Dawn: Blood and Lamps

When the second, even louder explosion erupted from the heart of the Red Quarter, Morris, Layok, and the others had already carved their way through the Blood Bottle Gang members, who were paralyzed by chaotic command, and caught sight of Cenza engaging the Knife Jester, Kex, from afar.

Cenza stood nearly two meters tall, yet he did not appear lean; rather, he was robust and steady. His dark skin, straight yellowish hair, and cold, stern expression gave him a serious air, but the veterans of the Brotherhood all knew: the Uncrowned Fist, Cenza Myron, the head of the Six Titans, was the most reliable man in the organization aside from the three Silent Killers—no, most of the time, he was even more reliable than them.

"You call this a psychic power?"

Cenza looked coldly at the Knife Jester, Kex, who was leaping across the rooftops and firing throwing knives from his bottomless spatial pocket, and spoke with disdain.

Morris, Edrionza, and Layok—one Transcendent Rank and two skilled fighters of the Mortal Tier—did not know how many more there were. Kex, one of the eight Psychic Warriors of the Blood Bottle Gang, crouched on the rooftop, watching the gathering of Brotherhood elites with a heavy heart, thinking silently.

The elites under his command in the Blood Bottle Gang had already been slaughtered to the last man.

And there was Cenza, a man nearing the Extreme Realm.

The Blood Bottle Gang's reinforcements were nowhere to be seen. Song and Rube, those two Transcendent Ranks, along with Rolf, still had no word. Solo had lost contact ten minutes ago, and that coward Tink was hiding in the shadows, likely just watching. As for Numino, he was the one responsible for Cenza; since Cenza was unscathed, he had likely already met the Ferryman by the Prison River.

Worse still, following that explosion, the Air Wall had vanished, but the instructions from the Air Elementalist had yet to reach his ears.

Kex's deliberation did not last long.

Behind Cenza, one of the Thirteen Great Generals of the Brotherhood, the Northlander Steel Spike Edrionza, gritted his teeth and tossed the head of the man Cenza had just hunted—the Transcendent Rank psychic warrior from the Eastern Continent, the puppeteer nicknamed the Chaos Weapon, the Suye Nation native Song—onto the ground.

The Jester pondered for a moment, pulled two throwing knives from his spatial pocket, bit into an oxygen tube (a precaution against Morris's power), and made up his mind to leave immediately.

Under these circumstances, even the Air Elementalist could not blame his choice.

But the next moment, Kex watched in astonishment as Cenza's fist barreled toward his face.

When had Cenza's speed become so fast!

But then he saw a stout figure behind Cenza: it was Morris, gritting his teeth and activating his power.

He didn't drain the air around me, the Jester thought in shock and despair, but instead—he drained the air around Cenza?

When the first explosion occurred and the Air Wall vanished, Morris knew that an unexpected change had occurred tonight, and when the second shocking explosion sounded in the distance, Morris realized: the chance for a counterattack had arrived.

Without a sound, he decisively drained the air along the path between Cenza and Kex.

Cenza sensed the change in his surroundings. This fighter, with whom he had shared years of unspoken rapport, instantly held his breath and struck out. Ignoring air resistance, he unleashed a punch at several times his usual speed!

The battle did not last long.

When Cenza effortlessly caught Kex's two throwing knives and used a relentless, unceasing, and unerring iron fist to shatter the spatial pocket the Jester relied on (which Kex had used to block ranged attacks and store oxygen and knives in advance, keeping Morris at bay), Layok had already landed silently behind him.

Morris, having used his power, bent over and gripped his knees, gasping for air as the fat on his face trembled. He did not look at the Jester, who was now certain to die, but turned to Cenza. "The second—the second explosion came from deep within the Red Quarter. Something unexpected—something we don't know about—must have happened."

"But regardless, the Air Wall has failed, and the Air Elementalist must—might be in trouble!" Although Morris had steadied his breathing, his face remained etched with hesitation. "We... we..."

Cenza turned his head, looking at his old partner with a resolute face. "Fight back?"

Morris's brows struggled for a long time, unable to make a decision.

Until his subordinate could no longer hold his tongue.

