In Area 22 of the Silent Forest Villa, nestled in the Cathedral Quarter of Caimon City's Upper District.
Knock! Knock!
Three seconds after the respectful knock, a cool, detached voice called from within, "Co in."
The beastman Gassas pushed open the door and stepped inside with his attendants. The room they entered was more a private library than a study.
The ceiling soared 7.7 ters high, and the room spanned 79 square ters. Every wall was lined with engraved bookshelves, each crafted by goblin artisans. Even the ceiling was layered with glass panels, behind which rested ancient inheritance scrolls, forged through long-forgotten arts. On the floor lay a soft carpet of pale pink and violet veela fur.
This was not Gassas' first visit, yet he could not help bowing lower each ti he stepped inside. The room's sheer extravagance demanded respect. Putting aside the priceless knowledge that would never get the chance to circulate in the Curtain, the carpet alone was enough to quell any rebellious thought. Veela fur ca in many colors, but pink-violet was among the rarest and most exquisite. It left one to wonder how many lives had been spent to create it.
Of course, Gassas did not believe his master would rely on illicit ans for sothing as trivial as a carpet. With his master's temperant, anything tainted would never be displayed so openly. The carpet had to be a legally obtained work of art, likely purchased from a research institute or gifted by a Blood Saint scholar. Any commodity involving corpses almost always ca from such institutions. Only an organization controlling the entirety of corpse resources could "legally" produce a piece so vividly alive.
Following the carpet through the forest of books, Gassas' gaze settled on a desk shaped like a massive tree trunk. No lights were on in the room. Pale red moonlight stread through the floor-to-ceiling windows, divided at the chair, and pooled gently around the desk.
The figure seated there remained shrouded in shadow. When his erald-green eyes opened, Gassas imdiately dropped his gaze to the floor, afraid to et the elf's stare.
"You don't look like you've brought good news, Gassas," the elf said.
Gassas reported quickly. "We've located Ronald. Two Gold Beaks and seven Silver Beaks were deployed, but the Eater of the Dead was too ferocious. They escaped. All black-market healers are now under Woodpecker surveillance. Any attempt they make to seek treatnt will be intercepted imdiately."
"We lack eyewitness intelligence, but based on shopping records and waste disposal patterns, Iger Perskin is likely hiding in the apartnt of the Bloodrage Hunter, Amy Lexas. However, Amy Lexas is of the Moonshadow race. We cannot proceed with a deeper search."
The elf's voice carried mild surprise. "A Moonshadow willing to shelter him? She was probably deceived. Most Moonshadows are simple-minded. What else?"
"Several affiliated hospitals reported that when their corpse recovery teams reached the coordinates the Heresy Court provided, no bodies were found. An Upper District branch arrived within ten minutes of receiving a death signal, and still, they got nothing, not even a trace to follow.
"There have also been several shocking murders in the Lower District. Gang leaders under the Everlasting Wine Club suddenly went mad and slaughtered their subordinates. The killers' bodies bore clear signs of necromantic influence.
"Additionally, a forr Everlasting Wine councilor died in his sleep, with no signs of resistance. Such clean, efficient corpse handling, combined with the signature thods of a controller, points to one person—Corpse Lover, Archibald Harvey, seeking revenge."
Gassas added, "Based on his activity range, his base is likely in the Pig District. Give three more days, and I will find him."
The elf responded calmly, "I do not doubt your ability, but you will not find him."
He tapped the desk lightly. "The necromancer has violated a Blood Saint taboo. The Heresy Court is surely doing everything in its power to track him. Perhaps even as we speak, he has already been captured and drained like a pig by the Bloodrage Hunters. His mories have likely been extracted, and his body reduced to raw materials. When profit is involved, the Blood Saints never skimp on respect.
"No one's been caught, but I suppose we can call this a bit of good news. Well then... anything else?"
Gassas trembled all over. His knees buckled, and he sank to the floor, forehead pressed against the carpet. Fear gripped his heart, yet his words remained steady. "I'm sorry. Woodpecker has found no trace of Ashe Heath. We have no intelligence on him at all."
