Dusk crept across the window lattice as expected, casting a warm, blood-colored glow over the room—yet none of that warmth reached Anna's eyes.
With practiced ease, she mixed the sleeping powder into the evening meal—this time, in a heavier dose.
Though they say a Saint would never fall for the same trick twice…
Elena was clearly no Saint.
Anna watched as her junior sister ate without suspicion. Before long, Elena slumped over the table, fast asleep.
"Young people really do sleep well," Van Helsing's voice sounded in her mind, carrying a trace of barely concealed excitement.
"You seem… unusually excited," Anna murmured, lowering her gaze to her intact right thumb, sensing something off about him.
"Of course," Van Helsing replied, his tone tinged with a trembling anticipation. "A reversal against the odds, striking down someone above your level—this is the kind of moment you simply can't skip in a game."
It was as if he could already "see" the coming battle—the most thrilling chapter from his player's perspective.
Anna shook her head slightly, not fully understanding his words.
Perhaps, in the eyes of a god, this was just a game.
But to her—
This was her life.
Her arm trembled faintly, mirroring the storm within her—a tension suppressed for far too long, now nearing its breaking point.
She took a deep breath, gently lifting her unconscious junior sister and placing her onto the bed, as if performing a silent farewell.
Then she turned and descended the stairs, her face as cold as carved jade, walking toward the Black Baron's residence.
"Wait."
Van Helsing stopped her.
"You're just going to walk in and fight him head-on?"
"I've prepared a sickle and spirit stones. I am not unprepared."
Anna tapped the storage pouch at her waist. Like the Baron's, it could shrink and store items within—but required periodic spiritual energy to maintain.
Her weapon and recovery stones were inside.
"That's nowhere near enough!"
Van Helsing's tone sharpened with exasperation.
"Before fighting a boss, you secure advantageous terrain, use buffs, and apply debuffs to your enemy!"
"Boss? Buffs? Debuffs?"
Anna frowned, not understanding his "game" terminology. She assumed they were some kind of techniques—and "boss" was likely just his dismissive way of referring to the Baron.
Still, she continued walking, only addressing what she did understand:
"I've already exhausted my pills trying to repair my blood core. As for those enhancement techniques… I've never studied them."
"Then at the very least, don't fight him on his own ground!"
Van Helsing adjusted quickly.
"Who knows what traps or ritual arrays he's set up in his house? Set an ambush in the courtyard and lure him out. Control the terrain—that's the bare minimum."
Anna paused.
That… made sense.
She turned back to the courtyard and, drawing on her limited knowledge of ritual formations, hastily set up a crude trapping array.
Using ritual materials—vampire bat saliva, toxic powder from moth wings—
A faint black shimmer soon flickered across the courtyard as the formation took shape.
After finishing, she looked at the dimly glowing array, feeling slightly reassured, and prepared to lure her enemy.
"…Sigh."
Van Helsing let out a long sigh at the sight of the "grand formation."
"By the way—you said you have spirit stones, right?"
Anna nodded and took out several pitch-black stones from her pouch.
—Perspective Shift—
At the same time, inside the Black Baron's residence.
With a wave of his hand, the Baron poured out numerous sacks of grain from his palm-sized storage pouch, quickly filling half the room.
"Mmm…"
He took a deep breath, savoring the stale scent of stored grain. A look of greedy satisfaction spread across his face.
"This year's relief grain… not much different from twenty years ago."
His sharp eyes scanned the pile, a trace of dissatisfaction flickering beneath his kindly expression.
"The disaster is worse, yet they grow stingier."
After finishing his calculations, he opened the letter he had retrieved earlier.
"Tsk. Ten thousand spirit stones… these grain merchants are dreaming. Offering triple the price and thinking they can take it all? Do they think I've grown senile?"
He stroked his beard, smiling faintly.
"Do they think Anna, after inheriting my position, would foolishly sell at triple price? Without my unique method to remove the restriction, she couldn't even open the compound mailbox."
"Besides… she's crippled now. Not even worth investing in."
His smile deepened.
"Twenty years ago, I sold at ten times the price. Now…"
He paused.
"Eight times will do. My time is running out—better secure it first."
His eyes gleamed.
"Some for the family… and some to 'support' that girl, Elena."
"Of course, she'll sign a soul contract—protecting my family for generations. These resources aren't given for free."
The smile on his face widened grotesquely under the lamplight.
"And that fool Anna…"
He flipped through the letters, full of disdain.
"If she had followed my orders and disposed of those useless refugees, how efficient that would be. Selling the old and weak to cults as sacrificial materials—perfect use of resources."
"Instead, she clings to pointless compassion. No resolve."
"No wonder her blood core was destroyed."
A ring filled with spirit stones fell into his palm.
Feeling its abundant energy, his smile grew even deeper.
"Now this… is worth something."
The ring was far superior to a storage pouch—no need to constantly maintain it with spiritual energy.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Right then, a knock sounded at the door.
Ah. The girl must have arrived.
After dealing with the grain for so long, it was time to reward himself.
The Baron stroked the whip at his waist, savoring its familiar feel, and walked to the door.
He opened it.
Outside stood only Anna.
Moonlight cast her pale face in shifting shadow. Behind her, the corridor was empty—no sign of the trembling girl he had expected.
A faint crease appeared between his brows.
His hand tightened subtly on the whip.
"Why are you alone?"
His voice remained gentle—but a shadow of displeasure darkened his eyes.
"I had thought tonight… I might guide you through a 'three-person cultivation.'"
"My apologies, Baron."
Anna lowered her head, her voice steady.
"The girl saw the scars on my back and grew afraid. She's waiting in the courtyard."
Crack—!
The whip lashed out like a venomous snake, tearing through the air and striking her shoulder.
Cloth split. Flesh tore.
Anna staggered, dropping to one knee with a muffled groan.
"Useless!"
The Baron still smiled—but anger seeped through it.
"Can't even handle such a simple task."
Anna lowered her head further, biting the inside of her mouth harder to force herself calm.
Her bangs fell, hiding the near-tangible killing intent in her eyes.
The Baron exhaled, seemingly losing interest.
Then his expression shifted—into something even more disturbing.
"Fine."
He flicked the whip casually.
"Then we'll go to the courtyard."
"Time to 'supervise' your junior sister's cultivation."
He emphasized the word supervise, his eyes gleaming with murky desire.
"With four people… it should be quite interesting."
Without another glance, he turned and walked toward the courtyard.
His steps carried a leisurely anticipation—like someone approaching a feast.
"…Yes."
Anna forced the word through clenched teeth, rising slowly.
She brushed the dust from her robes.
Obedient in appearance—
But her clenched fist at her side dug so deeply into her palm that her nails nearly drew blood.
Silently, she followed behind that loathsome figure.
Step by step.
Each one fueled by the fire raging in her chest.
Soon.
Very soon.
Her gaze locked onto his heels as he walked toward the courtyard gate—
Toward the trap she had prepared.
Toward his end.
The Black Baron remained unaware.
Casually, he pushed open the courtyard gate.
Moonlight bathed the yard. Everything appeared normal.
But just as his foot was about to cross the threshold—
He stopped.
Without warning.