“First time I’ve heard of that kind of monster,” Lance said, his voice dry as wind on stone.

“Really?” Reina sank into thought, like a pebble vanishing in a pond. “Mubay City had vampires in the streets lately, like bats at dusk, so I figured you had Vampire Knights too.”

Fulin felt a prickle in her chest, like frost along grass. If a Vampire Knight is birthed by blood powder, how does that tie to real vampires, like shadow to tree?

“Are you suspecting the source of blood powder is vampires?” Lance asked, his gaze steady as a spear planted in earth.

“Not sure,” Reina said, memory drifting like mist over a river. “Two months ago when I got the assignment, Golden Bay City already had a vampire incident, like thunder before rain.”

“Incident?” Fulin’s nerves tightened, like a bowstring drawn under moonlight.

“Yeah. One morning, people found a man and a woman hanging from street lamps on Gem Street, like broken paper lanterns. When they were found, the bodies were shriveled, like husks in sun. People said vampires did it, like wolves blamed for every howl.”

You could imagine sleepy townsfolk stepping out and seeing those mummified corpses, like scarecrows above a road, and terror spreading like wildfire.

But as for the conclusion, Fulin felt many doubts, like stones under shallow water.

“How can they be sure it was vampires?” Lance asked, voice cool as a stream. “Blood‑sucking monsters can’t be only vampires, like night holds more than one star.”

“Lance, you’re sharp,” Reina said, a quick smile flashing like steel. “So people found the real culprit was the Vampire Knight, but by then it was late, like rain after the roof leaks.”

When they traced it to a Vampire Knight, blood powder had already spread across the Black Street syndicate’s turf, like mold in damp wood.

Street thugs snorted it to cheer fights, like sparks tossed in straw. Enforcers used it to seize turf, like tides eating shore. In a blink, almost every gang in the Black Street syndicate was keeping Vampire Knights, like kennels full of wolves.

“Feels serious,” Lance said, brows knitting like storm clouds.

Reina lit the candelabrum on the table, her face solemn as carved stone. “It is,” she said, the flame trembling like a moth.

“But if it’s that bad, why haven’t we heard of Vampire Knights outside the city, like wind carrying news?”

Reina sighed, the sound thin as reed pipes. “Because they hide by day and hunt by night, like owls in rafters.”

So that was it—hide by day, prowl by night, like shadows sealed in jars. Fulin thought that alone slashes witness risk like a blade, and they’ve got Black Street turf for cover, like caves for foxes.

If the Vanilla Duke wants to bury it, he can smother every whisper, like snow smothers grass.

So Fulin had to wonder, scandal should stay inside the walls like smoke in a kiln. Why would a Rose Knight from another duchy cross a thousand miles and dip a hand in, like a crane in foreign reeds?

“Because it really is that serious,” Reina said, toying with a glass like moonlight in her palm. “After swelling on this crisis, the Black Street syndicate demanded to take over the New District, like ivy climbing eaves. They want the districts under the Mercenary Association and the Merchants’ Union, and to drive them out from their old streets, like frost sweeping fields. If this keeps up—”

“If this keeps up,” Lance poured wine into his empty cup, the sound like rain, and picked up the thread, “and even mages from the Mage Association can’t pin them down, then the Black Street syndicate’s final threat will be the Vanilla Duke’s rule, like waves chewing cliffs.”

Power grows from the barrel, Fulin thought, like iron sprouts thorns, and that truth crosses worlds like wind crosses hills.

“Right… Golden Bay City might already be dangerous, like a fuse hidden in straw. Even so, you still mean to go?” Reina asked, her eyes steady as winter stars.

Playing Lance, Fulin drew the Sirius Sword and tilted it in candlelight, the cracks glinting like spiderwebs. “Of course. How else am I fixing this beauty,” he said, like a craftsman swearing by his chisel.

“And it’s not that bad yet. Golden Bay still runs like clockwork,” Lance added, palms open like clear skies. “Traders trade, and the city still gleams. In my view, the Vanilla Duke invited knights from beyond his lands because he’s sure of his hand, like a tiger sharpening claws—ready to show off in front of you outsiders, like a storm showing teeth.”

Reina’s lips parted in surprise, like petals under dawn. “Lance… you’re not ordinary.”

“Of course. I’m the chosen one,” he laughed, bright as sun on steel.

“You,” Reina said, both amused and helpless, like rain scolding dust.

