Oksana stepped back, her critical violet eyes scanning my appearance from the tips of my boots to the collar of my uniform. She clicked her tongue in disapproval.
"Wait, Zenni. You can't travel looking like that. An oversized, heavy guard's cloak draped over a pristine ivory-and-gold academy uniform? You look completely ridiculous, and more importantly, it's highly suspicious for a standard merchant caravan. The border mages will flag you for an interrogation the second they see an academy student hiding under a reeking cloak."
She turned to one of her towering, silent S-rank noble guards and flicked her wrist.
"Give him something practical."
The guard nodded wordlessly, stepping toward one of the iron crates. He pulled out a bundle of heavy, coarse garments and tossed them at my feet. It was a massive assortment of standard merchant attire… thick linen shirts, a heavy quilted traveler's vest, a durable canvas tunic, and a long, weathered dust-cloak. There were multiple layers of cloth, easily thick and baggy enough to completely hide my frame.
Internally, I suppressed a sigh of absolute relief. Perfect, Oksana thought she was just correcting a tactical flaw in our disguise, but she was accidentally giving me the ultimate cover. With these many loose, heavy layers of clothing, I could comfortably shift back into my true form as Eirene Rynd whenever the time came, and the thick fabric would easily conceal the severe emptiness of my missing left arm and the massive bulge of my folded blood wings without drawing a single eye.
"Put them on, every single piece. We leave no room for error."
Obeying her command to the letter, I played the part of the compliant apprentice. I unclasped the guard's lavender-scented cloak and quickly layered the merchant clothing over my uniform. I pulled the heavy canvas tunic over my chest, fastened the quilted vest tightly, and threw the long, weathered dust-cloak over my shoulders, pulling the deep, earthy-brown hood low over my brow. When I was finished, I looked exactly like a common, overworked merchant boy.
Oksana inspected me one last time, a satisfied smirk returning to her face.
"Much better. Now you look like you actually belong near a grain wagon."
To completely solidify my act and melt into the background before our midnight departure, I didn't just stand around. I stepped forward and actively started helping the bandits. I grabbed the handles of the heavy wooden crates, hoisted sacks of the heavily perfumed flour onto my shoulders, and helped secure the thick ropes tying down the canvas tarps over the caravans.
As I hauled the contraband alongside the disguised thugs, sweating under the heavy layers of my new clothes, my mind remained entirely cold and detached. Every knot I helped tie, every wagon I helped balance, was just another piece of the trap. The midnight hour had finally arrived. The caravan was ready, the perfumes were masking the poison, and we were about to roll straight toward the mountain passes, where a brutal, bloody ambush was waiting in the dark.
With a sharp, authoritative click of her boots, Oksana scaled the side of the grand lead carriage, her dark green traveler's cloak billowing slightly in the nocturnal breeze. She stood high above the courtyard, looking down at the dozens of disguised bandits, dealers, and alchemists who had poured their lives into her illicit syndicate.
She raised a hand, and the bustling courtyard fell into an immediate, breathless silence.
"My loyal family, tonight, we do not just cross a border. Tonight, we march to reclaim the dignity that the human world tries to bleed from us. Look around you. Sisiphon is ours. And soon, the very nobility of Caria City will be crawling at your feet, begging for the dust you have sewn into those sacks. Drink in the wealth, remember who we are, and let us bring the capital to its knees!" Oksana began, her voice projecting with a strange, deeply twisted warmth that echoed off the jade-tinted stone walls.
The disguised bandits erupted into a raucous, fanatical cheer. They slammed their fists against the wooden frames of the wagons, their eyes gleaming with the shared delusion of a criminal utopia. They genuinely loved her. To them, she wasn't just a brutal drug lord, she was the savior who had given them a purpose.
But there was no time to celebrate. The clock had ticked past midnight. The cold reality of the dark hour settled over us, and the caravan immediately began to roll out, the iron-shod wheels groaning under the massive weight of the tainted flour. Out in the pitch-black mountain passes, the Eastern District Clan would already be entrenched, weapons drawn, waiting for the exact coordinates Eirene Rynd had sold them.
I was assigned to the absolute front of the convoy, taking a seat in the lavish, heavily reinforced lead carriage alongside Oksana and her four silent, terrifying S-rank noble guards. The atmosphere inside the carriage was suffocatingly tense, the four guards sitting like rigid stone statues, their hands never straying far from their enchanted weapons.
