Blood Hunt

Beneath the Hound Bar, in a partitioned-off section of the lower warehouse.

The bloodstink that should have spread everywhere was restrained by Faith Runes faintly glowing with insignias, gathering above the Blood Pool until it nearly condensed into a crimson mist.

The tall, gaunt man nicknamed Bloodhound stared anxiously at the Blood Pool beneath his feet. Whenever his gaze inadvertently fell upon the vividly colored, dripping [Cup of Insatiable] insignia hanging above the crimson Liquid, he swallowed unconsciously, irritation rising from his stomach.

He simply could not endure it any longer.

"Still not enough. Too slow. Why hasn't anyone brought up the new batch of 'grapes' yet?"

"A bunch of idiots. Sooner or later, I'll throw them all into the Holy Pool and scrub their brains clean."

The commotion in the bar upstairs had just been settled by the security guards maintaining order. But after this incident, not only would the number of people coming to the Hound Bar for pleasure drop sharply for some time, it would be a long while before their spiritual output recovered to its former level.

Worse still, that collision had given those damned cops another excuse to come knocking!

The bar's revenue was a minor matter. The master's plan absolutely could not be allowed to fail.

Even though Crimson Nectar had tempted several officers, Jim Belloc, who had clawed his way up from the bottom, still did not dare bet everything on his opponents' incompetence.

Not only for the Blood Cup's cause, but also for his own future.

"Too much of a coincidence. It's far too much of a coincidence. We prepared for so long, and the fruit was about to ripen, yet this had to happen."

"Could some bastard from another outfit be setting me up? The Black Shark Gang, or the Anji Society? Whoever it is, they'd better pray at a church. They'd better hope I don't catch them."

Belloc clicked his tongue loudly, gritting his teeth as he cursed the bastard who had ruined his plans, whoever it was.

Hadn't he worked so diligently just for that Essence of Blood the master claimed could alter one's Path, so he could truly join the Blood Cup Cult?

The supernatural path was rugged and difficult. Unlike Scholars, who enjoyed greater freedom and could openly walk beneath the sun, Apprentices faced an even harsher road.

Relying on an early fortuitous encounter, Belloc had advanced through a brutal ritual into a Thug of the Path of Strife, derived from the principle of [Edge]. Yet lacking both knowledge and avenues for advancement, he had remained trapped at the mere First Seal for years. At best, he could scrape out a living in the gray areas, with no further progress possible.

Because the principle of [Edge] was the principle of Strife and slaughter, without freely spilled blood, the knowledge learned through pain could not be engraved into one's mind.

Compared to ordinary people who knew nothing, Belloc had personally experienced how harshly the Prevention and Suppression Bureau controlled illegal low-level supernatural beings. He therefore regarded this opportunity to work for the Blood Cup Cult as his only lifeline, seizing every chance to climb higher.

Only by attaining the third rank of [Omniscience] would the Prevention and Suppression Bureau take you seriously. Only human Apostles of the Fifth Seal were qualified to establish organizations and receive recognition. Only the lofty Immortals might possibly contend with that colossal force whose influence covered the entire First Continent—and even then, the odds of victory were slim.

As for Path advancement, the most crucial knowledge had long since been banned, sealed away, and collected. Low-level Apprentices had to slowly grope their way forward on their own, and every ritual was no different from gambling with their lives. Only major powers possessed complete, tested advancement Paths.

As a mere First Seal Thug, to put it bluntly, Belloc was nothing but a stray dog by the roadside to the Prevention and Suppression Bureau.

Once his cooperation with the Blood Cup Cult was exposed, the best outcome would be a secret trial in a closed court, followed by watching the sun through prison bars. The worst outcome would be to die like an actual stray dog, kicked to death by a passing Prevention and Suppression Bureau agent.

As for how a stray dog died... no one cared.

But even stray dogs had their persistence.

Having finally grasped this chance to change his fate, Belloc would bite down like his nickname, Bloodhound, and never let go. Even if he died, he would tear off a huge chunk of flesh before he did and swallow it.

Estimating the Birmingham Police Station's average response time, Belloc's heart gradually sank. Gritting his teeth, he made up his mind. The knife he carried sprang from his sleeve, its single-edged blade reflecting crimson light and gleaming with a dangerous chill.

The ritual site of the Blood Pool could not be moved. Once the arriving police discovered it, the entire operation would be exposed to the Prevention and Suppression Bureau. The plan entrusted to him would fail completely, and Belloc would not only lose the Essence of Blood he had been promised, he would not even be able to flee Birmingham under an assumed name.

The Blood Cup's retaliation would arrive before the Prevention and Suppression Bureau's hounds, tearing incompetent failures and traitors to pieces.

But he was not entirely without hope. Right now, one final path still lay before Belloc.

When the Blood Pool had been built, aside from using the bodies immersed within as relay stations to slowly draw the spirituality of the lustful people above and brew blood wine, its creators had given it another function. Or rather, this was one of the core symbols of the principle of [Grail].

The strong devoured the weak!

Apprentices of [Grail] grew through Devouring, and supernatural artifacts were no different.

The Blood Pool could be filled not only with the meager spirituality drawn from the upper floor of the bar. As long as enough ordinary people's blood flowed, it could catalyze the Blood Pool and make it bear abundant fruit sooner.

Since the gentler method would not be fast enough, then he would be forceful. He would take what he wanted before the police arrived, destroy the evidence, and bring the results back to report to the cult's master. That was the only viable way out.

As for the Prevention and Suppression Bureau, let them investigate all they liked.

Having resolved the problem with a Thug's usual way of thinking, Belloc felt utterly at ease, a faint, malicious smile appearing at the corner of his mouth.

After all, all of Birmingham was about to become that person's feast.

Once the thought of slaughter arose, the world instantly seemed vast.

Apprentices who tempered themselves on the Path of [Edge] shared an astonishing similarity when it came to solving problems.

Kill!

Every problem came down to where to kill, how to kill, and how many to kill.

Now that he had happily accepted his instincts, Belloc began considering what to do after the killings.

"Mm. My men are still useful when it comes to killing people, but there'll be no need to take them along afterward. Better yet, to stop the Prevention and Suppression Bureau from questioning anything out of them, I should deal with them too. I can't let them affect our grand plans."

"There are quite a few of them... but if I stab them from behind, it shouldn't be much of a problem."

"One at a time."

Given the Lower District's administrative efficiency in Birmingham, the police would probably take another hour to arrive. Belloc was about to head upstairs when he suddenly turned around, staring suspiciously at the door leading to the lower passage.

Thump, thump.

A moment later, dull impacts sounded. The door was slammed open by a shoulder, and a shadow stumbled inside, panting.

Wearing a black hood whose hem was still stained with fresh dark marks, Horn held a heavy crate in both hands. Struggling to keep his balance, he set it steadily on the ground and gasped for breath.

Before Belloc inside could question him, the newcomer familiarly called out into the room.

"Hey, is the boss here? That idiot Gary is too weak. He tripped while carrying a crate, and the crate holding the 'grapes' hit the ground and leaked quite a bit. He's still dealing with it now."

"That idiot practically wanted to clean the floor with his tongue, so I carried the crate over first."