"Song and Kex have both fallen here. If this was bait to lure us in, then the sweetness of this bait is enough for us to risk it all!" Ignoring Kex's pleas for mercy, Layok coldly slit his opponent's paint-smeared throat, feeling strangely puzzled by Morris's uncharacteristic behavior.

"After the path cleared, we found the corpse of Rolf the Wind Ghost ahead, and from the rear, Lord Lancer sent word of the deaths of Spinn and Dorno. With Kex added to the list, more than half of the enemy's usable combat power in Everstar City has been lost."

Layok nodded at the two Titans.

To this, Cenza lowered his smoking fist. His reply was short and clear:

He charged directly toward the center of the Red Quarter.

"Follow me!"

And so, the dawn of the Red Quarter was greeted with the color of blood.

When Nal Rick, acting as the logistics commander appointed by Lancer, saw Morris and Cenza returning bathed in blood at the border between the Lower City District and the Red Quarter, the sky was already beginning to brighten.

Morris patted him on the shoulder, exhaled, and laughed. "Although the process had some ups and downs, but—"

"—the Red Quarter is ours."

"As expected, and as it should be," Rick replied with a smile, calculating how to report the escape of the urchins from the Ruined House and the death of Quade.

At least that ghost won't come again.

Rick thought, his gaze passing over the crowd to a figure in a mysterious cloak in the distance.

And with Lord Lancer's promise, I won't be demoted too severely.

The Silent Killer Layok did not even glance at Rick. He stepped past him, ignoring the bloodstains on his face, and pulled Belicia, the Playboy, into a tight embrace as she approached from behind Rick.

"You're not dead yet?" Belicia chuckled with a cough, showing no sign of worry.

"Who could kill me besides you?" Layok sneered, kissing the woman's mouth fiercely.

"Has anyone seen Edmund!" Cenza's voice came from the crowd. "Without him, I couldn't have taken down the Chaos Weapon so easily!"

"Dead cook," Cenza cursed harshly when no one responded, "always running off when it's time to drink!"

On the morning of October 14, 672 of the End Era in the Erroel World, the two overlords of the underworld in the Starfall Kingdom, the second-largest kingdom on the Western Continent, erupted into the bloody and cruel One Night War in the Red Quarter.

It was an asymmetric battle. From the very beginning, the Black Street Brotherhood had walked into the ambushes and traps of the Blood Bottle Gang, but the result of the bloody battle shocked many.

In this engagement, the Black Street Brotherhood lost 54 men, with 167 wounded. Of the so-called Thirteen Great Generals, 9 participated, with 5 lost. Morris and Cenza, two of the Six Titans, fought to the end and survived unscathed.

The Gangster Aristocracy, the Blood Bottle Gang, suffered its greatest defeat in history, with 95 dead and 290 wounded. Of the so-called Twelve Supremes, 10 participated, with 8 killed in action. Furthermore, among the higher-tier Eight Psychic Warriors, none of the 5 who participated survived. There were even rumors that the Air Elementalist, who had appeared publicly for the first time in over a decade to command the operation, had also gone missing.

That night, the explosion in the heart of Red Quarter nearly woke every Royal Capital Resident of Everstar City. Among the innocent civilians of Red Quarter, 729 people were affected; 75 died in the blast, 138 were injured, and 516 were left homeless.

Red Quarter, especially the central district, suffered severe damage. This incident was even mentioned by the General Guard Commander at the Imperial Council the following day, with the agenda item placed just after the discussion on the "Borderland Development Tax Exemption Case" and the arrangements for receiving the envoys from the Ekster Kingdom. In the end, the Imperial Council ordered the West City Vigilance Hall to act swiftly to "quell civil unrest and stop private feuds among the populace."

Red Quarter changed hands from that day on, marking the total infiltration of the Black Street Brotherhood into the West Ring District. The balance of power in the underworld of the Starfall Kingdom began to tip decisively in favor of the Black Street Brotherhood.

However, what many did not know was that at the same time that night, another major event occurred that would alter the future destiny of the Starfall Kingdom.