As I climbed inside and prepared to take my spot, Oksana suddenly leaned forward from the shadows of the plush interior, intentionally startling me once again.
"Gah! Master!"
I gasped in a perfect, high-pitched Zenni panic, stumbling slightly against the doorframe to keep up the act of the overwhelmed fourteen-year-old.
Oksana let out another soft, amused chuckle, but her violet eyes were entirely serious this time.
"Still so easily shaken, Zenni, sit down. Before we hit the border, you need to be properly equipped. A prodigy cannot fight with empty hands."
She reached into a velvet-lined lockbox beside her and pulled out several glittering pieces of high-tier jewelry, handing them directly to me.
My eyes widened, this time with genuine, calculated interest. Every single piece was an exquisite, high-grade magical artifact. Among the silver bands and enchanted bracelets, she placed a heavy, crystalline amulet into my palm, a high-capacity mana reservoir designed to store and multiply raw magical energy during prolonged combat. Alongside it was an intricate, familiar silver ring. I examined the runes etched into the metal, it was a specialized casting ring identical to the ones utilized by the elite instructors at the academy. It wasn't surprising that she had access to such high-tier academic gear, given her flawless infiltration as Miss Sasha.
"Put them on, the mana reservoir will ensure your blood magic doesn't drain your vitality, and the ring will stabilize your output. When the time comes to defend this caravan, I expect to see the same monster that shattered the magma mage in the arena." Oksana instructed, her voice dripping with a predatory, expectant pride.
"Thank you, Master... I won't let a single soul touch our cargo," I whispered, sliding the rings onto my fingers and bowing my head in apparent, deep reverence.
The jewelry hummed against my skin, instantly connecting to my core. I hid my trembling fingers beneath the heavy folds of my canvas merchant tunic.
"And one last thing, Zenni, I have a special gift for you. Something truly extraordinary."
Oksana purred, her violet eyes flashing with a dangerous, ecstatic brilliance that made even her silent S-rank guards shift uncomfortably. At her signal, the carriage door briefly opened, and one of her high-ranking syndicate men outside hoisted a heavy, ornate iron-bound wooden crate into the cabin, placing it right on my lap before bowing out.
"Open it," Oksana urged, leaning forward, her breath swirling with the heavy scent of lavender perfume.
I unlatched the heavy iron clasps and lifted the lid. The moment my eyes fell upon the weapon resting inside the velvet lining, a cold, sharp jolt shot straight through my spine. My Zenni persona almost cracked entirely.
It wasn't just an ordinary magical artifact. Resting in the crate was a Death Chant Shotgun, one of the legendary, forbidden Death Chant artifacts. It was a sleek, devastating silver-and-black shotgun, designed with a brutal, mechanical aesthetic that looked hauntingly similar to the modern firearms back on Earth.
I knew this line of artifacts intimately. My older brother, Elias, the Shadow Walker wielded one of its sister weapons: the notorious Death Chant Revolver.
"I took that from the corpse of a high-ranking Luminous Knight who thought he could raid one of my laboratories a few years ago, these weapons are unique. They don't run on standard mana cores. They are powered entirely by the user's inherent human skill. And since your skill is blood manipulation..."
She didn't need to finish the sentence. I reached out with my right hand, my fingers wrapping tightly around the cold, textured grip of the shotgun.
The moment my flesh made contact with the weapon, the artifact recognized its master. The intricate, dormant silver linings etched along the sleek black barrel suddenly flared to life. With a soft, mechanical hum, the silver glow bled out, violently replaced by a blinding, pulsing crimson light. The weapon drank from my core, instantly activating and empowering itself with the raw, volatile resonance of my blood magic. It felt heavy, lethal, and perfectly tuned to slaughter.
"Wow… Thank you, Master. This is... incredible."
I whispered, forcing a look of absolute, breathless awe to cover my face as I lifted the weapon, playing the wide-eyed apprentice to perfection. Oksana leaned back into her velvet cushions, her smile widening into a chilling expression of maternal pride.
"No, Zenni. Thank you, with your genius and this weapon, you will be the ultimate shield of our new empire."
I bowed my head in mock gratitude, resting the warm, crimson-pulsing shotgun across my lap. As the carriage rolled faster into the pitch-black mountain passes, my fingers traced the sleek barrel. Oksana truly believed she had just armed her finest protector. She had no idea she had just handed the Crimson Phantom the perfect weapon to execute her guards, shred her cartel, and blow her head clean off her shoulders.