A soft laugh ca from behind the desk. "Under the glory of the Blood Moon, all are equal. You are a Two-Winged sorcerer, Gassas, baptized by the Golden Rain. There is no need to kneel so easily."
Despite the apparent reassurance, Gassas did not move. The prodigy among beastn maintained his humble posture, leaving his back fully exposed to his master.
Yes, like his master, he was also a Two-Winged Gold sorcerer. If it had been anywhere else, he would not have knelt so abjectly. But this was the Blood Moon Kingdom. Here, law was divine will, and rules were divine desire.
Unless one abandoned society entirely, rejected civilization, and beca a beast, even legendary sorcerers had to obey the rules. And in a society governed by rules, resources held supre authority.
Power was one resource among many. Important, but not the only asure. The more stable a society was, the less value raw power held. In this thousand-year-old civilization, power served as a threshold, an entry credential rather than a guarantee of dominance.
Non-sorcerers were the fuel. Sorcerers earned the right to play, but that was all. This was a PVP ga that began a millennium ago, with no beginner zones or low-level areas. Every new player faced guild elites, veteran grinders, max-level legends, and even outright cheaters from the two Blood Moon races.
Ironically, this was a PVP ga in which society itself functioned as a safe zone, with open conflict theoretically forbidden.
New players had only two choices. They either lived like dogs at the feet of the old players, scraping for whatever resources fell their way, or beca fuel, which the sa group cut off and made expendable.
Gassas had created his account only thirty-six years ago. As a beastman who earned his second wing before thirty, his talent was undeniable. The real problem was that his master had joined this ga 108 years earlier.
Compared to sorcery itself, it was his master's connections, authority, and resources that inspired true fear. Putting aside titles like Chairman of the Elf Rights Association, city councilor, or academy professor, his identity as Woodpecker's hidden master alone was more than enough to obliterate everything Gassas had built.
Gassas might command Woodpecker for now, but most of its core mbers answered ultimately to his master.
Strangely, for an underground organization that handled the dirtiest work, Woodpecker's core mbers received no salaries at all. Wages or compensation simply did not exist. Even if their labor rights were violated, the law offered no protection. If anything, turning to the Heresy Court might be their only chance at revenge.
The main source of inco for most mbers of underground organizations, including those in Woodpecker, ca in the form of loans. Every so-called paynt was really a temporary loan from a financial company. As long as a mber worked obediently, no one demanded repaynt, and no interest was charged. But the mont the company chose to collect, anyone unable to pay was instantly branded a dishonest debtor.
In the Blood Moon Kingdom, being labeled a dishonest debtor ant a swift, total erasure from society. One could be forced to sleep under overpasses in cardboard boxes, barred from public transportation, denied access to checkpoints, unable to make high-value purchases, rent housing, or even communicate. One ruling was enough to strip a person entirely of civilization.
So might wonder why anyone would willingly join Woodpecker under such harsh conditions. Why not work honestly, sign a legal labor contract, and enjoy protected rights? The answer was simple. Most Woodpecker mbers could never endure a nine-to-five job. For sorcerers, unless they joined specific institutions like research institutes, most jobs were nothing but a waste of ti.
Sorcery training required full-ti dedication and enormous expense. Even if they only wanted to borrow money to focus on their studies, no bank would approve such a loan. In this light, Woodpecker's offer of unlimited, interest-free loans beca irresistible.
If a mber advanced to Two-Winged Gold, their debt was automatically erased. Woodpecker would promote and reuse them. Even failure to attain a second wing mattered little. As long as they remained loyal and did not betray the organization, the organization never destroyed their credit.
Training while working wasn't impossible, but it ca with huge difficulty. Those who succeeded were hailed as inspirational examples. But the very fact that they were labeled "inspirational" underscored the cruelty of the path. Success required equal asures of talent, effort, and luck, carving a path from ordinary life that few could follow. Had soone with such qualities chosen Woodpecker earlier, they might have risen even faster.
Woodpecker's growth was no accident. Even without it, black-market sorcerers would attach themselves to other powers to access resources—ti, knowledge, or opportunity. They might endure even harsher contracts and willingly beco dogs if that was the price. Most, however, didn't even qualify to serve as dogs. They could only beco dogs to other dogs.