They agreed to set out at dawn, like cranes heading south.

Next morning, Fulin tossed a blood‑drained bunny out the window, pale as snow. The big cat leapt past like a shadow and gulped it down, like a stone into a pond.

Fulin triggered Dual Incarnation and went down the tower, her steps quiet as dew, while outside the castle, Jeremy’s crew already had the carriage ready, like horses smoking in frost.

Jeremy stood by the door, posture straight as a spear. “Boss, the carriage is ready!” he said, voice loud as a drum.

“Can’t you phrase it better?” Fulin thought it sounded unlucky, like a crow on the sill. Lance demonstrated, smile lazy as sunlight. “For instance, ‘I’ve waited upon you for some time,’ how’s that, like tea poured just right?”

Jeremy’s eyes lit up like lamps being lit. “Oh! So that’s a thing. No wonder you’re the boss,” he said, grin wide as a crescent.

“All right, don’t waste time,” Lance said, pointing at a carriage already rolling downhill along the street like a beetle. “Miss Reina’s gone quite a way. Let’s catch up, like hawks on a thermal.”

“Yes!” Jeremy answered, crisp as flint.

Reina led in front, like a swan on a river, and Lance followed behind, like a shadow on water. Once they left George City, both carriages took the road to Golden Bay City, like ants on a silver thread.

As the wheels rolled, the road changed underhoof like seasons. At first it was muddy track, like chocolate after rain. Then came crooked brick and stone, like teeth set askew.

Closer to Golden Bay, the stones grew even and tight, like scales on a fish. The paving shifted to a bluish patterned stone, carved with flourishes like waves, and that grand avenue of blue‑flower stone led to Golden Bay’s gate, like a river to the sea.

If you climbed a stretch of wall here and looked out, buildings rose and fell like hills, a rippling skyline without a six‑story spike, yet packed tile by tile into a horizon with no end, like forests layered in fog. The city’s scale was staggering, like a whale under the waves.

“This… this is stunning,” Lance breathed, awe bright as a new coin.

“Yeah. First time here, right, Boss?” Jeremy asked, eyes gleaming like lanterns.

“Yeah. It’s huge,” Lance said, words like a gust over banners.

Fulin guessed the size alone rivaled half a big city from her past life, like a mirror shorn in two, no matter the measure. No wonder Golden Bay could hold three hundred thousand souls, like a hive thrumming.

Golden Bay’s main gate had no inspection, like a mouth left open. Carriages kept their speed, flowing in and out of this bustling metropolis like fish in a bright stream, arriving with dreams like kites and leaving empty‑handed like bare branches.

“Get out if you’ve got no coin!” someone roared outside, the sound rough as gravel. A traveler was hurled from an inn, like trash tossed from a cart.

The beggars knew they’d gain a companion, like crows sensing carrion. They waited outside the inn to receive him, like hyenas circling.

No warm welcome followed, only licking and snatching like dogs at a bone. In moments the beggars swarmed him, like ants on sugar, and stripped what little he had, like wind stripping leaves.

By the time guards arrived, they found only another beggar at the inn door, like one more pebble in a riverbed.

Guards didn’t see beggars as trouble, like cats ignoring flies. They were happy to handle it, like sweeping ash.

“This wretch’s body is sturdy enough, like a tree not yet rotten. Take him to the slave market,” a guard said, voice cool as iron.

“Yes, sir,” came the reply, short as a knife.

And so, for lack of money and paths, the traveler became a slave, like a leaf caught in a whirlpool. That’s one ending for the pitiable in Golden Bay, like a gutter after rain.

Golden Bay judges newcomers as wretches or conquerors, like a scale weighing feathers and stones, and it sets their fate, like a stamp in clay.

“Carriage there, stop!” As the flow turned from the fast lane into the inner streets like a river splitting, Lance saw through the front window that Reina’s carriage was halted by guards, like deer tripped by snares.

“Here,” the elder maid said, face sour as vinegar, and tossed a purse, like pitching a clod.

“Heh, not bad, thirty copper coins,” the guard said, fingers counting like spiders, eyes crawling over the elder maid’s figure like flies.

She was used to that stare, like rain on old stone. She said, impatient as a whip, “Can we pass now, like wind through reeds?”

“Heh, you can pass, but the folks inside…” Several guards closed on the door, smiles oily as lamp smoke.

“Don’t push your luck, you lot,” the elder maid snapped, anger flaring like sparks.

