A police cruiser pulled out of the station, Wade behind the wheel, myself riding shotgun.

Wade Rivers had been surprised when I agreed to venture outside the city wall, uncharacteristically bringing him along.

This should have been a positive development, yet...

Wade glanced at me, only to find me engrossed in the beastvamp fighting manuals, flipping through the pages with one hand and reading with intense focus.

Normally, before dealing with a beastvamp, I'd send him and the others to procure fine wine and meat, a practice I referred to as "diplomacy."

Wade had always harbored resentment towards this approach.

Today, however, my empty-handed departure filled him with unease. If I couldn't handle the two monsters, the hundreds of farmers in Tukwila would meet a grim fate.

"Quit staring, Wade, and focus on the road. Don't get jealous of my good looks."

I finished perusing the manuals and closed them. Two new lines had appeared on the panel:

[Tempest Strikes (Untrained)]

[Cobra’s Coil (Untrained)]

A set of palm and fist techniques, a movement technique, and the already learned Shadowstrike. These were the complete repertoire imparted by the H.A.R.M. captain.

A journeyman of all three would be able to handle lesser beastvamps.

Without hesitation, I invested the remaining lifespan into the movement technique, Cobra’s Coil. After all, a blade was useless if it couldn't reach its target.

[Your strong martial foundation and physical prowess allowed you to learn Cobra's Coil in just one year.]

[In three years, your movements became more unpredictable, reaching journeyman.]

[Six years passed, and Cobra's Coil became ingrained, you were now a master.]

[By the eleventh year, your body moved like a phantom, your movements elusive, Cobra's Coil perfected.]

[Remaining Absorbed Lifespan: twenty-five years.]

I marveled at the changes in my body. Infusing lifespan into fighting techniques yielded progress that was directly related to my current physical state. In essence, a skilled swordsman would naturally acquire new sword techniques faster.

Subconsciously adjusting my posture in the car, I felt a newfound lightness, as if a single stride could propel me ten to fifteen yards. Unfortunately, I had no immediate chance to test this agility.

Refocusing, I invested the remaining absorbed lifespan into Tempest Strikes, hoping to not only master the technique but also harvest another "First Realm" skill.

However, the results were somewhat underwhelming.

[Though not your forte, eighteen years of rigorous training enabled you to punch like thunder, shattering boulder with your fists, and reaching perfection in Tempest Strikes.]

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[By the twentieth year, you plateaued, confused and feeling as though your time is wasted.]

[In the twenty-third year, doubt crept in. Perfection of this technique felt like the end of the road.]

[In the twenty-fifth year, years of contemplation enhanced your understanding of boxing, increasing your talent.]

With the absorbed lifespan fully expended, the fruits of my labor were displayed on the panel:

[Tempest Strikes (Grandmaster)]

[Cobra's Coil (Grandmaster)]

[Boxing Mastery: Reduces training time for fist and palm techniques and increases the chance of enlightenment.]

In addition to the two perfected techniques, I had acquired a talent-like ability, but the coveted "First Realm" remained elusive.

I raised an eyebrow, "By your estimation, how close are we to H.A.R.M.'s next inspection of our county?"

Wade, focused on driving, flinched slightly. A complex expression crossed his face as he responded without turning, "About a month, I believe."

He understood the implication of my question.

The entire Pinewood County government was complicit in a web of corruption, and the priority was to survive H.A.R.M.'s scrutiny, presenting a facade of peace and security.

Failure would mean prison for most officials, with Sergeant Kane, the youngest and most promising among them, facing the harshest sentence.

This explained my uncharacteristic actions today.

If anyone within the police force eagerly anticipated H.A.R.M.'s inspection, it was Wade Rivers. He likely hoped for a death sentence for me.

Without my deception, the county wouldn't have maintained its charade. A H.A.R.M. unit would have taken over long ago, eradicating the surrounding beastvamps.

"A month?" I murmured, rubbing my temples.

According to my fragmented memories, I was a low-ranking officer with no authority to interact with H.A.R.M.

If I wanted more advanced training, I would have to bide my time.

Perhaps if I could reach the "First Realm" within a month, I might have a chance to join H.A.R.M.

I don't have enough lifespan!

Lost in thought, I barely noticed when the car stopped at the edge of a field.

A dilapidated church stood before us, its steeple weathered and adorned with tattered crows' nests. The altar was half-collapsed and choked with weeds. The neglected sanctuary spoke volumes about the farmers' despair.

"This way, Sergeant," Wade said, gesturing as he stepped out of the car.

We hurried across the field towards a group of ragged farmers huddled in the distance, their faces etched with exhaustion and their eyes hollow.

Upon recognizing our uniforms, they retreated into silence, offering neither complaints nor pleas for help. They knew all too well the source of their suffering.

Under the weight of the farmers' distant stares, a hint of shame flushed Wade's face.

Seeing my composure, his shame morphed into resentment. He tugged his hat lower, concealing the expression in his eyes. "This is the family attacked by Golden Chief's offspring... you'll understand once you're inside."

Monsters, too, had their hierarchies, often linked by blood and led by chiefs.

Different factions demanded different tributes from the county: fresh meat, beautiful women, precious treasures.

Among them, a pack of jackalvamps held the closest ties to me. Their leader, an old yellow-furred jackal, styled himself as the Golden Chief.

"Open the door," I ordered, tilting my chin.

Wade pushed open the wooden door, revealing a sickening, dark red scene within the cramped dwelling.

The room was dim, the table laden with dismembered torsos, neatly stacked. Those that didn't fit were skewered on straw and hung from the rafters.

A jackalvamp perched on the bed's edge, gnawing on a rotting thigh with an impassive expression.

Its eyes were sharp, like a vigilant guard dog. Upon recognizing me, its gaze softened slightly. "Well, well, what brings you here?"

I stepped inside, the overwhelming stench filling my nostrils as I surveyed the gruesome tableau.

Wade had witnessed such scenes before, yet his face contorted in disgust. His hand trembled on the knife's hilt, the blade sliding out three inches involuntarily.

His talent was undeniable. In just three years, he had become journeyman in H.A.R.M.'s beastvamp-slaying techniques. He could face this jackalvamp and likely emerge victorious, albeit at great personal cost.

The reasons for his restraint were twofold: his younger sister back home, and the knowledge that he was no match for the Golden Chief. Rash action could lead to even greater tragedy.

At that moment, my steady hand reached out, silently guiding Wade's trembling fingers to return the knife to its sheath.

He snapped back to reality, his eyes fixed on my profile, eager to gauge my reaction. Surely, even someone as morally bankrupt as me would be moved by the sight of my own kind being devoured.

In his gaze, I finally met the jackal's eyes, my expression devoid of emotion. The corners of my mouth curled into a chilling smile, revealing a flash of white teeth.

Wade's heartbeat slowed, his gaze falling in disappointment. He had no desire to hear the conversation that would follow.