Bloodthirst

At this moment, in the eyes of Veronica, the boy—who was built from piles of literal trash and whose very survival was a miracle—was flipping through documents stamped with the seal of the Prevention and Suppression Bureau, quickly summarizing their main implications.

First, contrary to the predatory terms Hohenheim had imagined, this was a fairly lenient agreement. It merely stipulated the constraints on the subject—that is, Hohenheim could not actively spread the existence of the extraordinary, had an obligation to report extraordinary incidents, and must cooperate with the actions of the Prevention and Suppression Bureau when necessary.

These three points were the most significant; everything else was merely supplementary information for special circumstances.

For instance: report dreams related to moonlight; report dreams related to a forest trapped in eternal night; pull back the curtains before bed to ensure one can be awakened by sunlight; do not cut your hair before bed; do not fall asleep in a room painted pure white; never fall asleep in front of a cracked mirror... and so on and so forth.

The fragmented list of precautions took up more than half the space, and while Hohenheim didn't understand them, he was deeply shocked.

Is your working environment really this dangerous?

Confirming that the agreement didn't hide any supplementary clauses in the corners or patterns, Hohenheim paused for a moment with the heavy fountain pen provided with the document. Then, as usual, as if nothing had happened, he signed his name in cursive at the very bottom of the document:

--Hohenheim Lancaster.

Handing the materials back to the blonde girl who was staring at him intently for some unknown reason, Hohenheim simply shifted to a more suitable angle to let her get a good look.

Let her look. It's better than being stared at by some perverted old geezer who might pounce on him.

A hand took the document Hohenheim handed over, and Veronica stuffed it casually into the air. She looked at Hohenheim with a complex expression, but in the end, she didn't say anything more, merely sighing.

Forget it. Since he has lived safely until today, there is no rush to solve the problem of spiritual accumulation. It is not strictly necessary to choose a path or receive a Mark.

After all, an Apprentice of the Formless Secret Arts is different from a Scholar who studies great knowledge; they have always been accustomed to living with the unknown and danger. Once one decides to follow desire and ascend in the Dream Realm, one either stands high above or is shattered into pieces.

In this day and age, knowing more is not necessarily a good thing, and the extraordinary are not necessarily happier than ordinary people.

Recalling the various annoying confidentiality regulations of the Prevention and Suppression Bureau, Veronica thought for a moment and decided to find someone else to explain things to Hohenheim.

"Emma, I have to go to a meeting. Please come over and explain things to this young gentleman."

The blonde girl beckoned toward the door. One could see a small black head poking out from the doorframe, filled with resentment, glaring fiercely at her, attempting to condemn her with a look.

Too evil, preparing to glare with eyes.jpg

Bathed in nearly tangible resentment, Veronica remained unmoved. She adjusted her sunglasses and threw a "you know how it is" look at Emma, who had been doing nothing but this kind of drudgery since joining the bureau. The blonde girl turned and walked away gracefully, though not in the direction of the main door.

As if seeing a ghost, Hohenheim watched as Veronica snapped her fingers. Like a glitch in a model, she flickered at a strange angle from the corner of the wall and clipped out of the room, leaving him momentarily dazed.

Are you sure this world isn't running on a server made of potatoes?

Accustomed to Veronica's unscrupulous abuse of the Gate and Wall—a technique belonging to the Night Roaming Art—to take shortcuts through reality, Emma sighed, sat down on the chair beside the hospital bed, pressed her fingertips together, and spoke with some difficulty.

"Where should I start, this... sir?"

Looking at Emma, who didn't seem much older than himself and still had a baby face, Hohenheim reiterated his name.

"Hohenheim Lancaster. That is my name, Miss Emma."

"Fine, fine. My name is Emma Moore. I'm two years older than you, so I'll just call you Hohenheim."

Having happily settled the matter of address, Emma adopted a business-like attitude.

"Well then, Mr. Hohenheim, the situation you encountered was orchestrated by an organization we call the Blood Cup Cult. Their important ritual site, the Hound Bar, was destroyed by Miss Veronica Cessno, who just came to visit you."

Seeing the gang leader "die" twice in front of him and even fake her own death, Hohenheim found it hard to disagree, so he just nodded and agreed frantically.

He wasn't naive enough to think the Prevention and Suppression Bureau were blind and couldn't distinguish the traces he hadn't even bothered to hide. It seemed Veronica had hidden at least part of his involvement in this matter, which was the only reason he could stay in a hospital room instead of sitting in a jail cell.

It's just...

Hohenheim couldn't help but ask the question in his heart, feeling uneasy: "Those monsters—the things that looked like vampires, no, more like werewolves—what exactly were they?"

"The poison spread by the Blood Cup Cult is a honey called Scarlet Temptation. And those are the unlucky ones and the hopeless who have been tempted and suffer for it."

With a look of disgust, Emma recalled those shocking files and those blood-soaked scenes, and her stomach churned again.

"It's definitely too early to talk to you about the Eight Great Principles, the Formless Secret Arts, or Paths and Marks. You wouldn't understand—and you don't need to. While this knowledge isn't strictly forbidden, it is useless, and even harmful, to a mortal who has not entered the dream."

"Just think of it as... what did your statement say? Yes, a zombie epidemic."

"People who drink too much Scarlet Temptation become infected, controlled by their instincts. By following their instincts to hunt, they gradually lose their sanity, eventually becoming Blood Thirsters. Then they cause trouble in Birmingham, collect spirituality for the mastermind, and stir up the situation."

"Yes, that's right, that's about it. What you encountered were the infected ones he spread."

"In the early stages of infection, because the infected are stimulated by the spirituality of Blood, they feel energetic and experience unimaginable pleasure, which is why it's also called the 'Excitement Phase.' Once they get a taste of the sweetness brought by Scarlet Temptation, they will keep asking for more, indulging in wild revelry until the disease truly takes root in their bodies."

"After that, it's the middle stage, also known as the incubation period. At this stage, the rooted spirituality craves sustenance from the host. The pleasure of the initial dose of Scarlet Temptation fades, and only by drinking larger and larger amounts can they reflect a few remnants of the past. Patients will inexplicably feel irritable and have uncontrollable impulses, while at other times they will feel weary in the void left by the fading pleasure."

"The incubation period varies in length, but if they do not receive specialized surgical removal, without exception, they will inevitably fall into the state known as the 'Blood Thirst Phase'."

The black-haired girl stared into Hohenheim's scarlet, curious pupils, her expression grave as she parted her lips.

"At this stage, the most significant characteristic of the patient is that their pupils will be dyed red by the color of Blood."