I yawned as I awoke from sleep. As a vampire, I didn't technically need sleep—it wasn't required for me to function properly. I figured I could probably go without rest for days or even weeks, but I'd need to experiment with that later.
After cleaning up, I glanced at myself in the mirror. Nothing had changed drastically. I still had the same face—decent features, my father's blue eyes, and my mother's black hair. The only noticeable difference was my skin, which had gone from pale to almost ghostly white. It now resembled the complexion of someone suffering from a skin disease rather than a healthy person. I grimaced at the sight before making my way to the living room.
There, I saw Remi sitting with a pile of books next to her. Our eyes locked, and we stared at each other for a few minutes without saying anything. Deciding to take the initiative, I broke the silence.
"Yo, what are you doing?" I asked, trying to break the ice. But she stayed silent, not saying a word.
"Uh, did I do something wrong?" I asked, scratching my head.
"Not really, but... what happened to your skin? You look like someone who's been drained of blood. Please don't tell me you tried one of those YouTube videos on how to smooth your skin," she said, barely holding back a smile.
This was going to be problematic. I needed to come up with an excuse that didn't sound like, well, an excuse. Think of something clever, Ren. After a few seconds, I had it.
"I don't watch YouTube videos and try them out like someone else I know," I said, smirking.
"And what do you mean by that, huh, you wheat-faced loser?" she shot back, her voice tinged with anger and annoyance. "Why do I even bother asking you? It's just because I'm such a good big sister who cares about you," she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm.
"You're only one second older," I retorted.
"One second is still one second. That makes me your official big sister," she said, crossing her arms triumphantly.
"You're never going to let that go, huh?" I said, my voice defensive.
"Yes, never. So, what are you going to do now that you've officially decided to drop out of school?" she asked, her voice grim. I'd made the decision that going to school would only hinder my plans of becoming a powerful vampire.
I stretched my arms backward before replying in a relaxed voice, "I'm going to make money."
"And how, Mr. Sherlock? Last time I checked, money doesn't grow on trees, and you're a person without any qualifications," she shot back.
"You don't need to know. Your brain can't handle my messiah-level wisdom," I said as I started making my way toward my room.
"What do you mean by that?" she yelled, throwing a book at me. With my [Superhuman Body], I easily dodged it and entered my room, leaving Remi stunned.
It was now 6 PM, and the sun was almost down. I stood atop one of the tallest buildings in New York, observing the sunset. I was in my full battle gear. The [Stormbeak Mantle] was an oxen-like armor that was surprisingly comfortable to wear. Its black and gray color matched well with the rest of my gear. The [Raven's Mask] was the coolest piece of armor I owned—it gave me serious Plague Doctor vibes, and I was happy I'd bought the hat too, as it complemented the aesthetic perfectly.
The gauntlet did its job well, but I'd need to find or buy something to upgrade my gear further. It could be a huge help in the long run.
And last but not least, the cane. Turns out, it wasn't just a cane—it was a cane sword. The system's description had lied to me, and when I confronted it, the answer was, "It's just a cane. How could the system know?" Sigh. Shaking my head, I twisted the handle of the cane upward, revealing a majestic-looking blackish-violet blade. The sword, other than its color scheme, was a rapier—a slender, sharply pointed, two-edged long blade designed for one-handed use.
It came with several benefits, like increased stats in all areas, the ability to cut intangible objects, and the potential to be upgraded if I fed it the souls of those it deemed worthy. Overall, it was a great addition to my arsenal.
The sun finally set as I slid the sword back into the cane and began moving toward my target—a major drug supplier's den operated by one of the Kingpin's underlings. This place was a hub of criminal activity, where deals were made, and hits were ordered. I'd already struck a deal with Sister Margaret's, a notorious bar where mercenaries and killers gathered to take contracts. My target was a high-value location that had been sitting untouched for days because no one wanted to mess with the Kingpin's operations.
I used [Shadow Step] to teleport from building to building, making my way toward the location. As I moved, I couldn't help but remember my first meeting with Weasel. It was an unforgettable experience.
"So, you want a job as a killer?" Weasel asked, removing a glass from the counter and placing it in front of me.
"Yes," I replied without hesitation.
"You look like someone who's not even old enough to drink. And what's with the Victorian-style getup? You look like you just woke up from 19th-century Eastern Europe," he said mockingly, pouring alcohol into his drink.
"Since when did killing people require age?" I shot back, deciding to ignore his comments about my outfit. At the time, I was in my usual vampire gear. Now that I think about it, I might need to get a different type of outfit for other events, I thought, shaking my head. First, the money. Then, everything else.
"Good point," he said, taking a sip from his cup. He reached down and pulled out a piece of paper and a card. "Here, sign here," he said, pointing to the bottom of the document. "This states that if you die, it has nothing to do with us, and we take 10% of all the money you earn."
He handed me a pen, and I signed the contract. The gist of it was simple: if I died, it was my problem, but they wouldn't sell me out to anyone. I found that hard to believe, but it was what it was.
"Done," I said, looking up at Weasel, who was pouring more alcohol into his cup and another one for me.
"Here's to sealing our partnership," he said, extending the cup toward me.
I slightly lifted my mask and drank it in one go, then asked, "Which job pays the most?"
Without even looking, he pointed to a board on the side of the room where all the missions were listed. "The one at the top pays the highest—1 million and 10 grand. But no one's taken it because it involves the Kingpin. Do you even know who he is, newbie?" he asked, taking another sip from his cup.
"Yes, and I'll take it," I said with confidence.
As my words reached his ears, he immediately spat out the alcohol he was drinking, coughing violently. "Do you really have a death wish?" he asked, trying to recover from his shock.
"Yes," I said, my voice devoid of emotion. That was how I got the job of disrupting Kingpin's business.
I stood at the edge of a rooftop, overlooking the scene below. From the outside, this place looked like an ordinary fishing warehouse, but in reality, it was one of the major hubs where drugs were smuggled from the boats into the mainland.
Hmm... Crouching down, I tried to sense the number of people inside, but it was no use. They were too concentrated, their presence blending together, making it impossible to get an exact count.
No matter. The plan was simple: go in, destroy the cargo, and kill everyone inside.
It wasn't elegant, but if it worked, it worked.
I stood up, did a few quick stretches, then reached for my symbol—a raven with a sword piercing through its head. I removed it, tucking it away safely.
It was time to hunt.
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