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"Yeah, I used..." They didn’t give him enough time to continue.

"Look at his face."

"Iron dogs are getting bold."

"He heard Boss Raka works for Big Boss Sekhmet now. Came here wearing a fake smile and a fake token."

"Probably wants revenge."

The lesser vampire almost sighed.

So that was the line their drunk minds had chosen.

Iron House spy.

Ridiculous.

Still annoying enough to become a problem if left untouched.

"I am not from Iron House," he said.

No one cared.

Scar-face stood.

Or rather, he attempted to stand like a warrior and instead stood like a table trying to remember its legs. Still, he managed enough dignity to loom badly.

"Then prove it."

"I was sent by Sekhmet."

That was the wrong thing to repeat.

Scar-face’s face darkened with offended drunken loyalty.

"Do not say Big Boss’s name like you know him."

Then he swung.

Not well.

Not cleanly.

But fast enough that a normal man in a crowded market corridor would have had to take the hit or back away hard.

The lesser vampire did neither.

He moved.

That was all.

A shift of the head. A step just off line. Scar-face’s fist passed through the air. The drunken man stumbled one step too far, and the lesser vampire caught him by the wrist, twisted lightly —not enough to break, just enough to shock— and sent him stumbling into two of his companions.

Chaos erupted instantly.

Of course it did.

Men rose shouting. Benches scraped. One knife came out. Another man threw a cup because apparently he had reached the sort of drunk where all objects looked tactical.

The lesser vampire did not bare fangs. Did not feed. Did not kill.

He simply fought.

And that was enough to humiliate them completely.

One man rushed him from the left. He caught the incoming arm, turned through the angle, and drove an elbow into the attacker’s ribs just hard enough to empty the breath from him without collapsing the chest.

Another came from behind. The lesser vampire ducked, swept one leg, and dropped the man hard onto his back.

A third swung with the knife. The blade was quick by drunken street standards and laughably slow by anything else.

The lesser vampire stepped inside, struck the man in the throat with two knuckles, twisted the wrist until the knife fell, then kicked it sliding across the hollow path where it rang against stone and vanished under a table.

The sound of the fight changed.

What began as group confidence became startled panic.

Because yes, they were drunk, but not drunk enough to miss that this one man was taking fifteen of them apart without drawing blood.

He was trying not to hurt them too much.

That was the part they should have appreciated.

They did not.

"Grab him." one said.

"You idiots, all at once." Another added.

"He’s not normal." Another one said.

"No, really." Someone replied.

By the time the last two still standing tried to rush him together, the lesser vampire had already grown annoyed. He struck one in the stomach, one in the jaw, then stepped back and let them both collapse into a mess of limbs and swearing on the floor.

Silence followed.

Broken only by groaning.

Scar-face crawled halfway upright and stared at him like the world had personally betrayed him.

The lesser vampire adjusted his sleeve once and said, "Now. Take me to Raka."

That should have ended it.

Instead, drunk pride performed its final duty.

Scar-face pushed himself up on one elbow and spat blood onto the stone.

"Wait here."

The lesser vampire’s expression did not change.

Scar-face pointed a shaking finger. "We’ll get more men."

Another one, clutching his ribs, nodded furiously. "Yeah. Vice Leader too."

"Then we’ll see."

The lesser vampire looked at all fifteen of them and understood two things at once.

First, they were too stupid to surrender.

Second, they were finally useful.

"Fine," he said.

That confused them.

He stepped back and folded his arms. "Go."

They stared at the lesser vampire.

He repeated, "Go get him. I will be waiting here."

That was all the encouragement the drunk men needed to mistake a trap for victory.

They scrambled up with whatever dignity, broken bodies, and liquor still allowed them and staggered off down a side path, muttering promises of revenge loud enough for the whole lower market to hear.

The lesser vampire waited exactly long enough for them to think he was still there waiting for them to return.

Then he followed them. It was done very quietly.

For a newly made creature, his movements were already exceptionally clean. The hollow market paths bent and split through lower chambers, storage cuts, old smugglers’ routes, and half legal alcoves.

The drunken group moved too loudly, too stupidly, too sure of their own importance to notice a predator tracking them at a far distance.

A few moments later...

They led him straight to the base. It was a good plan for the lesser vampire.

Sekhmet would approve it.

The route ended behind a half-collapsed row of old storage chambers that had long ago been reworked into Raka’s operation den. There were guard points. There were hidden watchers. There were also thick reinforced doors. Which was built to keep intruders outside from the base.

The men who looked like they had killed for the money and grown proud of it. The place was not grand. But it was built for survival, retreat if needed, and for private violence against enemies.

And the moment the lesser vampire crossed into its range, someone inside felt him. To be specific, he felt his chaos energy. There was a chaos energy detector and some alarm traps. Which is why the lesser vampire was found out.

It was Raka who got the alarm inside his boss room.

The current rank of three was enough now, with his own blood-puppet bond to Sekhmet and the instincts sharpened by that bond, that is why he recently placed the chaos energy detector and the traps, that is why he noticed the presence immediately.