The Alcarte carriage deposited Ella and Camien several blocks from Black Water Alley.

This area festered like an open wound beneath Fog City's polished façade, the air thick with cheap alcohol, rotting garbage, and raw despair.


Camien had abandoned his princely attire for an inconspicuous dark gray overcoat with the collar turned high, concealing most of his face except for his hard jawline and those eyes—their crimson essence impossible to fully hide even in shadow. The aura that surrounded him—that of a superior being, cold and detached—proved harder to disguise.

Ella wore a practical, sturdy dark dress beneath a worn cloak—the attire of a respectable young woman forced by circumstances to work for her living.

Her Silver Dagger rested in its sheath beneath her cloak, silver threads coiled at her wrists ready to deploy at a moment's notice.


"Remember your cover, Lina—a sister seeking 'affordable medicine' for a gravely ill relative," Camien murmured, his voice barely audible above the squalid noise of the alley. "Stay close, speak little, watch everything."

His tone was purely commanding now, stripped of ballroom ambiguity or calculated probing.


In this moment, he was mission commander, and she merely a tool temporarily at his disposal.

This realization made Ella's lips tighten, but she offered no objection. The stakes were too high.

Black Water Alley proved even more wretched than Ella had imagined. Crooked, dilapidated buildings leaned toward each other across the narrow passage, their walls slick with grime and covered in crude graffiti.

Filthy water trickled along the building foundations, pooling in the uneven cobblestones.

People in tattered clothing huddled in doorways and corners, their eyes either dead with resignation or sharp with desperate vigilance. The air hung heavy with the Blood Plague's distinctive odor—that mixture of decay and sickly sweetness—more concentrated here than anywhere else, almost thick enough to taste.

Camien navigated the warren of passages with surprising familiarity, steering Ella through twists and turns, avoiding hostile gazes and suspicious gatherings.

His footsteps made no sound, each placement precise on relatively clean ground. He stood out from his surroundings yet somehow melded with the shadows.

Their target was a run-down shop without a sign deep within the alley. According to Samuel's intelligence, this was one of the first distribution points for the "miracle cure."

A filthy curtain hung across the entrance, dim lamplight filtering through from within.

When they were still a dozen paces from the shop, a muffled, bestial growl erupted from a narrow side passage, followed by the crash of overturned objects and a cut-off scream.

Camien froze, his crimson eyes instantly locking onto the sound's source. Ella tensed simultaneously, her hand sliding toward the dagger concealed beneath her cloak.

In the next instant, a massive figure burst from the side passage! A werewolf—but in a horrifically abnormal state. Its fur had fallen out in large patches, exposing skin covered with the same dark red markings they'd seen on other infected. Its clouded, bloodshot eyes stared wildly, and foul-smelling saliva dripped from its gaping jaws. All traces of intelligence had vanished, leaving only the primal urges to destroy and devour.

Behind it, a scrawny man in a grease-stained apron—likely a shopkeeper—scrambled backward, crying out in terror: "Not my fault! I didn't sell him anything! He just—"

His words died as the infected werewolf howled and locked onto Ella and Camien—the nearest sources of "fresh" life essence.

It launched itself forward with explosive power, moving with unnatural speed, bringing a wave of putrid stench!

"Move!" Camien shouted, his body already in motion. Rather than meeting the charge head-on, he shoved Ella aside while executing a ghost-like sidestep, neatly avoiding the werewolf's trajectory. His coat hem traced a gray arc through the air.

Ella caught her balance, her heart racing not from fear but from the surge of combat instincts. She noticed that as Camien dodged, a slender rapier had materialized in his hand, gleaming with eerie blue light—not silver, but clearly enchanted against dark creatures.

The werewolf's lunge missed, enraging it further. Its massive claws sliced through the air with a whistling sound, sweeping toward Camien's midsection. His rapier darted out like a striking snake, targeting the creature's wrist joint to disable its attack. But this was no ordinary werewolf—its strength far exceeded normal limits, its remaining fur and muscle unnaturally resilient. The blade merely scored the skin, drawing an even more furious roar.

