CHAPTER 57: CHAPTER 8: DARK BLOOD SACRIFICE

Beside the river several kilometers away from the Wharf District.

A drenched figure emerged from the water; its bald head seemed coated in a layer of slime. The black robe clung to its body, revealing two lumps on the neck. Its murky yellow eyes lacked pupils, appearing like some kind of melted fluid. As it gently caressed the ring on its slender finger, its appearance began to change rapidly.

A stern-faced man in his thirties appeared in its place.

"A truly troublesome pack of bloodhounds."

The Polluter, now transformed into an ordinary person, squinted its eyes. It glanced in the direction of the Wharf District, took out a pocket watch, and calculated the time, seemingly waiting for something.

A moment later.

Its figure moved toward the villa area to the south of the riverbank. Pedestrians along the way seemed to ignore its presence, with no one casting a glance at it from start to finish.

Fifteen minutes later, it arrived at a lavishly decorated villa area.

"This is a private residence."

"Who are you looking for?" a guard wielding a baton approached.

The man merely glanced at the guard, his gaze shifting slightly for a moment, and smiled, "I live here."

The guard appeared momentarily confused, soon "realizing" and respectfully said, "Please, come in."

This expansive villa area, unlike the filthy and chaotic Old Town District, had each house with a private backyard, tree-lined streets, and twenty-four-hour patrols. Everyone living here was of high rank and nobility.

The man strolled among them as if selecting prey and soon set his sights on a villa in a more secluded location.

"Who are you?" a maid asked warily, watching the man leisurely walk into the courtyard.

—Mind Domination.

With a light tap of his finger, the expression of the thirty-something maid turned dazed, her eyes showing a hint of struggle, then she respectfully lowered her head and said, "Master."

He adjusted his clothes, took off his coat, and handed it to the maid. Then, like a "genuine master," he entered the villa.

"Peixins, is there a guest?" a woman’s voice called from inside.

Quickly.

A seductive woman in a silk gown emerged. She appeared to be in her forties, well-maintained with fair skin and wavy golden hair resting on her shoulders. A hint of confusion crossed her face as she looked at the man walking slowly into the courtyard.

"You..." the hostess’s face grew wary. The next moment, her expression struggled and then respectfully bowed, "Master."

In less than three minutes.

Everyone in the villa gathered in the living room. The villa’s owner, a portly man in his forties, was a shareholder in a shipping company as well as a senior executive of a private bank. He stood respectfully with his wife and three servants in front of the dining table, silent as if being inspected slaves.

The cold man on the sofa rose, surveying these people as if selecting something, a hint of disappointment in his eyes.

A moment later.

His gaze settled on the seductive hostess. He reached out to lift her hair and whispered near her ear, "Vanity, pride, debauchery..."

Disappointed, he let go of her hair and approached the portly man.

His gaze held a trace of disgust, merely drawing closer before he distanced himself, "Greed, power-lust, gluttony..."

His gaze swept over the three servants.

"Base..."

This disappointed man took the hostess’s delicate hand, glanced at the obedient-looking host, picked up a nearby napkin, and slowly said, "May I enjoy your wife?"

The host, obsequious, lowered his head and said, "Master, please help yourself."

A smirk of mockery appeared on the man’s lips as he led the hostess up the stairs, a menacing silhouette reflected behind him under the crystal chandelier.

The door opened.

He pushed the hostess onto the luxurious, soft bed.

The next moment, two swollen lumps appeared at his jaw, followed by two thick, octopus-like tentacles that burst out. Under the instantaneously horrified awakened face of the hostess, they pierced her brain directly, prying open the hard skull, exposing the vibrant brain within.

Not long after.

The man’s elegant figure slowly descended the stairs, his chest stained with blood, yet his expression carried a trace of arrogance, as if a proud, vain lady of noble birth looking down on her servants.

"Clean it up," the man commanded.

The three servants, who had been quietly standing there, immediately sprang into action, hastening to the second-floor room.

The man entered the study.

The floor was covered in a soft carpet, and with a gentle raise of his hand, a cluster of ghostly blue flames ignited, burning a hole about three meters in diameter. As a still-faintly-beating Proud Heart was placed in the center of the carpet, the room’s lighting suddenly dimmed. Ritual items were laid out one by one, and amidst the flickering candlelight, something seemed to converge.

On the study’s walls, oil paintings on both sides began to grow mottled and faded, as lines like paint emerged in the shadows, sketching a vague humanoid outline.