"If you've suffered enough, just use a single hand to end it cleanly…"
Igula exhaled deeply as the haunting lyrics echoed in his mind. Another sleepless night had left him restless. He jumped off his bed and headed straight for the door, only to pause abruptly.
"Why am I rushing? If he's dead, isn't that better for me?"
Shaking his head, he turned back toward the bathroom for his usual morning soak. Yet today, even the warm embrace of the water couldn't soothe him. After a quick rinse, he wrapped himself in a towel, grabbed his toothbrush, and began brushing while mentally preparing to activate his Insight Spirit.
The key to invoking the Insight Spirit was a calm and steady mind, and Igula's current whirlwind of worry wasn't promising. Still, to his surprise, the Insight Spirit activated, and frothy white toothpaste scrawled a message across the mirror:
"Don't be too surprised."
Surprised by what?
Was Ash really dead?
A chill ran through Igula's veins. From the moment he had seen Gerard Westminster, the white-haired captain of the Bloodhunter Corps, showing an unusual interest in Ash, he knew trouble was brewing.
Yes, transporting prisoners and assisting in setting up a Blood Moon Trial were technically part of a hunter's duties, but someone of Gerard's rank could easily delegate such tasks. If he came to Broken Lake Prison, it was because someone here intrigued him.
Worse yet, Gerard wasn't just any hunter—he had legal immunity.
In the Blood Moon Nation, law was divine will, unshakable and absolute. Even the most powerful figures—city mayors, councilors, or wealthy tycoons—were all subject to judgment if found guilty. Igula could still remember vividly watching the Annual National Blood Moon Trial thirteen years ago, when a composed and elegant man was ripped apart by executioners.
That man was Tyris Gold, the legendary "Silent Virtuoso," a four-winged sorcerer who had almost reached the domain of the gods.
Yet even someone of Tyris's stature had no escape from divine justice.
From that day on, Igula's life goal became clear: In the Blood Moon Nation, true strength wasn't brute force. It was understanding the rules, manipulating them, and commanding them.
But in his years as an "insurance contractor," Igula discovered a peculiar loophole. There existed individuals with absolute immunity, untouchable even if they violated the law. Instead of prosecution, the government and media would cover for them, managing public outcry with propaganda.
These untouchables were rare and shared two traits:
1.They were either of the Blood Saint or Moonshade races.
2.They held positions of critical importance.
While the first condition was a privilege for those who passed rigorous tests to transform into these favored races, the second was less obvious.
Contrary to public belief, the most important institutions weren't political or economic but were the Hunter Hall, the Battlefront Command, and the Cherished Grace Church, the triumvirate of authority in the Blood Moon Nation.
Leaders of these institutions—Hunter Captains, Battlefront Commanders, and Church Bishops—held legal immunity, the ultimate authority.
Gerard Westminster, as a Hunter Captain, was one of these untouchables.
This meant that if Gerard wanted Ash dead, nobody in the prison could stop him, and there would be no consequences.
At first, Igula reassured himself that Gerard wouldn't stoop so low. Killing Ash, a condemned prisoner, would dirty Gerard's hands for no gain. But last night, as he tossed and turned in bed, a disturbing realization struck him:
What if Gerard wasn't considering whether to kill Ash, but rather whether it was worth his time?
Why had Gerard insisted on rooming with Ash?
What if Ash's brash demeanor, underdeveloped wit, and infantile poker face rubbed Gerard the wrong way?
This train of thought nearly drove Igula mad. And yet, as he entered the dining hall, the sight that greeted him left him utterly flabbergasted.
Ash and Gerard were sitting together, eating breakfast, and laughing.
"Ah, Igula!" Ash spotted him immediately, waving cheerfully. "Over here!"
So much for keeping a low profile. Reluctantly, Igula carried his tray over and plastered on a neutral smile. "Good morning, gentlemen. Sleep well?"
"Very well," Gerard replied, setting his fork down. "The accommodations here are surprisingly comfortable. And Ash here made for excellent company. It's been years since I stayed up all night without feeling bored."
"Oh?" Igula raised an eyebrow.
"Yeah, Gerard's a fun guy," Ash said, shrugging. "We had a blast last night."
A blast? The other prisoners, eavesdropping nearby, exchanged uneasy glances.
"How about staying another night?" Ash suggested with a grin. "I'll give you a chance to win back your pride. But you'll have to rein in your impatience—I didn't even need to go all out last night, and you folded on your own."
The prisoners' expressions grew increasingly bizarre. Had Gerard… lost to Ash?
No way. The Hunter Captain, defeated by a prisoner?
"Thanks, but I must decline," Gerard said, chuckling. "The city needs me back. This trip was more of a vacation, and I'd rather not incur my supervisor's wrath."
The dining hall fell silent as Gerard and the hunters received an alert on their communication devices. Gerard stood, waving casually. "The ship's here. Farewell, Ash. Stay out of trouble."
"Leaving already?" Ash waved back. "Safe travels. Write me sometime, yeah?"
"Of course."
As the hunters departed, whispers rippled through the hall.
Ash, the Heretic Demon, had befriended Gerard Westminster, the feared Bloodhunter Captain?
How?
How did he do it?
A man who had captured Ash himself, now leaving on such friendly terms?
The prisoners' gazes toward Ash shifted.
Respect. Awe. Fear.
Igula dragged Ash to the observation deck, where they watched the transport ship cut through the lake's waves, its hull gleaming as early sunlight reflected off the water.
"What exactly did you do last night?"
Ash blinked. "Played cards."
"Cards?" Igula's disbelief was palpable. "What game?"
"Blackjack." Ash explained how he had taught Gerard the rules of the game, only to thoroughly thrash him over the course of the night.
Igula's jaw slackened.
"You mean to tell me a three-winged sorcerer—a man who could theoretically calculate every possible hand—lost to you at blackjack?"
Ash shrugged. "Guess I'm just good."
Igula stared at him for a long moment, then sighed. "Or maybe you're just very lucky."
On the transport ship, Gerard stood by the railing, watching the prison fade into the distance.
A diminutive, wiry hunter approached. Despite his small stature, his ruby-red eyes marked him as a Blood Saint, just like Gerard.
"Captain, I'm curious." The hunter leaned casually against the railing. "What did Ash Heath do to convince you to spare him?"
Gerard smirked. "What makes you think I came here for him?"
The hunter chuckled. "You've pulled this routine too many times. Whenever you decide to take matters into your own hands, the entire Hunter Hall has to clean up after you."
Gerard laughed but didn't answer directly. Instead, he gazed at the prison one last time.
"Ash didn't do anything special. If anything, he's exactly what I expected."
"Then why spare him?"
"Let's just say I owed someone a favor."
The hunter frowned. "Someone? Who could possibly command your respect?"
"Someone far more terrifying than me." Gerard's smile faded as he recalled the faint scent of Colorless Origin Blood lingering in Ash's room.
"I'm not about to steal a new clan member's long-awaited prize."