Westminster Bank

"What do I care if you die? Train officer, get him out of here."

The train officer came over; he was actually a Wizard. With a flick of his Magic Staff, the passenger, who had been about to cause more trouble, passed straight through the carriage wall and ended up on the platform.

Baron noticed he hadn’t used a Magic Card. ’That spell to make a passenger phase through a wall must be his own personal Magic. It’s quite useful, though.’

Next, the Wizard officer, guided by the conductor, removed several other passengers who were trying to stay in the carriage, clearing seats for those who would be boarding soon.

The conductor soon reached Baron and Jack. "Tickets or Magic Balls."

Jack pulled two banknotes from his coat and stuffed them into the conductor’s hand.

The conductor glanced at the money, pocketed it without a second thought, and moved past them to the old man, Dunbar. His expression twisted in disgust as his gaze fell on the Beast ears atop Vivian’s head and her snow-white hair.

The little girl, Vivian, lowered her head further.

"Five Magic Balls, sir," Dunbar said, handing them over reverently.

The conductor counted them carefully. Only after confirming the amount was correct did he snort and move to the next passenger. It seemed the little girl, Vivian, didn’t need her ticket checked.

This was because, for humanitarian reasons, the train company had a provision in the relevant Law: all Old Race and Bloodless infected with Demon’s Blood could take one free ride in "Carriage No. 9" of any Magic Train within a certain period. This was commonly known as the "Ninth Ordinance."

That was why Dunbar hadn’t tried to hide Vivian’s condition like the other infected passengers in the carriage.

Pride or practicality—a choice every person afflicted with Demon’s Blood had to make.

Suddenly, a commotion broke out elsewhere in the carriage.

One of the passengers Baron had mentally marked as a hidden carrier of Demon’s Blood suddenly grew flustered when the conductor demanded his ticket.

"You... You’re talking nonsense... How could I be a carrier of Demon’s Blood? I’m an Old Race... I just don’t have any money right now, and I only have three Magic Balls..."

The conductor said, "Then why don’t you just admit you’re infected with Demon’s Blood? You’re going to London for treatment, aren’t you? What ’Old Race’? Once you’re infected with Demon’s Blood, you’re..."

He deliberately raised his voice, making sure everyone in Carriage No. 9 could hear.

The few Old Race nearby, who had just been gossiping with him about Vivian and her grandfather, immediately shot him disgusted looks, distancing themselves from him at once.

The infected man panicked. He turned to the Old Race who had just been sneering at the Bloodless with him and pleaded, "Don’t listen to him! I’m still an Old Race! Alchemy Technology is so advanced now, maybe... maybe they can remove the Demon’s Blood without turning me into a Bloodless..."

"Shut up, you Bloodless-in-training," the conductor roared with laughter. He moved on to the next passenger, leaving the exposed man to stammer out his defenses alone.

Once the infection is purged from a carrier of Demon’s Blood, all the Spiritual Power in their bloodline is exhausted, and they become Bloodless. This was perhaps the real reason they had been slandering Vivian.

It all clicked for Baron, and he couldn’t help but feel a pang of melancholy.

’In a place like the Inner Side, where bloodline discrimination is even more severe than the chauvinism of the Racial Knights, how is this any different from a white man on a plantation suddenly being reclassified as black? This Demon’s Blood... it’s a social death sentence of a different kind.’

After the scene with the first man, the other carriers Baron had identified either paid with Magic Balls or banknotes. Those who had neither were left with a choice. Some reluctantly revealed their status, though they still tried to deny it, while others simply got off the train.

Baron noted that the conductor seemed to relish exposing the carriers, enjoying the psychological thrill of a cat-and-mouse game.

Soon, every passenger in Carriage No. 9 had been checked. The train’s departure alarm blared through the car:

"Due to impending fog, carriages 1 through 3, which are covered by insurance, will be protected for the entire journey by professional Demon Hunters from the Demon Hunter Association in accordance with the insurance policy. Passengers in these carriages may travel without concern... Carriages 4 through 9 will also be provided with Demon Hunter protection as a humanitarian gesture... However, for your personal safety, we still advise passengers in these carriages to upgrade their tickets or to disembark at this station and wait for another train tomorrow, after the fog clears..."

