The following day, we arrived in Seamist County, Vancouver.

As the saying goes, "Those who live by the mountains eat from mountains, those who live by the water eat from water." The coastal area boasted a bustling fish market.

The bloodsteeds slowed to a stop. Stewart Atzmon dismounted and led the horses toward the local police station. While the rest of us stayed in the market.

Amid rows of fish baskets, the pungent smell of seafood filled my lungs. Fishermen in rolled-up pants surrounded me, their chatter and laughter continuing as usual. The presence of the few H.A.R.M. agents seemed to go unnoticed.

Yet, perhaps it was just my imagination, but occasionally, when someone's gaze casually fell upon me, a flicker of hostility seemed to hide within their eyes.

"This is how it is in places like this. It saves us the trouble of disguising ourselves," Dave Gray remarked with a smile. "In other places, when they encounter vampires, their first reaction is to look for the police, but the people here would definitely go to worship the sea god."

"Worship a sea god?" I was taken aback, accustomed to the reverence for the one true God.

Noa Atzmon yawned and quipped, "Beastvamps who don't want to be on the Most Wanted List and don't want to hide in the deep mountains naturally have to give themselves a title."

"Four hundred years ago, when Seamist County was still a fishing village, they relied on the sea god for their livelihood,"

Dave Gray sighed helplessly, "There's a small sacrifice every six months and a big one every three years. It's already become a custom, and they've never stopped offering livestock, fish, rice, and even young boys and girls during the big sacrifices."

Upon hearing this, I clenched my fists slightly and asked softly, "Does no one care?" Despite maintaining a calm expression, a subtle unease settled within me.

The notion of sacrificing human lives to appease the vampires, all in the name of some elusive 'greater good,' was once a bitter pill I swallowed without hesitation. But the horrors of Pinewood County had etched a harsh truth into my soul: such compromises were a fool's bargain, their fruits always rotten.

"How can you care? If you say anything disrespectful, these villagers might attack Seattle with their fishing knifes tomorrow night. Can you kill them all?” Dave Gray shrugged. "We can only send a few captains over to help watch during their big sacrifices, as a way to deter the sea god and let it know that H.A.R.M. is still watching it, so it doesn't get too arrogant. Even so, they still guard against us like thieves."

Led by Ethan Atzmon, the group departed from the fish market and reached Temple Village, a secluded fishing settlement nestled to the south of Desolation Sound.

Such a remote place, which lacked running water and proper sanitation, was even busier than the town we had just left. Expensive silk was cut into pieces and hung on poles, wooden totem statues of the sea god adorned the roof of every household, and the occasional sound of firecrackers echoed through the air, creating a festive atmosphere.

As we approached, an old man in a white coat, leaning on a crutch, stood at the village entrance. A sarcastic smile played on his lips as he looked us over. "Are you gentlemen here to observe the sacrifice?"

"The village chief in charge of the big sacrifice, even the Seamist County executive has to tread carefully around him," Colt McCoy introduced in a low voice.

“Just because the temple is here?” I asked.

"Because this village provides the most sacrifices. After all," Colt McCoy explained, "the sea god is worshipped primarily by the fishing villages near the strait, and Temple Village is the most prominent among them."

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Ethan Atzmon surveyed the village, his gaze lingering before slowly withdrawing. "Where are the H.A.R.M. agents who arrived earlier?"

The village chief turned in surprise. "Aren't you gentlemen here to observe the sacrifice? I was starting to wonder why you were so late."

Noa's eyes narrowed at his response. Stepping forward, she offered a chilling smile. "Let me remind you, you're free to worship as you please, but any harm to H.A.R.M. agents will be met with severe consequences."

"You're joking," the village chief chuckled nervously, leaning on his crutch. "We wouldn't dare. And anyway, what harm could we do with a few old fishing knifes?"

Noa didn't reply, simply striding into the village.

The young men lining the path, gripping fishing knives and gaffs, eyed Noa's shapely figure with cold, hungry stares.

… …

The scene before me was a stark contrast to the numb despair I'd witnessed in the villages outside Pinewood County. There, the people huddled together, paralyzed by fear. Here, in Temple Village, they openly leered at H.A.R.M. officials, their faces flushed with desire.