If the inco from a legal job was rated at one, a Gassas-level dog received fifteen. Silver Beaks earned five, Gold Beaks ten. This explained why, despite his capability, Gassas would never dare rise against the elf. Killing his master accomplished nothing. He could inherit none of the elf's assets. The debt-ridden Woodpecker would not recognize a criminal leader. All the elf's holdings would be divided among players of the sa tier, and Gassas, having broken the rules, would be sent to Shattered Lake Prison, displayed as a criminal ringleader on the Blood Moon broadcast, stripped of every shred of dignity.
The best possible outco would be another old player taking an interest, sparing his life, and bringing him under their banner. In other words, Gassas would gain a new master.
Such was the Blood Moon version of racial equality. In the eyes of long-lived races, everyone else was equally inferior. Freedom and human rights existed only as the freedom to choose which old player to serve. Gassas had long understood that Blood Moon was paradise for long-lived races. In a ga with no inheritance and no generational accumulation, lifespan was the ultimate cheat. The longer one lived, the more resources one could amass. The longer one lived, the more authority and influence one could accumulate, eventually forming an interest group centered on oneself.
That was why the two Blood Moon races dominated the hierarchy, and why elves were praised as the stewards of society—the only race considered their equals. Short-lived races, dying within a century, barely registered in the eyes of the long-lived. This was neither discrimination nor a matter of profit; to them, short-lived races were simply resources. Lifespan was the ultimate class divide.
Even if it ant bowing and scraping, living like a worm, Gassas still needed to earn enough to undergo lifespan-extension surgery at a research institute. He sotis wondered if his life would have been different had he not grown up in a Lower District orphanage. Had he taken the entrance exams, progressed through middle school and university, and eventually joined a research institute as a Blood Saint scholar, would everything have turned out differently?
But there were no "ifs." He had drawn the wrong lot at birth and missed his chance at education. The only path left for him was the hardest one.
Ti passed in silence. The private library felt frozen. It wasn't until Gassas's clothes were soaked with cold sweat that the elf finally spoke, "Keep an eye on Gerard."
After a brief pause, Gassas replied, "Captain of the Bloodrage Hunters, the White-Haired Butcher, Geraed Westminster?"
"Ashe Heath humiliated him badly. Gerard will hunt him personally. If he kills Ashe on the spot, the matter ends. If he captures him and spares his life...
"Then Woodpecker will devour that pest."
Stealing a kill in front of a Three-Winged Sacred Realm sorcerer was a challenge beyond asure. Yet Gassas answered without hesitation, "I'll see it done. However, Gerard has been moving in secret for the past two days. Even the Heresy Court does not know his whereabouts. I fear—"
The elf interrupted, "He is most likely at Observation Point Fifty-Three. Go. May the Blood Moon light your path."
Gassas backed out, step by step, and gently closed the door.
The elf opened a nearby file. Inside was Ashe Heath's profile, detailing his birth records, orphanage background, middle school awards, and university activities. He tapped the desk lightly with his long fingers, creating a series of soft, rhythmic sounds.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
"Why haven't you left yet?" the elf asked, raising his head to look at the hooded figure standing before the desk.
The hooded man stepped from the shadows into the blood-red moonlight, wearing a mask. Surprise crossed his eyes, then he chuckled. "Just as I thought, even among Two-Winged sorcerers, not everyone's equal. If even you sensed , then I suppose I shouldn't try any tricks in front of Gerard."
The elf frowned. "You are not Gassas's attendant. Who are you?"
He had noticed the man before, but assud he was rely an escort. It wasn’t until now that he realized sothing was wrong. Gassas would never bring anyone with him. Within Woodpecker, only Gassas, as its leader, had the right to an audience.
The man responded, "My dear professor... how heartbreaking. After all the trouble I went through escaping Shattered Lake, how could you still not recognize your top pupil?"
He pulled down his mask, revealing a bright, carefree smile. "Nice to et you, Syrin Dorr. My na is Ashe Heath."
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