“How about this?” Reina stepped down herself, like a swan alighting.

Without her knight’s skirt armor, she looked every inch the genteel lady, like a peony behind screens.

The guards, seeing a beauty, grinned deeper, like wolves baring teeth.

One guard grew bolder, hand out like a snake. “Miss, we suspect you’re carrying something suspicious, like thorns in silk—”

“You mean blood powder?” Reina’s posture turned blade‑straight, like a spear in frost.

“Heh! Right,” they said, hands and feet growing restless, drawing near from left and right like tides. “Please allow us to search you, like fishermen casting nets.”

But at four meters, their bodies locked up, like statues kissed by frost.

The other guards shouted, voices clanging like pans. “What happened? What did you do to them, like casting a hex?”

“I did nothing. They stopped themselves,” Reina said, ignoring the two frozen guards like reeds ignoring wind, and she walked to the leader. “This is the Vanilla Duke’s letter, like a seal pressed in wax. Not written by him, but signed by his own hand. Please read,” she said, calm as winter water.

Once she passed by, the two guards unfroze, like ice cracking under sun, but they didn’t dare approach again. They scuttled back to post, faces pale as chalk.

The leader reacted the same, like a bell struck late. He took the letter, and seeing no wax seal, he pulled it open, like a knife splitting fruit.

One glance hit him like thunder. He screamed, voice sharp as a gull. “It’s the ‘Rose’ Knight from Maple City!”

“May we pass?” Reina asked, voice cool as shade.

“Please—please, go on!” he stammered, near tears like a child in rain.

With the crowd gathering out of curiosity like sparrows, Reina’s carriage slipped through and vanished at the bend, like a fish flicking into deep water.

Almost every carriage trying to enter the city streets from the inner lane got worked over by guards, like wheat combed by wind.

Lance’s turn came next, like the next wave.

“Carriage there, stop,” a guard said, bored as a cat, because the driver was a mercenary and the carriage plain, like a brown loaf.

“First time in Golden Bay? Fine, thirty copper coins,” the guard said, businesslike as an abacus.

“Here you go,” Lance tossed a purse, arc neat as a swallow.

“Mm, you can go—wait!” The guard spotted the big cat sprawled on the roof, like a panther sunning.

“What’s that? Show a beast‑taming permit, or it can’t enter, like fire barred from a barn!”

“Cut me some slack,” Lance said with a genial smile, warm as honey, hooking an arm over the guard’s shoulder like an old friend. He palmed three silver coins, bright as moons.

They walked to the roadside, shadows pooling like ink. Lance raised the three silvers. “Let’s play a quick game. Guess right, you get three silvers, like rain in drought. Guess wrong, you get one, like dew on grass. Deal?”

The guard eyed the sheen, eyes narrowing like shutters. “Interesting. I’ll play,” he said, grin thin as a blade.

“Watch closely,” Lance said, fingers blurring like swallows.

He flipped the three coins. As they hung in the air like stars, his hands swept, and the coins vanished, like minnows under ripples, locked in his fists.

Lance held up both fists, knuckles up like little hills. “Guess which hand has two silvers,” he asked, voice playful as wind.

The guard hesitated, confidence wilting like a damp wick. He hadn’t seen a thing just now, like eyes blinking at lightning.

“Ah, right hand,” he guessed, a stab in fog.

“Sorry,” Lance said, opening his right hand to show one silver, like a lone leaf.

“What about the other?” the guard said, quick as a fox.

Lance opened his left—also one silver, like twin moons split.

“Kid, that’s cheating,” the guard scowled, heat rising like steam.

“Nope,” Lance said, slowly turning his left hand over, and a silver gleamed stuck to the back like a scale. “See? One in the palm plus one on the back makes two. My left hand’s got two silvers,” he said, eyes twinkling like stars.

The guard laughed in spite of himself, defeated like a kite with cut string. “You’re something. Anyway, keep that beast in check. I didn’t see it this time,” he said, pocketing one silver like a squirrel tucking a nut, and he turned away.

“I will,” Lance said, a nod light as a leaf.

The guard halted, then tossed a line over his shoulder like a pebble over water. “You seem likable, so a word to the wise,” he said, voice low as dusk.

“Go on,” Lance said, ears pricking like a fox’s.

“Whatever you do, stay away from the black market district these days,” the guard said, eyes dark as a well. “Unless you want to wake up a dried corpse at dawn, like reeds after fire.”