This grotesque display was a manifestation of the perverse confidence instilled in them by the "sea god." A chilling thought struck me: were vampires, in the eyes of these people, preferable to H.A.R.M.? The realization left me momentarily reeling.

… …

The sea god temple dominated the village center. Inside, a gilded statue held court: a serene woman, ageless, draped in a flowing gown patterned with waves. Her palms were clasped at her heart. Flanking her were two eternally youthful children, hair styled in sheep horns, one bearing a fish basket, the other flowers. Their smiles were innocent, beguiling.

"This statue is a lie," Colt McCoy scoffed, drawing the attention of the others. "They send a pair of children every three years. After four hundred years, there should be more than just two children. They'd stretch beyond the village."

Ethan Atzmon looked away. "Those villagers aren't fools. They don't truly believe their children become servants to a sea god. They're smarter than you give them credit for. They see an opportunity for profit."

Noa's eyes swept the temple, then fixed on me as I stood before the statue. "The strait is turbulent," she said softly. "If you calmed the waters and gathered fish, allowing fishermen to haul in a full catch with a single net, they'd revere you as a god." She paused, her eyes filled with resigned sadness. "Some things are best left undisturbed."

She keenly perceived the faint trace of dissatisfaction beneath the young man's seemingly indifferent exterior.

Curiosity piqued her. Hadn't him grown up in poverty? Shouldn't he be accustomed to such exploitation? Why this discomfort?

Stewart soon returned from the police station, his face etched with worry. "No leads. Everyone claims they haven't seen the missing people, and the badge wasn't delivered to Vancouver by them. Could those agents have been intercepted by vampires?"

Ethan Atzmon frowned. "The people in Vancouver found the badge at the police station gate at dawn. It couldn't have possibly been that vampires were the ones who sent the provocation."

The team nodded in agreement, each found a place in the temple to rest.

Time slipped away, and evening descended. An expectant hush fell over the group. Tradition dictated that the sea god would appear to greet H.A.R.M. during their observation of the sacrifice.

But there was no sign of it.

"Could it have been killed by another vampire?" Ethan Atzmon wondered aloud.

Generally speaking, vampires have a strong sense of territorial consciousness. The sea god itself wouldn't dare act rashly, lest it end up on the Most Wanted List. Moreover, its presence could deter passing vampires.

"If that were the case, the killer would have left by now," Noa Atzmon reasoned with a smile. "Otherwise, we wouldn't be sitting here safely."

Records indicated that three centuries ago, the sea god was an early-stage Wave Realm vampire. Even with the slower progression of vampiric fauna compared to human practitioner, it should have reached at least the late stage Wave Realm by now.

Furthermore, as a water vampire, the vastness of the Strait of Georgia offered it an unparalleled advantage. Even a vampire of a higher realm would be hard-pressed to challenge it in its watery domain.

"Gentlemen," the village chief hobbled to the doorway, leaning on his crutch. "We've been consumed with preparations for the grand sacrifice and haven't any spare houses. Perhaps you could each choose a fisherman's dwelling that suits you and make do?"

Dave Gray rolled his eyes. Only in a backwater like this would they dare suggest H.A.R.M. agents share accommodations with others.

Fortunately, none of them were particularly concerned about such trivial matters. They rose and departed, pairing up for safety as they entered the villagers' homes.

Stewart, Ethan's lifelong attendant, accompanied him. Dave and Colt, longtime partners, went together.

Noa, too, was welcomed by a woman. She gestured to me. "Don't be picky when you're away from home. Come on in."

"I think I'll take a stroll around first," I replied, intentionally hanging back to wander through the village.

I wasn't truly tired, merely restless. It wasn't anger, exactly. The conversation about the sea god was disturbing, but I'd heard far worse tales.

In this vampire-infested world, mere survival was a struggle. Holding ordinary people to lofty moral standards was unrealistic.

Just then, a faint argument caught my attention.

"Where do you think you're touching? Lay a hand on me again, and I'll kill you!"

Intrigued by the sudden outburst, I looked towards the source of the commotion.