Tales was held awkwardly in the arms of Yordel—the Masked Weirdo, the Masked Weirdo, the Masked Weirdo, Tales repeated three times in his heart—as he swept across districts Tales didn't recognize at all with extreme, near-limit speed.

Tales felt he could no longer remain silent.

"Say it again, why are you looking for me?" Tales asked painfully, looking at the dim, brightening sky in the distance.

"To bring you to reunite with your father," Yordel said respectfully. He lowered his body, tapped the surface of a river, creating a ripple, and passed through a bridge arch.

Tales rolled his eyes.

"So, who are you again?"

"Your father's secret guard," Yordel said respectfully, crossing a high watchtower. A man of such size carrying a child swept past, yet the Guard in the watchtower didn't even blink.

Tales sighed.

"Did you make a mistake? I'm just a runaway beggar!"

"Absolutely not, this is the will of God," Yordel said respectfully, stepping onto a gold-plated signboard; the sign, hanging by iron chains, didn't even sway.

Tales felt he was going crazy.

"Who exactly is my father!"

"A gentleman I respect immensely," Yordel said respectfully, dodging a white eagle hunting a swallow; the speed startled both the swallow and the eagle.

Tales was completely desperate.

What is the point of this kind of rhetoric that reveals absolutely no key information while making one feel, "Wow, he's so polite, I feel bad for giving him a hard time," huh!

Tales gave up.

Once they realize they've made a mistake, Tales thought silently—they won't kill me to silence me, will they?

Tales turned his head, waiting to watch the sunrise, and asked listlessly:

"Yordel."

"Yes."

"You aren't from a diplomatic background, are you?"

"No."

"That's a real shame; the way you talk is really suited for it."

"Thank you for your recognition."

Yordel seemed unable to hear the sarcasm in Tales's words and remained respectful.

He vaulted over a high wall and landed silently like a spider in front of an avenue lined with exquisite flower beds.

Then, to Tales's surprise, Yordel stopped right there.

Before them sat a plain but sturdy carriage.

In front of the carriage, a middle-aged man with gray-white hair held a lantern and walked slowly toward them.

Yordel gently set Tales down.

The boy landed on the ground and suddenly turned to look at Yordel, feeling that he was somewhat—well, unhappy?

The middle-aged man approached. By the light of the lantern in his hand, Tales couldn't help but notice that his attire was simple and unadorned, yet ancient and substantial.

The middle-aged man had a broad chin, which made him look approachable. He wore neatly groomed short stubble on his lips, expressing respect, but his high cheekbones made him look somewhat stern, and his slightly soft nose bridge made him seem gentle.

This must be a very complex person, Tales thought silently.

He raised his right hand—clad in a black glove—lifted his top hat slightly, and bowed.

"Good morning." Unlike Yordel's hoarse and solemn tone, this voice sounded steady and reassuring.

This is a noble, a high noble—Tales concluded.

Could he be the one?

But a sentence from Yordel behind him made him retract that thought.

The masked man spoke in a calm tone, yet his words were insolent:

"Why are you here?"

The middle-aged noble nodded slightly, smiled, and answered without the slightest offense: "To ensure nothing goes wrong."

"He doesn't trust me?" Even Tales could hear the dissatisfaction in Yordel's voice.

"He trusts you very much, even willing to entrust his life and fortune to you," the middle-aged noble slowly uttered the next sentence:

"But I do not trust you, and you know why!"

Tales felt as if a current of flowing lightning was passing between Yordel and the middle-aged noble!

Yordel remained silent for a moment, unexpectedly offering no further reply.

The middle-aged noble did not look at Yordel again, but slowly crouched down, a moderate smile appearing on his face.

"Child," he said to Tales, "I know you have suffered much along the way."

The middle-aged noble looked at the wounds and blood on Tales' body, pulled off the glove on his right hand, and reached out to touch his wounds, his brow furrowing slightly with every touch.

"I am very sorry, but please believe me, child, after one more procedure, your misfortune will come to an end."

Tales, feeling somewhat uncomfortable, was just about to say something when he saw the middle-aged noble set down the lamp he was holding and grab the boy's right hand.

Then, he pulled an exquisite, sheathed dagger from his bosom!

