Although Leviathan had caused many demon hunters to disappear, the guild was still operating. At this moment, the searchlights at the Demon Hunter Guild's training grounds carved brilliant white beams through the night sky.
At nine o'clock in the evening, the final round of nighttime combat training had just ended. The air still held the sweat, heavy breathing, and dull thuds of boots pounding against rubber mats.
Mark Riley, a rookie demon hunter, dragged his exhausted body toward the dormitory building. His tactical vest was slung over one shoulder, his helmet hung from his left hand, and his right hand rubbed the jaw that had taken a punch during the afternoon sparring session.
The route from the training grounds to the dormitories passed along a secluded service road. One of the streetlights was broken, leaving the area dimly lit.
Mark habitually remained alert. Even though this was within the patrol zone, the instructors had repeatedly emphasized that demon hunters never truly had "off hours."
His fingers rested on the hilt of the dagger at his waist as his eyes swept over the roadside bushes and stacks of construction materials.
Then he spotted a human figure and immediately went on guard.
Seeing people within the guild grounds was nothing unusual. But seeing someone lying in the grass, seemingly unconscious, was a serious problem.
Where was this place?
Inside the Balance Zone, among the Demon Hunter Guild's buildings!
He initially suspected it was a drunk vagrant who had wandered in by mistake, curled up beside a roadside drainage ditch with his body half-concealed by shadows.
But after Mark took two steps closer, he realized something was wrong. There was no smell of alcohol on the man—only a heavy, cloying scent of rust.
The smell of blood.
Mark immediately crouched down and switched