."

"Speak," Moen replied.

"Mr. Bruce, judging from what you’re asking, it seems as though... you’re looking for someone," the Rat King said, staring at the large stack of documents with visible confusion.

"But why not be more specific? If you could provide clearer details, we could absolutely help you find the person you’re searching for."

"Absolutely?"

"Absolutely."

The Rat King puffed out his chest and spoke with a hint of pride.

"If it were just one gang, I couldn’t make any guarantees. But now, nearly all the major gangs have joined forces. Whoever you’re looking for—be it someone trying to turn into a rat and hide in the sewers—if they’re active in the Lower City District, there’s no escaping our eyes and ears!"

"That does sound enticing. But I just can’t do that."

Moen lowered his eyes, flipping through the hefty stack of documents in his hands.

Uniting these gangs and forming a network that spanned the entire Lower City District had, in fact, been one of Moen’s goals from the start.

After all, these gangs weren’t comprised solely of brawling thugs. Far more terrifying was the vast number of “everyday people” who lived under the shelter of these factions—the so-called lower stratum of society.

But Moen couldn’t afford to take that route.

The consequence of mobilizing this massive and chaotic base of ordinary people would be that...

The entire city would know somebody was searching for Anna Kablin.

That was simply unacceptable.

Just as the banshee had warned him.

Even with his elevated status and endless resources, he couldn’t trust anyone when it came to saving his senior.

No one would stand with him in this matter.

He had to face the darkness alone, searching for that equally solitary girl in this sprawling metropolis of millions.

Thus, Moen had no choice but to settle for the less efficient, labor-intensive approach of sifting through information manually.

"But at least... it wasn’t a complete dead end this time."

As Moen sifted through the documents, he eliminated all irrelevant information, narrowing it down to details focused on the "White Chapel District."

The scope instantly became much smaller.

"So, Senior, where would you hide?"

With his fingers tapping the edge of the documents, Moen instinctively began thinking from Anna’s perspective.

"If it were you..."

His eyes swiftly scanned the pages, quickly locking onto a specific piece of information.

"Lokada Academy, abandoned campus, suspected to be the haunting grounds of the urban legend known as the heart-raping banshee..."