The door opened.

  A middle-aged man with glasses stepped in, dressed in a crisp white shirt and tailored slacks. Every line of him looked precise—down to the insulated tumbler in his hand.

  Their mentor: Caleb Shaw.

  “Sir,” Ethan and Tessa greeted.

  Caleb gave a small nod, then paused in the entryway and scanned the room like a forensic tech. He even bent down and picked a single strand of hair off the floor.

  Obsessive. The clinical kind.

  He walked up to Ethan and pulled three bottles of cultivation serum from a storage pouch.

  “Ethan. These are your leaderboard rewards. With a score like yours, nobody’s passing you. I brought them myself.”

  “Pour one into a full tub. Soak for thirty minutes—you’ll absorb most of it. It’ll significantly improve training efficiency.”

  Ethan accepted them. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Come on,” Caleb said. “I’m taking you to Logistics. We’ll get you equipped—and pick a combat technique that suits you.”

  He started to leave, then stopped at Tessa’s bedroom door.

  Through the crack, he saw chaos: socks, underwear, makeup, plushies—like a small disaster zone.

  Tessa covered her face. “Oh no.”

  Caleb pushed his glasses up. “How many times have I said it? Keep your room and appearance clean. Precision in small things becomes precision in the field. Next time I see this, you’re running thirty laps.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Got it.” Tessa waved him off.

  Without a word, Ethan quietly fastened one more button on his collar.

  …

  On the way to Logistics, Ethan learned more about the power structure.

  The first six realms were: Channeling, Mountain-Shift, Skybreak, Star-Soul, Clearlight, and Solar. There were higher realms beyond that—but rookies weren’t cleared for that information yet.

  Every Sequence Ability belonged to a “god-line”—Thunder, Fire, Water, and so on.

  As for Logistics, it was basically Unit 749’s vault: cultivation resources, relic-grade tools, manuals, techniques, and combat arts.

  “I’ve observed your ability,” Caleb said as they walked. “Slaughter-line Sequence. Top-tier in real combat.”

  “You don’t need to tell me the specifics. That’s private.”

  “But my assumption is that you can shape blood into weapons—so you’re better off on a weapon-tech path. The right combat art will multiply your lethality.”

  Meticulous mentor, Ethan thought.

  “Then I want a blade style,” he said.

  They passed identity scans and entered the combat-technique section.

  “This row is blade arts. Normal rookies can only choose anything under ten contribution points. With your assessment score, you get one selection under fifty—free.”

  Fifty points would normally take multiple missions to earn.

  So high scores really did buy privilege.

  Ethan browsed for a long time before stopping on a manual titled Phantom Drake Blade.

  Summary: A blade that gathers momentum like a comet—movement like a drifting dragon; elegant, explosive, killing in the space between heartbeats.

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Form One: Quickdraw — “Wyrm From the Deep”

  A preemptive strike—fast enough to steal the first beat.

  Form Two: “Sea-Coiled Drake”

  A chaotic, flowing pattern—offense and defense interwoven.

  Finisher: “Sky-Sundering Dragon”

  Too fast to hear—like thunder itself. One strike. One kill.

  Contribution cost at the bottom:

  100 points.

  Too expensive.

  Ethan started to put it back—

  —and Caleb intercepted the book mid-motion and walked it straight to the quartermaster.

  The quartermaster raised an eyebrow. “Caleb. That one’s over the limit.”

  “I’ll cover the difference with my own points,” Caleb said flatly. “Not a big deal.”

  The quartermaster chuckled. “So you’re impressed with your rookie.”

  Caleb returned and handed the manual to Ethan. “Take it. Train it properly.”

  Ethan’s grip tightened slightly. “Thank you, sir.”

  He could accept help—but he never forgot it. That was his rule.

  With a real blade art, shaping blood into a sword wouldn’t mean swinging wildly anymore. He’d have structure. Timing. A killing method.

  That night, Ethan trained until well past midnight.

  He returned to 304 exhausted, but he’d already grasped the first form enough to call it progress.

  He filled the bathtub, then poured in one bottle of cultivation serum.

  The water turned faintly gold.

  The moment he sank in, it felt like every pore opened at once. Warmth threaded into his body—spiritual energy being pulled into his apertures.

  His terminal level began ticking upward:

  lv9… lv10… lv11…

  At this rate, an hour could mean ten levels.

  “Ethan!” Tessa yelled from outside the bathroom door. “I grabbed a mission. We leave tomorrow at noon.”

