He pulled out another pair of gloves, with dark-gold chips the size of fingernails embedded over the knuckles.
"President Wu Heng refined these from energy that leaked out of Heaven. Embedded in the gloves, they can cause continuous burns through direct contact with an angel's body. They're more effective than exorcism weapons, but don't expect to kill a high-ranking angel with one punch. You throw a punch, he'll be fine, and the bones in your hand will break first."
The young demon hunter lowered his head to look at the seemingly ordinary tactical gloves. He accepted them carefully, as though holding a sacred relic.
Anvil stuffed the requisition form back into his hand and waved him off. "Next."
The line slowly moved forward.
Anvil repeated the same routine: asking about their combat zone, checking off equipment from the list, explaining key points of use, then waving them away.
His voice always carried that impatient, rough tone, like sandpaper scraping across an iron plate.
Yet no one found him irritating.
Because every impatient reminder was teaching them how to come back alive.
At exactly eighteen hundred that evening, Wu Heng pressed the send button for the global broadcast.
The message would be transmitted simultaneously through all Guild communication channels—including the open web, the dark web, thirty-seven encrypted channels, and more than three hundred underground intelligence nodes scattered across the globe.
The recipients were not only registered demon hunters, but also every lone hunter, bounty hunter, and those who had left for one reason or another yet could still grip a weapon in the darkness.
The header contained only four words:
Angel Wanted Order
The text read:
Since the angels fell, the human world has become purgatory. Thirty core cities have been reduced to ruins, and more than fifteen million civilians have