Both men were stunned.

“Run?”

They had never heard such words from the Blood Spirit before. In fact, they didn’t even know the Blood Spirit could say anything unrelated to food. Ever since they had been parasitized by the Blood Spirit and became its servants, they had gained power far beyond ordinary humans.

They had also become caretakers, responsible for continuously feeding the Blood Spirit within their bodies. They only knew the Blood Spirit as a sticky, blackish-red mass of blood, similar to mud or glue, residing within their bodies. It granted the host special abilities, but they had to hunt healthy humans to feed it their blood in return.

If the quantity or quality of the blood was insufficient such that it left the Blood Spirit hungry, the host might meet the fate they were trying to avoid—being devoured by the Blood Spirit as a snack. Thus, the relationship between them was that of master and servant. This was why the two men called themselves servants. As servants, they had no choice but to obey their master’s orders.

Although the Blood Spirit’s command was abrupt, the two men quickly reacted. They hurried toward the nearby car, no longer paying attention to their original target.

Vrr… Vrr…

The engine quickly started, and the tires trembled as the car picked up speed. Soon, the black car sped off along the empty road. In the driver’s seat, the long-haired man, Chernault, stepped on the gas at the Blood Spirit’s command. The car accelerated to its limit, reaching around forty miles per hour, which was considered very fast for that time.

The maximum running speed of a human was about the same. But that was only for short bursts; over long distances, even ten miles per hour would be considered fast.

Chernault felt the cold wind blowing through the window, relaxing slightly as he glanced at the rearview mirror. To his surprise, his view was blocked by a dark shadow that looked like someone’s billowing coat.

Suddenly, the hem of the coat seemed to drop, revealing a face with an indifferent expression. The man had blond hair, sunglasses, a sharp jawline, and a hat that stayed firmly in place despite the high-speed chase and strong wind.

In the passenger seat, the short-haired man looked out the window. Two figures were effortlessly running alongside the speeding car. Their strides weren’t particularly quick, but each step covered an impressive distance.

At a glance, it looked as though they were casually strolling, but in reality, their speed was nearly fast enough to take flight. They were surrounded on both sides.

Chernault’s eyes narrowed in determination as he jerked the steering wheel. The car’s rear swung violently to the left and toward Cassius.

Pa.

Just as the rear of the car jumped across the street to hit him, Cassius reached out and lightly pressed back on the car’s body. The car immediately corrected its course and resumed moving straight.

It looked no different from before. However, the smooth black-painted metal body now had fine cracks radiating out from a visible handprint.

Chernault narrowed his eyes warily, thoughts racing. The three hadn’t attacked yet. Perhaps they wanted to force him to drive to a more secluded location. He quickly glanced at the short-haired man in the passenger seat.

“We can’t shake them. We’ll have to fight.”

“There’s a gun in the back seat. Use it with the Blood Spirit’s power!”

The two men nodded at each other, a fierce aura spreading across their scarred faces. They were no pushovers and wouldn’t let anyone control them. With the Blood Spirit’s power and high-caliber firearms, they were confident.

***

In a secluded alley, the two men, beaten black and blue, knelt on the ground in front of a moss-covered green wall. However, their backs were still straight.

Clack, clack, clack… Ding, ding, ding…

The sound of a gun being dismantled rang out behind them, followed by the sharp clink of metal pieces falling onto the brick surface.

“Didn’t expect the Dead Blood to keep up with the times and use firearms,” a deep voice sounded behind Chernault.

The final piece of the gun, the metal barrel, hit the ground. It rolled a few times, then came to rest in a corner of the alley. Chernault could clearly see two distinct fingerprints on the twisted gun barrel, which had been bent like a pretzel.

“Tell me, what’s your relationship with the Dead Blood?” A shadow dressed in a black trench coat loomed over Chernault.

“Dead Blood? I don’t know what that is. I’ve never heard of it,” Chernault muttered, trembling from the recent beating.

“Don’t know?” He heard the person behind him chuckle.

A second later, Chernault’s head was slammed into the wall. His head buzzed, and everything went black before his eyes. He felt like he’d been hit by a truck. After two or three more slams, the pounding finally stopped. Warm blood from his forehead trickled down over his eyelids.

As Chernault regained his senses, he smelled the familiar scent of blood on his nose. It was something he was used to from his time finding bait for the Blood Spirit. He had always been excited to watch people die, begging for mercy. But now, it was his turn, and Chernault felt a boundless terror, as if countless hands were reaching for him.

It felt like the vengeful spirits of those he had once wronged, now reaching out from hell. The eerie, skin-crawling sensation made Chernault shudder involuntarily, as he stammered out, “I don’t know anything about the Dead Blood, I only know the Blood Spirit!”

Chernault felt a hand lightly pat his head, as if caressing a watermelon. It was firm and practiced.

“Oh? Then why don’t you tell me all about it.”

(Remainder of the translation continues in the same format, maintaining the paragraphing and line breaks.)