Tales instinctively wanted to shrink back, but his right hand was firmly held by the middle-aged noble!

"What are you trying to—" Tales asked anxiously, but the middle-aged noble only looked at him firmly, not letting go of his hand while slowly drawing the dagger.

"Clap!"

It was Yordel.

He bent down and reached out to press firmly onto the middle-aged noble's shoulder!

Behind the mask, Yordel's expression could not be seen, but Tales felt an inexplicable sense of gratitude toward this "secret guard of his father."

For no other reason than that he had already seen too much blood and too many blades tonight.

"Yordel!" The middle-aged noble seemed very dissatisfied; he raised his head, furrowed his brows, and said in a low but unquestionable tone:

"You know this is necessary!"

Tales looked up at Yordel, feeling a slight panic in his heart, even though he vaguely knew that the middle-aged noble was not trying to do him any harm.

"Then use his own dagger!" Yordel said coldly.

The middle-aged noble stared at Yordel, and for that moment, his eyes seemed to be filled with frost.

After a long while, the middle-aged noble compromised; he nodded and tucked the dagger from his bosom back away.

Only then did Yordel release the middle-aged noble's shoulder.

"Don't panic, child," the middle-aged noble shifted his gaze back to Tales, his tone returning to gentleness, "it is just to take a small blood sample."

Tales looked at him.

The middle-aged noble's eyes were very gentle, but also very resolute.

So the boy nodded.

Waiting for his fate.

The middle-aged noble reached out to take the unsheathed JC Dagger wrapped in cloth from Tales' leg, drew it, and scorched it over the lamp.

Then, before Tales could feel much pain, the middle-aged noble used the JC to prick a drop of blood from his right middle finger.

What was this for? With the level of technology in this world, could they even perform a DNA test?

What if they verified my true identity?

Under Tales' curious and apprehensive gaze, that drop of blood was gently dripped onto the ground by the middle-aged noble.

The next moment, Tales felt that familiar burning sensation surging from his heart, his blood vessels, his muscles, and his entire body!

"Ah!" he could not help but cry out.

But the middle-aged noble's eyes were not on him.

Tales turned his head, following the middle-aged noble's excited gaze, to look at the lamp that had been set aside.

"Whoosh!"

The previously calm lamp flame was now burning rapidly and violently! The flame grew larger and larger, the core turning from orange-yellow to a blood-like crimson!

The flame tilted toward his direction.

Tales suddenly understood something.

The blood dripped onto the ground.

The reddened, enlarged flame core of the lamp.

A sense of fear suddenly welled up in Tales' heart, and he turned his head to look at Yordel as if seeking help.

He saw the masked man reach into his bosom and pull out a glass bottle containing a tiny flame.

It was a spark.

At this moment, the flame core inside the glass bottle was as red as blood, and the core was slightly tilted.

Tales turned to look at the lamp on the ground, then at the spark in Yordel's hand, and finally at the blood on the floor, his face turning pale.

It took a long time for the flame to return to normal.

"Impossible," he muttered.

"It took quite some time for me to finally confirm it was you," Yordel said hoarsely.

The middle-aged noble seemed quite agitated; he carefully tucked away the JC Dagger in his hand and said respectfully, "Now—"

But the boy interrupted him with an action.

Tales gritted his teeth, gripped the middle finger of his right hand with his left, and squeezed a few more drops of blood from the small wound, letting them fall to the ground!

"Poof!"

The lamp flame on the ground grew larger once more, turning a deep crimson.

"This is a Divine Art cast by High Priest Licia twelve years ago. As long as your blood drips onto the ground of the capital, the Lamp of Bloodline will ignite from the darkness," the middle-aged noble said, trembling.

Tales suddenly understood.

The day he was beaten by Quade, his blood dripped onto the ground.

The day Quade slaughtered the street urchins, his blood dripped onto the ground.

When he hit the wall while inside the Air Wall, his blood dripped onto the ground.

When he was murdered by Ashida using magical energy, his blood, too, dripped onto the ground.

Tales let out a helpless sigh.

He suddenly felt a strong urge to laugh out loud.