A tall man climbed the shadowed staircase, holding a candelabrum, his expression cold and unreadable.
Europa was no ordinary servant. Not even in disguise.
He was the strongest demon hunter in the North African squad—his pride forged from his unmatched power.
Two years ago, he had been assigned—or rather, demoted—to this newly formed squad for losing control on a mission and killing several humans.
That had been his deepest humiliation.
Now, the self-righteous Christine had the audacity to make him pretend to be a lowly servant at a ball.
He could not bear it.
Though he gave no outward sign, anger festered inside.
He needed air, solitude.
Soon, he reached the top-floor balcony.
Below, the party raged on.
He looked down with contempt.
Was all this really necessary?
We are here to eliminate bloodkin. Just find them and kill them. The strongest here is only eighth-generation—there is no need for such elaborate schemes.
He clenched his fist and smashed it against the stone railing. A crack spiderwebbed across the surface.
After a long moment of letting out his frustration, he prepared to return to the party and do what he was trained to do.
He was angry, yes, but a warrior still adhered to discipline.
He turned—and froze.
A man stood ten meters behind him.
"You… when did you arrive?"
Europa recognized him.
The same bloodkin dancing downstairs!
But how had he appeared silently behind him?
"I've been here a while. Didn't want to disturb you while you sulked," Adam said, hands behind his back, smiling faintly.
There was a trace of killing intent in his gaze.
Sweat ran down Europa's forehead.
He could not read Adam's intentions.
Had he overheard his thoughts?
At that distance, with that volume, no eighth-generation could detect it.
And most importantly, Adam would have to focus constantly on both of them in the chaotic noise of the ball. That would be impossible.
Unless…
Europa realized: Adam wasn't paying attention to him.
He was watching Christine.
And Europa had just spoken those few careless words.
He inhaled deeply and glanced at the full moon.
The self-assured woman had been right.
"Eighth-generation, huh? This could be interesting. Wonder if I can beat him."
He had fought tenth-generation bloodkin to a standstill, but eighth? Never before.
Even if he lost, escape should still be possible.
Europa's eyes scanned the crowd below.
If necessary, he would jump.
He didn't care if Christine's plan was exposed.
He pulled two metallic objects from his waist.
"Pistols? Silencers too? Where did you get these?" Adam's brow furrowed slightly.
"These should only exist among the Eden clans. Could this man be… another Descender?"
Impossible. He had seen Descender equipment. The real exorcist squads would not rely on two simple guns.
Europa's face darkened.
He hadn't expected Adam to recognize the weapons.
Had Adam fought demon hunters like him before?
His fingers trembled.
Then, Adam vanished in an instant.
Reflexively, Europa dodged.
But his waist was slashed, blood streaming.
He staggered a few steps, one gun dropping to the floor, sweat pouring down his rugged face.
All he could do was stare at Adam.
"Impressive reflexes. Beyond human speed. Or maybe you just didn't follow fast enough," Adam said with a smile, licking the blood from his nails.
His expression suddenly changed.
"Number Thirteen… Blazing Fire."
Yes. Number Thirteen.
The stocky savage cast out from Adam City—the scapegoat of Eve.
This man before him? A descendant.
They had also arrived on Earth as stowaways.
During the desperate escape, allies were on the ground, enemies in the heavens. No one noticed a few stowaways.
They had come to Earth—and become demon hunters closest to Adam among the bloodkin.
But their blood still carried divine power.
Adam did not fully understand this strange yet familiar force.
One thing was certain: they were no ordinary humans.
Europa laughed coldly, madness glinting in his eyes.
He straightened, eyes toward the moon.
Instantly, his expression froze.
The next moment, Adam watched in horror.
The wound on Europa's waist stopped bleeding instantly.
Pain contorted his face.
His blue irises vanished, leaving only white.
His ears stretched upward.
Muscles tensed and swelled, straining his clothes.
Fur sprouted, face elongated, sharp fangs erupted.
"A werewolf?" Adam's eye twitched.
The howl that followed tore through the night.
"Interesting," Adam sneered. "A new species."
The werewolf lunged, claws slashing toward him.
The stone railing exploded behind it, spraying debris into the courtyard.
But the werewolf didn't slow.
It planned to jump—escape?
Adam didn't hesitate.
He kicked the stone floor, propelling himself at several times the wolf's speed.
In a flash, he struck with his claws midair.
The werewolf's head… relocated.
Adam landed on the balcony.
The wolf's body, rolling head, and blood fell into the courtyard below as the monster reverted to human form.
Shouts erupted. Footsteps hurried up the stairs.
The fight had drawn attention.
In the desert, no wolves lived.
The howl alone terrified the crowd.
The balcony railing shattered, spraying fragments across the courtyard.
A falling naked man and a severed head pushed the chaos to its peak.
Christine, host of the ball, had no idea what had happened.
Her first priority: control the guests.
She dispatched subordinates to investigate while personally calming the attendees and escorting them out, face filled with apology.
"Silverbell… where's Adam?" she asked, noticing her friend wandering alone.
"I don't know. He stepped out for a moment," Silverbell replied.
Adam approached, shoulders dusted in gray ash.
"Gone?" he asked.
A servant whispered in Christine's ear.
Her eyes widened in shock.
The dead man: Europa. Head severed.
The weapon: clearly bloodkin claws.
Naked body indicated his werewolf form—his howl was his own.
This wasn't an ambush. It was a direct confrontation.
Why was Adam unharmed?
He had killed Europa effortlessly.
Christine shivered from the bottom of her soul.
How many generations was this bloodkin?
Adam noticed her reaction.
He flicked the dust from his clothes, leaned close to her ear, and murmured:
"Let the past rest. Condolences. There are too many guests here. Bloodkin and werewolves clashing will only end badly. Tonight, the little girl is happy. I won't ruin that. Let this end here. Do not approach Silverbell again, or face the consequences."
He slapped her shoulder impolitely, slid along her sleeve, and held her hand.
"This ring… I like it. Consider it a gift for meeting me."
He removed the ring from her stunned hand, pocketed it, said, "Goodbye," and led Silverbell out.
"What now?" a servant asked.
Christine ground her teeth.
"Notify the Western European HQ. Suspend all operations until further notice."
This bloodkin… was beyond them.
On the carriage, Silverbell frowned.
"What were you whispering to Christine?"
Adam shrugged.
"Nothing. I was proposing."
"I saw her expression. She looked scared."
Adam smirked.
"She was politely refusing, you know how women are."
"Then why take her ring?"
"Failed proposal. I needed a keepsake. Men are vain. I am no exception."
He toyed with the vibrating ring in his hand.
Silverbell's eyes sparkled.
"I support you pursuing Christine! Turn her into bloodkin too! Father would approve!"
Then she frowned.
"After you marry, will you only dance with her? She's so much better than me."
Adam's expression turned serious.
"Of course! I am a principled bloodkin."
Silverbell thought: maybe… better not marry him.