  “Perfect!” Ethan called back.

  “And how long are you gonna hog the bathroom? I need to shower too!”

  Ethan smirked. “We’re roommates. Come in. We can soak together—I’ll even let you use the serum.”

  “….”

  Dead silence.

  An hour later, Ethan stepped out refreshed and checked his status:

  Name: Ethan Parker

  Realm: Channeling (lv18)

  Clearance: Probationary Investigator

  Contribution Points: 0

  Serum couldn’t be abused, though. Use it too often and the meridians developed tolerance—the effect weakened over time.

  The next morning, Ethan trained blade forms again until lunch, sharpening the first form further.

  After they ate, Ethan and Tessa boarded the internal metro and deployed.

  “The mission is in Harborview City,” Tessa said. “Add me—I’ll send you the file.”

  They scanned terminals. The mission brief unfolded in Ethan’s vision:

  [Case File ID: CA8300]

  [Location: Harborview City — Sunrise District]

  [Summary: Three homicide victims in recent weeks. All females ~20 years old. Corpses found desiccated—blood completely drained. Suspected blood-feeding demon: “Leechspawn.”]

  [Current Progress: Local security identified an adult male suspect—“Mark Dalton”—believed to be trading victims to the entity. He allegedly lured young women to a bar, then handed them over for “feeding.” Mark Dalton has been detained and is under interrogation.]

  [Objective: Assist interrogation. Locate the entity. Neutralize (kill) or contain.]

  [Reward: 10 contribution points, $30,000]

  Many demons could parasite humans—or mimic them. Tracking them was notoriously difficult.

  They agreed to go straight to the local security bureau and get eyes on the situation.

  …

  Sunrise District. Security Bureau. Interrogation room.

  A heavyset man with a knife-scar on his face sat cuffed to a chair, wearing the smug look of someone who’d never been truly afraid. A professional slimeball.

  Mark Dalton.

  “Mark Dalton,” the lead investigator snarled, “start talking. Where did you meet the killer? Where is it now?”

  Mark played dumb, voice thick with fake innocence. “Boss, I dunno what you’re talking about. You cuffed me for no reason. You been grilling me all night. I’m a victim here.”

  SLAP!

  The investigator slammed photos onto the table.

  “You see these girls? Their blood was drained to nothing. This is murder—human lives. And that thing that killed them is still out there!”

  He jabbed a finger into Mark’s chest, teeth clenched. “How do you sleep at night?”

  “Conscience?” Mark tilted his head. “Can I eat that? I’m starving.” He shut his eyes and slumped theatrically. “I need food. Give me food.”

  The investigator’s fist tightened until the knuckles popped. He finally had someone bring a boxed meal.

  Mark took one bite—

  —and spit it out.

  “Jesus, what is this, pig slop? You guys actually eat this? Get me something better.”

  “I swear to—” the investigator started, then stopped when someone behind him murmured:

  “Captain… Unit 749 backup just arrived.”

  The captain forced his rage down and went out to meet them.

  Behind him, Mark called out in a sing-song voice, “Just a reminder, officer—no evidence means you can’t hold me more than twenty-four hours. So let’s keep it moving, yeah?”

  Outside, the captain greeted the 749 team—Ethan and Tessa.

  He’d read their profiles. His face darkened further.

  Two probationary investigators?

  Was Unit 749 even taking this case seriously?

  Still, he swallowed it and gave them the rundown fast.

  “Let me crack him,” Tessa said, rolling her shoulders. “One good scare and he’ll sing.”

  “I’ll handle it,” Ethan said calmly. “Too much violence doesn’t look great coming from you.”

  Tessa blinked. “Excuse me?”

  Ethan pushed the interrogation room door open and walked in alone.

  “Ooooh,” Mark whistled. “You guys out of real cops? You send in a kid to question me? Hey—actually, I’m thirsty. Bring me a water.”

  Ethan walked up to him.

  No warning.

  He backhanded Mark across the face—hard enough to make the fat ripple like a wave.

  Mark flew out of the chair and hit the floor. Blood ran from his nose and mouth. Two teeth clattered out with it.

  Before he could even open his mouth, a black boot stepped onto his face—grinding slowly, deliberately, back and forth.

  Ethan crouched, voice even—almost polite.

  “Sorry. Just used the bathroom.”

  He pressed down a little harder.

  “Mind if I wipe my shoes on your face?”