The train rumbled to life and pulled out of the station. Through the window, Baron could see the sun sinking below the distant mountains. As twilight vanished, a hazy white fog crept over the land, its tendrils filled with indistinct, shifting shadows.

Just as the train began to move, several more passengers scrambled past the final barrier and into Carriage No. 9.

Baron’s gaze narrowed. They all had faint traces of Spiritual Power emanating from them. ’Law Enforcers.’

They had Command Spells and Brandings on their hands. ’Demon Hunters.’

With the arrival of the Law Enforcers, the atmosphere in the carriage instantly grew so tense and silent you could cut it with a knife.

Everyone, including the Old Race who had been sneering about Demon’s Blood moments ago, held their breath. No one dared to exhale too loudly, as if afraid their very breathing might contaminate the air inhaled by the esteemed Law Enforcers.

The moment they boarded, the Demon Hunters strode menacingly in Baron and Jack’s direction.

’Have I been exposed?’ Baron’s heart tightened. ’It hasn’t been that long. The news about what happened at the Beowulf Family’s Dragon Hunting Ceremony couldn’t have been printed in the papers already...’

Jack had clearly noticed the squad of Law Enforcers as well. He whispered to Baron, "Run or fight? Or fight while we run?"

"Let’s see what happens."

Just as Baron spoke, the squad of Law Enforcers stopped in front of them.

The hand hidden in his sleeve was already gripping his Spear Sword. The lead Demon Hunter had taken out a piece of paper that looked like a photograph and was studying it, seemingly comparing it to the two of them.

’I’ve been found?’ Baron thought. ’Looks like the Inner Side is more efficient than I gave it credit for.’

A flicker of Fire slid from his sleeve into his palm.

But the Demon Hunter walked right past them, stopping in front of Dunbar and Vivian.

Every eye in the carriage was instantly drawn to them.

The old man, not understanding what was happening, looked terrified. "Sirs, I already paid with my Magic Balls..."

The Demon Hunter said, "Your name is Dunbar?"

The old man nodded.

"And this is your granddaughter?" the Demon Hunter asked, looking at the little girl with disgust.

The old man nodded.

"Going to London?"

The old man nodded again, but then he froze. A look of sudden, dawning horror crossed his face, like a fish gasping for air at a hole in the ice only to see a cat waiting to pounce.

"You’re... from the Berthelili Demon Hunter Association..."

’Berthelili? Isn’t that the old man’s hometown? These Demon Hunters are from Berthelili? Why would they be here...’

Hearing this, Baron instantly understood. ’They’ve come to cut him off at the source.’

A chill ran down his spine. ’If I put myself in his shoes... it’s terrifying.’

The train rumbled on, and the thick fog completely obscured the windows. Unseen Ghosts seemed to patrol and overlap within the mist, evoking the chilling entrance to Hell.

The lead Demon Hunter didn’t deny it. He just gave the order: "Take him away."

"What crime have I committed? Before you take me away, please tell me... What is my crime!"

The old man’s lips trembled. Little Vivian defiantly lifted her chubby face and snarled at every Demon Hunter who tried to step forward.

The lead Demon Hunter said coolly, "Obstructing an officer in the performance of his duties and fabricating facts in an attempt to frame said officer... I’ve already submitted the case file to the local authorities. Your neighbors all signed the petition. We’re here to arrest you and take you back before this escalates... so cooperate."

He leaned in and whispered in the old man’s ear, "Otherwise, I can’t guarantee your granddaughter’s safety."

The old man was hauled to his feet, his body limp with shock. Just then, the small girl flew into a frenzy, pounding on the Demon Hunter’s leg and screaming through her tears.

The Demon Hunter frowned. "Let go."

Vivian refused, repeating the same phrase over and over: "Let go of my grandpa!"

Dunbar, his face ashen, mumbled, "Vivian... it’s alright..."

Vivian clung to the Demon Hunter’s leg, tearing at his trousers like a rabid little Beast. "Please... let my grandpa go... I don’t need to go to London... We’ll never go again."

"Don’t get near me, you filth tainted with Demon’s Blood."

The Demon Hunter snorted, swinging his hand toward the girl’s small, tender face.

The girl squeezed her eyes shut, but the slap she expected never came.

She opened her eyes to see a figure standing in front of her, a firm hand gripping the Demon Hunter’s wrist, stopping the blow mid-swing.

It was the gentleman who had given her the chocolate.