An apartment-lined street ran below the building. It was not particularly wide, and the civilians who could afford to live here were mostly laborers from South Harbor, even if they were not struggling to make ends meet. Expecting them to keep the street clean was unrealistic.
Several Awakeners climbed to their feet. They looked drunk—not because they had been careless, but because of the special nature of the Ghost.
"Bleed yourselves! Everyone, get up!"
A man in his thirties wearing a tailcoat staggered to his feet. He was the captain of the team known as the "Banquet Squad."
The captain raised his arm and bit down above his elbow. Blood sprayed from the corner of his mouth, and the sensation of weightlessness in his head quickly faded. A faint smell of alcohol wafted through the air.
The other Awakeners followed suit. To regain their balance as quickly as possible, they either bit open a vein or cut themselves beneath the armpit.
The captain's expression was extremely grim. They had made complete fools of themselves today. They had gone out on a secret mission with the deputy legion commander, yet at the first encounter, the Ghost had scattered them. Some of them had even suffered serious injuries.
Boom!
A roar came from the distance. The captain, who had just recovered, saw something flying toward him. It smashed straight into a dilapidated carriage by the roadside, sending splinters flying.
A figure over three meters tall rose from the wreckage. Its entire body was covered in black-brown skin, rough and uneven like a lizard's, giving it a sense of toughness. The muscles beneath its bulky abdomen were clearly outlined. Inside the ghastly pale facial Exoskeleton were nine utterly black eyes. Beneath them were more than a dozen air vents and a horizontal slit.