It was another pitch-black night.
Konrad stood before Warren, wearing a black bodysuit he had made himself from flexible composite materials found in the Underhive. It blended perfectly into the darkness. A black mask covered his face, leaving only his eyes and mouth exposed.
He no longer held a weapon, but a small "Evidence Collector" he had cobbled together from discarded parts, capable of silently recording images and sound.
"Father. I'm heading out."
Warren smiled and nodded. "Go. Remember, leave no trace. What we need now isn't a 'killer,' but a 'ghost.'"
"I understand."
Like a drop of ink dissolving into the darkness, Konrad's figure vanished soundlessly beyond the shack.
From that day onward, the terrifying "Night Haunter" of Nostramo disappeared.
In his place came a true "ghost," one who left every member of the aristocracy unable to eat or sleep in peace.
With stealth, climbing skills, and senses far beyond those of ordinary mortals, Konrad moved like a specter outside the physical world, easily breaching the seemingly impregnable defenses of aristocratic estates and secret strongholds.
He no longer killed.
He was simply a silent, omnipresent observer.
He hung above lavish banquet halls on crystal chandeliers, silently recording the drunken boasts of nobles as they admitted how they had embezzled disaster relief supplies and murdered rivals while making their deaths look like accidents.
He lurked in the ventilation ducts of heavily guarded secret laboratories, clearly filming the entire process as generals traded slaves with xenos pirates and injected illicit drugs.
He could even analyze a building's structure to locate the bones of innocent victims sealed inside walls or buried beneath floors, then use his "Evidence Collector" to record the unique marks the murder weapons had left on them.
He amassed a mountain of irrefutable evidence. Every piece was clear and