The cold night air drifted through the open curtains of the office, carrying with it the distant sounds of the sleeping city.

Inside, the only light came from a single green-shaded desk lamp, casting a warm pool of illumination on the parchment below.

A young man with unruly black hair and a sharp, cold glint in his eyes was writing furiously with a fountain pen, the scratch of its nib a steady rhythm in the quiet room.

Despite there being a mechanical typewriter sitting unused beside him, he preferred the deliberate, personal connection of ink on paper.

His casual clothes were slightly rumpled, and his skin had a rough, weathered look that contrasted with his otherwise youthful appearance.

The office itself was sparse and neat, containing only a few essential pieces of furniture.

In the background, a small wooden radio played a soft, melodic tune, the station's signal faint but clear.

'Oh the night may be dark so you could hardly see~'

'But let the warmth fill up your night, and see through it all~'

A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched the man's lips as the relaxing, romantic lyrics filled the room.

It was a small moment of peace for him who was often plagued with problems.

A sudden loud knock on the door broke the peaceful atmosphere.

The man, Sybil, set his pen down without hurry.

"Enter."

The door opened to reveal a tall woman with long, neatly tied brown hair, dressed in sharp, professional office attire.

She entered with a purposeful stride, stopped before his desk, and gave a respectful, formal bow.

"Offering my respects, Sir Handler Sybil."

She said with a tone of deep respect.

She did not mind the unruly appearance of the person in front of her as she was quite used to it.

Sybil gave a slight nod.

"Is there something, Melanie?"

Melanie did not directly answer the question but instead provided an explanation immediately.

"Marcus and his team have returned from their mission in Evado City," she stated.

"However, they cannot deliver their debrief immediately. They were diverted to respond to a sudden crisis in the Linere District."

She paused, choosing her words.

"There was an incident. An explosion... err.. rather, two powerful explosions that occurred consecutively in the same area."

Melanie's expression grew more serious.

"Marcus's initial assessment is that the blasts carried a significant concentration of sin power. The residual energy is... concerning. He has formally requested your assistance at the site."

Sybil leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers.

"Linere is practically on the doorstep of the Coven of Abomination. It is their territory to patrol. Had we not officially informed them that our members are unavailable for auxiliary support this week due to the Evado situation?"

"That is the established protocol, sir," Melanie confirmed.

"However another demon suddenly emerged within the town area that had to be handled by the available witches from the Coven of Abomination.... Which leads Marcus to suspect this may not be an ordinary event. Perhaps it's the work of stray witches this time, operating outside any formal structure."

A deep frown etched itself onto Sybil's face.

"Stray witches causing explosions this late at night during the Sunfall Festival... Lately, the mortality rate across Matamisan has been climbing higher and higher. It is no longer a trend we can afford to ignore."

He looked out the window into the dark city.

"It's time we pressed the higher-ups for a definitive decision regarding these unaffiliated practitioners. Our current reactive stance is becoming insufficient. We need a proactive policy, even if it means stepping on the covens' toes."

"I will draft a proposal for the council in the morning..." Melanie replied, making a mental note.

"This problem regarding stray witches is quite vexing..."

Sybil said, still staring out the window.

"Evado City keeps pushing that idea of 'total freedom' for anyone with power. They call it an open sanctuary, but honestly… it's just trouble with a nicer name."

He finally looked back at her.

"Lately there's been a debate between Matamisan and Evado in regards to handling these things. Does one prioritize absolute, chaotic freedom, or security through controlled order?"

Melanie considered this.

"I choose the side of that debate leads to fewer explosions in the night, sir."

She said before turning to leave quickly, leaving Sybil unable to stop her.

She did not really want to get pulled into another one of Handler Sybil's philosophical debates...

She was once been caught up in this trip of his before, which lead to an endless long talk that wasted quite a lot of her time...

Even the other members dared not to engage in such debates against Handler Sybil, in fear that they'll offend the man if they ever won the debate.

A grim smile returned to Sybil's lips.

As she prepared to leave, Sybil glanced at the radio, where the soft song continued:

'Let the warmth fill up your night…~'

He whispered to himself, almost amused.

"…Looks like tonight won't be warm at all."

...

Inside the Tangen Warehouse, the air was filled with dust and the faint smell of blood.

Two figures made their way down the worn concrete steps, their footsteps echoing softly in the hollow underground space.

Reymond walked behind a woman dressed in a long white gown.

His slicked-back hair, cheap suit, and forced confidence made him look like a man trying too hard to appear calm.

But anyone who knew him well would see the tension in his shoulders and the stiffness of his steps.

In front of him, a woman moved with a steady and graceful pace.

She wore a pristine white dress that looked utterly untouched by the destruction around them, a stark and impossible contrast.

Her skin was flawless, her features sharp and beautifully seductive.

But Reymond felt no lust, only a deep, cold fear.

Reymond did not dare admire her the way ordinary men would.

"Priestess Putrescence..."

Reymond uttered, his voice sounded out with a mix of fear and forced respect.

He glanced at the carnage around them... the collapsed ceiling, the chunks of demon flesh plastered against the walls.

"...I deeply apologize for the damage caused tonight. Things spiraled out of control."

He found himself in a terrible predicament, and a part of his mind screamed in confusion.

'How did I forget that most members of the Iron Jackals knew the name of the Progenitor of Self Harm? How could I have overlooked something so obvious?'

He had counted on the Iron Jackals team being disposable, but he had completely forgotten that seasoned gang members would know the name of the Progenitor of Self-Harm due to situations where they were forced to be silenced before interrogations of important matters occured.

His wit and cunning were his best qualities...

Yet lately, it felt like his thoughts were constantly shrouded in a thick fog, his judgment clouded at the worst possible moments.

But Priestess Putrescence did not respond to his apology.

Instead, she spoke in her usual cold voice, not even turning to face him.

"Where will you go now? Steel Heimer and the Coven of Solace will come after you and Fredero after this. Fredero still has a chance. He is far more cunning than you, and his ties with the Coven of Abomination run deep."

Reymond's heart sank.

He understood perfectly what she was trying to say.

Fredero Tangen was a valuable asset, a witch with influence.

Reymond was just a second-circle witch, a useful pawn.

The Coven of Abomination would happily throw him to the wolves to cover their own involvement.

He forced a small, desperate smile.

"I understand, Your Excellency. I have already prepared an escape route. I will move to the upper side of the country, perhaps to Lainam in the Ezunlo Island group. The cities here in Ominda, like Evado... they are too close to Matamisan. The search will be concentrated here."

The Priestess offered no approval, no advice.

She simply began walking forward, her white dress gliding over the rubble.

Her silence was a clear message... Reymond's fate was his own concern now.

Just then...

Within a pile of rubble, a figure stirred.

A hand, wrapped in dust and blood, pushed aside a chunk of rubble.

Slowly a body began to rise from the wreckage.

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