Fresh earth covered old sins, and the night wind carried away the last trace of blood.Anna returned to her room and shut the door, sealing the world outside.
Only now, alone before the flickering candlelight, did the taut string in her chest loosen slightly. In its place came the weakness of surviving a catastrophe—and a burning… greed.
She picked up the storage ring first, its surface cool against her skin, and sent her awareness inside.
"—Hiss…"
Even though she had expected something, the sight within still made her suck in a breath.
Packed to the brim—black spirit stones.
Before, just crushing one or two spirit stones into powder and laying out ritual lines had been enough for Van Helsing's finger to activate and convert them into a ritual array.
But now, inside the ring—
Dark spirit stones were piled like a mountain, their pure spiritual energy so dense it seemed to scorch her fingertips through the ring itself.
This was far beyond what an ordinary baron-level cultivator—especially one stationed at an outer sect outpost—should possess.
Shock faded, replaced by a rapidly spreading, icy vigilance.
After tonight's life-and-death struggle and layers of schemes, something in her mind had sharpened. Her thoughts were clearer than ever.
This was a hot potato. Worse—it was a death warrant.
Without hesitation, she plucked a strand of her hair, threaded the ring onto it, and turned it into a pendant. She tucked it close to her chest, adjusting her clothing layer by layer until it was completely concealed, its aura fully suppressed.
Next came the bulging storage bag.
When she emptied it, aside from the expected small mountain of grain sacks, there were bottles of ordinary pills—and a stack of letters sealed with special restrictions.
Anna brushed her fingers over them, hesitated briefly, then circulated what little spiritual power she had just recovered, imitating the fluctuations she remembered from the Black Baron's technique.
Carefully, she broke the seal.
It worked.
It seemed that although the old bastard had guarded against her, he never imagined she would truly kill him—and even use his blood core to repair herself. A trace of his aura now lingered within her own, acting like a key to unlock the seal.
She unfolded the letter.
Her eyes scanned quickly. Her pupils contracted.
The recipient: Viscount Goldrich—the true authority overseeing this region under the Bitter Sea Sect. Someone outer disciples like them could only look up to.
The tone was respectful, but the content methodically recorded "additional profits" from grain transactions, and the "proper disposal" of certain "elderly and useless individuals."
It read as casually as reporting daily chores.
Anna's heart sank.
This was not the evil of one man—but a web of interests woven from top to bottom.
Viscount Goldrich was not only aware—he was one of the masterminds.
Instinctively, she tightened her grip on the ring at her chest. The cold black spirit stones inside now seemed to carry a bloody weight.
Unlike Anna's tension, Van Helsing remained calm. He already knew all this—because in the game, Viscount Goldrich was an early-stage boss… and possessed another "divine relic"—a finger.
As she continued reading, a more chilling truth emerged:
The Black Baron and Viscount Goldrich belonged to the same divine-blood lineage.
The latter half of the letter detailed how profits from grain sales would be split—some to the family, some to Duobao—and a portion would be "invested" in a newly discovered talent: Elena.
But only if she could be deceived or forced into signing a soul contract, binding her as a servant to the family for generations.
As for Anna?
Not a single word about repairing her blood core.
To them, she had already lost all value—even as a tool.
"…As expected," Anna murmured, her fingers turning cold.
She had anticipated this—but seeing it in cold ink, confirming that her twenty years of endurance meant nothing to them… that hollow sense of being completely dismissed still pierced her sharply.
By convention, the letter should be sent immediately.
Should she send it?
The thought was crushed the moment it arose.
The more she did, the more mistakes she would make.
Tonight had taught her enough. She knew she was no match for these old schemers. Who knew what hidden codes or tracking marks might be embedded in the letter?
She resealed it exactly as it was and stored it away with the others.
Evidence… and perhaps leverage in the future. But not something to touch now.
After handling everything, she carefully erased any traces of her search, exhaled deeply, and rubbed her temples.
Something still felt… off.
"Um… um…"
A faint, trembling voice suddenly came from outside the door.
Anna's back stiffened instantly. A sharp glint flashed through her eyes, then was quickly suppressed.
She recognized the voice.
Opening the door, she saw the little girl from earlier—the one who had begged for food—standing timidly in the dim corridor, her thin clothes trembling in the night wind.
"The Baron told me to come tonight…" the girl said, not daring to look up, staring at her worn shoes.
"Oh, the Baron?" Anna replied evenly, even with a hint of casual ease. Yet she subtly shifted sideways, completely blocking the muddy shovel inside the room from view.
"He had something urgent and already left," she said.
Yes—left for heaven. No… for someone like him, probably hell.
"Mm…" The girl lowered her head further, her small shoulders drooping, disappointment and anxiety almost tangible.
"What do you mean 'mm'?" Anna frowned, her voice rising unconsciously with irritation.
The girl's hesitation reminded her too much of herself—standing beside her junior sister's bed, trembling with a knife. That weakness she despised.
"If you want something, say it! How's anyone supposed to know otherwise?!"
"F-food…" the girl stammered, trembling. "My mother… she won't last…"
"Louder! Didn't you eat?!" Anna snapped.
"I want food! To save my mother!" the girl suddenly shouted, using all her strength. Her eyes reddened, tears welling—but stubbornly refusing to fall.
That cry struck something deep within Anna.
She froze for a moment—then, unexpectedly, broke into a strange, almost exhilarated smile.
"Haha! Yes! That's more like it!"
She turned, grabbed a heavy sack of grain, and stuffed it into the girl's arms.
"Take it! Remember—if you want something, you shout for it! Fight for it! Take it! Don't wait for handouts!"
The girl stood stunned, then hurriedly knelt and kowtowed three times.
Watching her small figure struggle yet rush into the night with the grain, Anna's smile slowly faded into something complex.
In that moment—when she handed over the food—she had felt something new.
A trembling sense of power.
The thrill of controlling another's fate.
Was this how the Black Baron once felt?
But then the image of the girl bowing struck back like a silent slap.
She had just told her to fight—but the way she fought was still to beg and kneel before the strong.
And what Anna gave… was it not just another form of charity?
The rules she hated… were quietly pushing her toward becoming one who made them.
"What am I thinking…" she muttered, slapping her own cheek lightly.
"The enemy's dead. My blood core is restored. I should be happy."
Fatigue surged over her. She blew out the candle and collapsed onto the bed, falling into deep sleep almost instantly.
Night deepened.
Moonlight streamed through the window onto the bed.
Anna's right thumb… twitched.
Van Helsing "looked" at her—she was completely asleep, even smacking her lips faintly, as if dreaming well.
She had used his power three times.
And accordingly, he had gained a certain level of control over her body—like an app gaining permissions on a phone.
Her right hand slowly moved.
The joints gave off faint clicks, like mechanisms awakening.
Then—against all reason—the hand lifted itself from the bed.
The fingers stretched, curled, flexed… like an independent life rediscovering movement.
The palm turned upward.
The thumb stood upright—like a head—"looking" around the silent room.
At last, it turned.
Toward another bed in the same room.
There—
Elena, who should have been completely knocked out by the sleeping drug, was awake.
Her clear eyes reflected the cold moonlight.
Wide open.
Unblinking.
Watching...