Nearing the shore, Neaire's guard station stood not at the city center but in close proximity to the coast. Ultimately, the location of the guard station within a city was inconsequential, given the guards' ability to swiftly traverse to any location when needed, thanks to their powers.
The men devoted to the Goddess deserved to reside in a favorable atmosphere. This proclamation was made by the Demigods who descended to this world after the First God War, and it played a pivotal role in determining the location of Neaire's guard station.
Those in service to the Goddess relished a pleasant and cozy environment, and the enchanting view of the blue sea was a sight anyone would yearn to behold.
Fortunately, those with greater strength who hurried to their potential battlefield didn't intercept William's activities.
Positioned on the shore, they observed the unfolding battle, patiently awaiting their orders. However, to receive the command, their superiors needed to first receive the distress signal.
Hence, some of them dared to transition from regular energy drinks to beers, and beers to wines, while others opted for a relaxed seat with a lit cigarette. These were the Sand Tier and above guards of Neaire, poised to spring into action at a moment's notice.
Upon reaching Level 2, people developed immunity to every form of alcoholic drink from a century ago. This shift led to the downfall of certain companies. Nevertheless, even during challenging times, there were always heroes emerging. This applied to these companies as well.
Certain people succeeded in crafting intriguing alcoholic beverages with the sole intention of making Level 2 people intoxicated, mostly driven by the pursuit of immense profits. However, their achievements were limited, and they could only make Level 2 ones slightly inebriated.
Only those genuinely at Level 3 and above could experience inebriation by suppressing their universal energy. The rationale behind their superiors permitting them to drink during crucial assignments was as clear as daylight. These people were wise enough not to dampen their energy, merely savoring the taste of the beverage.
However, their time for watching real-life movies became rather brief.
Buuuummm!!!
An enormous voice jolted everyone, irrespective of their level. Although unexpected, it showcased their training and readiness.
In stark contrast to the other city occupants, who either fled with their feet ablaze or simply observed the black smog, the trained guards promptly reacted to the sound by pivoting and brandishing their weapons.
One of the seasoned Sting Tiers promptly shouted as if his life depended on it.
"Return to the station immediately!!"
Standing beside him were an elderly man and an elderly woman. While their current emotions leaned more toward fear, it wasn't solely that. Anxiety reflected in their eyes, yet they swiftly composed themselves. The elderly woman spoke, her voice measured and deliberate.
"Don't tell me…"
The other old man, "So, these b*stards weren't after the Black Metal?"
"I've also been having doubts for a while now. After all, it doesn't make sense for them to risk everything just for a few kilograms of Black Metal," the old man who gave the order.
"We should head back, too," urged the woman.
"Yes, they haven't asked for help yet anyway."
The old man's gaze remained fixed on the heavens, scanning the surroundings incessantly since he issued the order. Evidently, he sought to verify if there was more to the situation—additional explosions or impending events. However, his efforts proved futile as there were none.
"Alp, immediately transform and search the city. You know the drill."
"Understood," replied the old man, and then a swift sequence of actions unfolded.
He was the remaining Sting Tier in the city, accompanying the man issuing orders and the chief.
On the other hand, the elderly woman was a longtime comrade, positioned at the upper echelons of Level 4, still harboring the potential to ascend to Level 5 and attain the tier of Sting. Hence, she opted to remain beside them, ready to offer her assistance if the need arose.
The man, initially standing at a height of approximately 1.75 meters, transformed into a towering figure exceeding 2 meters in the blink of an eye. Yet, that wasn't the sole transformation.
His entire physique underwent a metamorphosis, transcending the human form. A coat of snowy fur enveloped his entire body, and the hands and feet of a typical human gave way to formidable claws.
The head transformed into that of a wolf, its imposing size appearing almost to balance the body mass index, presenting a menacing and terrifying visage.
William Bloodear, a Vampire affiliated with the Rebellious, was the catalyst for the explosion. And, in a scenario reminiscent of folklore, a Werewolf emerged to confront the assailant. These two races, originating straight from the tales of the old people, had been living among them for over a thousand years.
