"When it comes to dragging people down, no matter how you look at it, that's more your specialty, Mr. Great Scientist… Is Perlman dead?"
When Bern finally arrived, Kovei felt a weight lift from his chest. He glanced sideways toward Perlman's position, but a thin veil of white mist blocked his view, leaving the scene unclear.
Still, he remembered it vividly—just moments ago, an ice spike had pierced Perlman's body. The wound was deep, likely reaching the lungs.
Under normal circumstances, with the average physique of a New Eridu resident, such an injury might not be fatal.
But when combined with the torment—ahem, the "training"!—Kovei had put Perlman through over the past few days…
There was a very real risk that Perlman could die from the accumulated damage.
This…
Kovei raised his eyes slightly and looked toward Bern.
Bern seemed to sense his gaze. He tilted his head in Kovei's direction and gave a small nod.
"Relax. When I came over just now, I took a bite out of him. He's my retainer now—won't die that easily. Besides, I gave him an adrenaline shot while I was at it."
The moment those words fell, everyone present stiffened in shock.
Kovei and Lycaon both faltered, freezing for a brief moment.
Rina, on the other hand, couldn't hold it in and let out a soft snort of laughter. Realizing her lapse, she quickly covered her mouth, hands neatly placed in front of her skirt, and smiled.
"To think even Mr. Perlman was fair game… Your loyalty to the vampire race is truly admirable."
"Just a small sacrifice for final victory."
Casually brushing aside Rina's sarcasm, Bern turned and kicked Perlman.
The kick wasn't particularly strong, yet Perlman's round body still rolled three full turns across the ground before he managed to scramble upright.
"Remember your task. Head to Cinder Lake as fast as you can."
Bern shot him a glance, then turned his attention back to Rina and Lycaon.
"There's a vehicle at the foot of the mountain. Latest city tech—my own design. Much faster than anything the Outer Ring's bikers have. You'd better move."
"Yes—yes! I'll give it everything I've got."
The pressure in the air grew heavier by the second. A major clash was on the brink of breaking out.
Perlman didn't dare linger. He nodded frantically and bolted down the mountain.
The instant he took his first step, the temperature behind him plunged to freezing.
Lycaon stomped down, blasting a massive crater into the ground, and shot forward with a thunderous boom.
Raging frost surged like a living thing, forming a streak of icy blue around Lycaon's lower leg. In a split second, it carried him across more than a hundred meters as his long leg whipped out.
The cold roared like a cascading torrent. Before it even made full contact, it screamed through the air like a blade, sending a chill straight into Perlman's heart. For a moment, he was certain death was upon him.
Boom!
The impact thundered, shaking even the cliff face as dense white mist exploded outward.
Lycaon frowned. Instead of pressing the attack, he leapt backward.
In the very next instant, a razor-sharp ice spike burst out of the fog. Had Lycaon not retreated, he would have taken the hit head-on.
Moments later, the icy mist began to dissipate, and a figure slowly emerged.
After a pause, his form became clear.
It was Bern.
He lifted his head. His entire body was shrouded, leaving only a pair of crimson eyes exposed—eyes so vividly red they seemed to seize the soul.
An unusual silence fell over the scene.
After a long moment, Bern spoke quietly.
"Perlman's already gone. Your defeat is inevitable. Why don't we all calm down, have a cup of tea, then head home to take care of the kids?"
Lycaon's gaze darkened. He stomped again, sending several ice spikes flying straight toward Bern.
"Looks like negotiations are off."
Bern shook his head and let out a helpless sigh.
So it had come to this after all.
Tsk. Why is it that I'm a researcher, yet I keep getting assigned combat duties?
...
Two stories unfold side by side.
While a fierce battle raged within the Hollow, Pompey and Lucius—leaders of the Outer Ring's many biker clans, representing the Vanquishers in the Tour de Inferno—had only one thing on their minds: the throne of supremacy.
They made straight for Cinder Lake, avoiding any unnecessary fights unless escape was impossible.
Because of that, they were the first to arrive.
Staring at the rolling magma before him, feeling its searing heat firsthand, Pompey couldn't help but look up at the sky.
The heavens had long since lost any trace of clarity, scorched into a fiery red by Cinder Lake itself. It was impossible to tell whether it was day or night.
But his phone knew.
Pompey glanced down at the screen. His expression slowly dimmed. After a long pause, he let out a breath and sighed wistfully.
"Half an hour slower than last time… and even slower compared to my best run when I was young. Looks like I really can't deny my age anymore."
He shook his head, clearly dispirited.
Then a voice drifted over, offering encouragement.
"Not at all, boss. You're still young. We were just slowed down this time—there were more Ethereals on the route than before."
Pompey turned toward the voice and looked at Lucius.
Lucius's lips curled faintly. His hair covered nearly half his face, and with some distance between them, even Pompey couldn't see the subtle tremor of excitement in him. He only heard Lucius continue:
"Besides, the Sons of Calydon you hold in such high regard are all hot-blooded youngsters. None of them could keep up with you. Doesn't that prove you're still at the top of your game?"
Pompey studied him for a moment, then snorted softly and looked away.
"Hmph. Being too slick with words won't do you any good."
That said, his mood did lift a little. A faint smile crept onto his face as he slowly walked toward the edge of Cinder Lake.
Under Lucius's almost feverish gaze, Pompey calmly drew the Sparkstone from his belt.
Staring at it, he shook his head. No matter how pleased he felt inside, a trace of regret remained.
"The Sons of Calydon kept talking about a decisive showdown, yet the whole journey turned out to be unbearably dull."
No urgency. No struggle.
After being overtaken at the start, they never reappeared—like this had always been a solo performance by the Vanquishers.
The banner of the Outer Ring still rested on Pompey alone.
Behind him, Lucius sneered, "For you to value that Caesar so highly, and yet they turned out to be this useless."
Pompey glanced back briefly, then withdrew his gaze.
"Whatever…"
"Boring or not, it's still a good thing. The Overlord's seat remains with the Vanquishers. For the next few years, we won't have to worry about Cinder Lake or the Outer Ring."
With that, Pompey shook his head and tossed the Sparkstone toward the lake of fire.
As it flew, Lucius's heart seemed to soar with it. His exposed eye narrowed into a slit from excitement, and the corners of his mouth twitched upward, barely restrained, hinting at something unhinged beneath.
Hold on. Just a little longer, Lucius.
Push it down. Push that smile down—now!
Ten more seconds… no, five. Just five seconds before the Sparkstone falls into the lake.
Then I, Lucius… I, Lucius…
Damn it! I can't hold it in for even one more second!
"Hahahahaha! Hahahaha!!"
Before the Sparkstone could fall, Lucius burst into wild laughter.
Pompey turned sharply, confused and suddenly uneasy, his brow furrowing.
"You—"
"I won!!!"
Lucius stared at Pompey, screaming hysterically.
"I finally won! I'm the sole Overlord of the Outer Ring now!"
Bang!
A gunshot rang out.
The Sparkstone, still suspended in midair, shattered in an instant before Lucius's eyes, obliterating the dream he'd been clutching so tightly.
Lucius froze, stunned.
In the next moment, an arm hooked around his shoulder. A voice murmured softly by his ear:
"Come on, Overlord of the Outer Ring. I've got some personal business to discuss with you."