8:15 PM.
An eerie, deathly silent, abandoned hospital stood in the darkness. No light escaped from within, making it look like a section of a canvas sared over with black paint. It was a stark contrast to the brightly lit shops and bustling streets nearby.
"This alley, this one, and this one over here—each has a secret door inside that can only be opened with a Secret Technique unique to the Blood Race.
This bar and the basent of this nightclub each contain a Room in the Crack. A Room in the Crack is always connected to a Blood Race stronghold.
The bad news is, the bar and nightclub are crowded, and there are definitely mbers of the Blood Race inside. We're in a sensitive period right now. If we let them notice sothing is off, they'll report it to the stronghold imdiately, seal the Room in the Crack, and heighten their defenses. But the good news is, we can kidnap them and force them to open the door with the Secret Technique and provide cover for us. If we're lucky, we can launch a surprise attack."
In the back seat of a car, Zhou Chen circled several spots on a map, showing Mandala the locations of the secret passages and explaining the plan he'd devised.
Mandala stared at the map, pondering for a mont before saying in a low voice, "Grand Steward, we will need you to handle this."
"Mm."
A hoarse voice replied from the air. Zhou Chen's spirits lifted. 'Is the Crimson Sect really sending in a Grand Steward directly?'
"The Grand Steward's codena is 'Puppet Master.' You've likely heard his na before," Mandala said, her tone filled with reverence.
"So it's the renowned Puppet Master. I've heard so much about you," Zhou Chen said, feigning surprise. In reality, he had no idea who the "Puppet Master" was.
'Still, I can guess from the codena that this Grand Steward possesses the Ability to turn others into puppets. It's a Power with terrifying growth potential; it wouldn't be an exaggeration to call him a one-man army. No wonder Mandala said that with enough preparation, a Grand Steward could hunt a Tier Four.'
The Bar.
The music was a cacophony of noise, and lights crisscrossed the room. Patrons danced and swayed to the pounding rhythm.
The Basent Storeroom.
Faint rock music drifted down from above. A handso security guard, bored out of his mind, was watching a variety show with his feet propped up on a desk, eating one chocolate stick after another.
Beside him sat another handso guard, drinking a beer and complaining about how god-awful the variety show was.
Just then, two transparent, invisible threads slithered toward them like eerie snakes, approaching in complete silence.
Then, they shot forward, piercing into the n's brains.
The two mbers of the Blood Race imdiately shuddered, their mouths gaping open without a sound.
A few seconds later, their expressions of terror and pain lted into a deathly calm, like dolls waiting to be manipulated.
The sa scene played out all over the bar. Blood Race mbers hidden on the dance floor, those drinking with friends in the booths, those working as staff... all were caught completely off guard. The Puppet Threads took control of them, turning them into marionettes in the Puppet Master's hands.
Hiding in so unseen shadow, the Puppet Master chuckled to himself as he manipulated the transparent, invisible threads, seeking out every hidden mber of the Blood Race in the bar and the nightclub. One by one, he controlled them, turning them into unfailingly loyal puppets.
A short while later.
The hoarse voice spoke again inside the car. "They're all taken care of. I've acquired their mories. There are Blood Race elites in the Rooms in the Crack beneath the bar and nightclub, so we won't go that way. We'll use the other passages. I will control three of the Blood Race to open the secret doors in the alleys. We'll split into three teams."
"Understood," Mandala replied in a low voice.
They went to the nearest alley. Before long, a mber of the Blood Race walked toward them. Its expression was as calm as a corpse's, and its movents were slightly stiff, like a clumsy marionette.
The Blood Race mber sliced open its palm with a fingernail and began chanting in an ancient, obscure language of its people. A mont later, a dim crimson light flared. A black and red hexagram flashed on the wall and vanished, revealing a hidden door.
"Let's move," the Grand Steward's voice issued from the Blood Race puppet's mouth. It was the first to turn the handle and push the door open, stepping inside.
Zhou Chen's team consisted of twelve people. Besides him and Mandala, there were two Stewards from the Crimson Sect—one fat, one thin—both wearing masks and cloaks. The other eight were Ascender Cultists of the Crimson Sect, all at Tier One.
The passage was pitch-black, so dark you couldn't see your hand in front of your face.
The Blood Race puppet led the way. The Grand Steward's voice issued from its mouth again. "The other two teams have entered the passages. I will tie up the Blood Race's strongest fighters. The rest is up to you."
The Blood Race Stronghold.
Inside a room, the lid of an Alchemy Cauldron was slowly lifted, revealing a bubbling, crimson broth. Floating within were gecko tails, owl heads, fish heads with an eerie light glinting in their eyes, twisted tentacles, and all sorts of other strange and disgusting ingredients.
As it simred over the flas, bubbles rose and popped, each one releasing a terrifying scream, as if countless wretched souls were trapped inside.
A Blood Race elder ladled out a bowl of the thick broth and handed it to a deathly pale Pansi.
"Drink, Saint Child. This will heal your injuries.
It's a good thing you returned when you did. If you had been any later, and the damage to your Soul had exceeded eighty percent, I'm afraid the Soul-Replenishing Witch Soup would have been ineffective. Finding another way would have delayed your recovery significantly."
Pansi took the bowl and downed the grotesque broth in one gulp. Color returned to his face at a visible rate as the injury to his Soul began to nd and the pain gradually faded.
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