According to folklore, Vampires and Werewolves were sworn enemies. The moment their eyes met and circumstances allowed, they would sink their teeth into each other's necks.
In certain folklore, the animosity ran so deep that they couldn't even tolerate the sight of one another. While the specifics varied across folklore, the prevailing theme was that they were adversaries destined to engage in perpetual conflict.
In their world, on Earth, the dynamics between these two races were both comparable and dissimilar. Both were clandestine races, known only to a chosen few among the humans.
Legends and stories circulating through the streets nurtured the existence of these folklores. Humans had never been isolated; the revelation that they were not alone was systematically concealed from them for an extended period.
It wasn't until the First God War that the truth emerged, alongside the realization that humans could wield magical powers.
Humans had always possessed the clans, groups utilizing a phenomenon known as inner energy. These clans were the rulers of the world, yet maintained a distinct boundary with the other races.
They refrained from entangling themselves with these races, understanding from the wisdom of the old people that it would bring no benefit to either side.
Harmony was the coveted ideal, except for a few exceptions. Thus, a balance that occasionally tilted toward chaos had prevailed in their world for thousands of years.
Vampires and Werewolves were essentially no different from humans encountering other humans. There were no heightened emotions or anything extraordinary; seeing someone from the other race was just a commonplace occurrence for them.
Unless they were psychopaths, there was no reason for them to kill someone they didn't even know. They were sentient beings, and their actions were guided by reason. Nonetheless, most aspects of the folklore, especially those concerning their racial traits, held true.
"Corina, stay with me. We're heading straight to the station."
"Understood, Endel."
"We can't let those b*stards snatch any of our Black Metal weapons or laser guns!"
--
Moments before Leon triggered the explosives.
"We will run through that corridor and then climb a stairway to the above. That's the idea," Triss.
"Exactly. The tunnel will also collapse for obvious reasons."
"Are you trying to imply something?"
"Aren't you taking everything personal right now?"
"But you're always treating me like an idiot."
"I'm not doing that. And remember to be quiet while running, alright?"
"Yeah, yeah. Whatever. I'm not in the mood to deal with you right now."
"But, weren't you the one—"
"Just do it."
"Fine."
'Is it the legendary period moment of girls?'
What Leon had to do was as simple as taking an object from a corner of the place and throwing it.
Indeed, it was precisely this—an orb gleaming with a deep red hue, as if crafted from countless liters of blood, rested in a corner of the room. A small cage encased it, preventing any movement, just in case.
Above them, a pool of blood-red extended, drawing the crimson essence from the gems strewn about, reaching upwards to the concealed sections of the tunnel. This intricate mechanism was crafted through a blood technique, known as the Vampiric Bomb.
Every Vampire possessed the ability to employ blood techniques, and those with greater proficiency could craft masterpieces such as this one.
Unless you were at least Level 4, creating even a scratch on the reinforced walls of a guard station was an insurmountable task. However, the bottom floor, apart from the armory, was comparatively more vulnerable.
This vulnerability stemmed from the utilization of Black Metal on that part. After all, Rebellious had never placed bombs beneath a station, and for more than one reason, no one expected them to do so.
"Get ready to run, and the moment we see the sun, take off that mask."
"Yes, yes."
"I'm throwing it."
"Just do—"
"Run!"
They had approximately a minute to escape, which they utilized to perfection. Now, it was time to traverse the streets amid the chaos. However, Leon's grinning face and focused eyes were set on something else as he ran.
Ding!
[Congratulations!]
[Chaos +1]
[Congratulations! You've killed a Vampire for the first time!]
[Unassigned Stat Points +5!]
[You've killed a Vampire!]
[Unassigned Stat Points +1!]
[You've managed to kill someone 1 level above of you!]
[Unassigned Stat Points +1!]
'This should be from one person.'
[You've killed 7 living being in a row!]
[Unassigned Stat Points +7!]
[You've managed to kill 7 people 1 level above of you!]
[Unassigned Stat Points +7!]
'Yesss!!'
'Status!'