"Standard weaknesses won't work!" Ella called urgently, her Hunter training kicking in. "Check the nape and spine—there's abnormal energy concentration there!"

Camien's eyes flickered briefly, but he didn't hesitate. His stance shifted instantly as he moved like flowing shadow, circling to target the creature's nape and spine. His swordplay was elegant yet lethal, displaying precision and efficiency honed through centuries—a stark contrast to the werewolf's chaotic, pattern-less frenzy.

But the infected beast showed no concern for self-preservation, focused solely on attack. During one particularly reckless charge, its massive claws scraped past Camien's blade. Though the rapier severed several talons, the remaining momentum carried through to his left arm.

A sickening sound of tearing fabric split the air. Camien released a muffled groan, staggering back half a step. His left coat sleeve hung in tatters, revealing pale skin scored with bone-deep gashes. The blood that welled forth wasn't bright red but carried an unsettling dark tint.

He's wounded!

Ella's pupils contracted sharply. She couldn't afford to wait! In that split second when the werewolf paused after landing its blow, she launched herself forward. Her cloak billowed behind her as she entered the fray like a shadow skimming the ground. Rather than drawing her conspicuous Silver Dagger, she flicked out the refined silver thread from her fingertips.

The silver thread was nearly invisible in the dim light—death's whisper made manifest.

With Camien still drawing the creature's focus, she slipped nimbly to its flank and rear. With expert precision, she looped the silver thread around a slightly swollen patch on the werewolf's nape—exactly where the energy had abnormally concentrated!

"Hssssss—"

The sound resembled a white-hot brand searing into fat, accompanied by the werewolf's shrill, distorted howl. The silver thread cut deep, dark tainted blood spraying outward as the sickly-sweet stench intensified to nauseating levels. The massive beast convulsed violently, its movements becoming jerky and uncoordinated.

Camien seized the moment. His rapier became a streak of blue lightning, driving straight into the creature's gaping maw and through the back of its skull!

With a thunderous crash, the infected werewolf collapsed to the ground, twitched several times, then lay still. Its frenzied aura dissipated rapidly, leaving only the stench of corruption and death hanging in the narrow alley.

The battle had ended with surprising speed. Ella quickly retracted her silver threads, her breathing slightly elevated, purple-gray eyes scanning their surroundings. The commotion had drawn attention—curious eyes already peered from several windows.

Camien straightened slowly, glancing at his left arm where dark blood still seeped from the wound, his brows drawing together slightly. He raised his eyes to Ella, his gaze complex and unreadable. Her precise, ruthless strike and critical judgment far exceeded the capabilities of an ordinary Hunter.

"Move," he said simply, already heading toward their target shop.

The shop stood empty—its owner had clearly fled during the chaos. The interior was a jumble of questionable herbs and strange containers. But Camien and Ella's attention immediately fixed on an overturned box in the corner. Several broken glass vials lay scattered, their inner surfaces still coated with traces of dark red viscous liquid. The putrid odor emanating from them shared origins with the Blood Plague, yet seemed more pure and concentrated.

Among the fragments, Camien carefully lifted a small charred metal piece with his sword tip. The piece bore a serrated pattern along its edge that Ella had never seen in any Hunter equipment or alchemical symbol—something ancient and malevolent.

"Not a natural plague," Camien's voice was ice-cold, "but a manufactured weapon. Alchemy combined with ancient black magic."

His gaze shifted from the metal fragment to Ella's face, his crimson eyes burning like hellfire in the dimly lit shop.

"And whoever created this knows our world intimately—including Hunter techniques."

Ella's heart plummeted. Her father's notes, the Guild's classified materials, Camien's hints… the clues wove together in her mind like a cold spider's web, pointing toward a conclusion she didn't want to accept.

Outside the shop, hungry, malicious growls grew steadily louder.

The battle and blood scent had drawn unwanted attention. They were surrounded.