"Blood Biter? Lankao? Sir, you must be mistaken. Those kinds of names only exist in American superhero comics."

The driver said nervously, "I’m just an ordinary taxi driver. If you’re just trying to get your waiting fee back, forgive my bluntness, but I won’t allow it."

"But you haven’t denied that on November 13th, you were driving this taxi and gave me a ride on my way to work, have you?"

Baron said coldly, "That morning was no coincidence. It was all a carefully designed trap. Who put you up to this?"

He spun the revolver’s cylinder. As his finger applied slight pressure, the trigger depressed slightly. The scent of death, symbolized by gunpowder, began to fill the car.

The driver said, "Sir, if you’re trying to rob me, I can give you all the cash on me and in the car. But please, leave me the car. I rely on it to support my family..."

Baron said flatly, "Aren’t your family already dead? But it’s true, you brought them back to life. Right now, they’re in a villa on Westin Street, holding hands and singing ’I Have a Good Daddy.’"

The driver gave a bitter smile. "Sir, that’s going a bit too far. I may be afraid of death, but if necessary, as a citizen of Great Britain, I have a duty to die for my family’s innocence."

His words had grown cold, implying that if Baron’s answer wasn’t satisfactory, he would slam on the gas and drive straight to the nearest police station.

But Baron didn’t speak. Instead, he tossed out a newspaper—one Baron had seen at the Bagins Family’s home in the Inner Side. It reported that Lankao had been stripped of his professorship at Edinburgh Wizard School for violating an Alchemy Taboo...

Below it was a response from someone under the anonymous name "The Great Dwarf Alchemist."

He defended Lankao, saying the Alchemy Association was a bunch of bullshit, that Lankao was a genius, and that his pioneering Blood Twinning Technique—which allowed an animal’s spirit to attach to the soul of another dead animal—was a great innovation that would completely overturn the world of Alchemy...

There were several lengthy articles vehemently criticizing the Alchemy Association. If Baron hadn’t known beforehand that it was just some cranky, stubborn old man defending his apprentice, he would have thought it was some Lankao superfan.

"Your teacher, Bagins, has every newspaper article ever published about you at his house. Although you’ve disguised yourself, he has photos of you, and the subtle movements you make while driving match the ones in the pictures."

This was a lie Baron made up. There was only one photo. He was just saying it to bluff the driver.

But the driver fell silent.

Baron pressed his advantage, tossing out another newspaper, also from the Inner Side:

"Six years ago, you resigned from your positions with Lancelot’s Family and at the Edinburgh Wizard School simultaneously. You disappeared from the Inner Side, and two months later, the Blood Biter started committing crimes in the Inner Side."

The driver still said, "I told you, sir, if you’re going to rob me, just get it over with. Alchemy this, Wizards that... what do you think this is, a comic book or a fantasy novel?"

"Besides, according to the story you’ve fabricated, if a person’s disappearance is tied to the appearance of a murderer..."

"When did I say the Blood Biter was a murderer?" Baron interrupted flatly.

"That was just..."

The driver froze, about to say more, but Baron—a man wearing the multiple hats of prisoner and fugitive—simply tossed out another newspaper and said:

"I don’t know the exact details of your ceremony, but my guess is that after your family—your daughter and her maternal grandparents—died in that car crash..."

"...perhaps the shock of their deaths spurred you to use an incomplete Alchemy Ceremony on your loved ones’ bodies."

He said softly, "Just like the newspaper said, if one animal can live on in place of another, then the same should work for people, right? The only price is a bit of shared blood."

Looking at the newspaper spread before him, at the shocking headline: [Family of Three Dies in Car Crash Caused by Drunk Taxi Driver].

The driver fell silent again. This time, he was silent for a long while before speaking, his voice like the grinding of long-rusted gears.

"I say, Mr. Constantine, you’ve really gone too far."

"Too far?"

Constantine smirked in the rearview mirror, his smile sharp and mocking. "What could be more out of line than an ordinary bank clerk suffering so many unprovoked disasters on his way to work?"

He added, "You’re the one who tipped off the Holy Mechanism last night, weren’t you? I remember you. Not only did you drive me to the office on that day, but you were also the one Alice got a ride with when she left last night."

"Because I figured that even if they discovered the Time Death Judgment hadn’t been carried out, there was no way they could have pinpointed my location without me using my Dragon Flame. Today’s surveillance and navigation systems aren’t as advanced as they will be in the future."

Baron said, "Even though your taxi always had a passenger in it whenever I saw you, I noticed a long time ago that your license plate number appears around me far more frequently than any of your colleagues..."

Before Baron could finish, the driver sighed. "I finally understand why those famous Law Enforcement Organizations can’t do anything to you, Your Excellency, the esteemed Dragon Knight."

At this, he dropped the pretense. He calmly removed the ring from his hand, and the disguise vanished.

His face was the same as the one Baron had seen in the photo at Bagins’s, only more weathered. He was about fifty, but his hair was already completely white.

The only thing that hadn’t changed was his eyes. After Baron revealed his identity, they remained as hollow and vacant as ever, like a vortex pulling you in.

The driver, or rather Lankao, said, "Your deductions are interesting. But how did you conclude from just these few points that I’m the Blood Biter? It couldn’t be something as dull as intuition, could it?"

"No intuition needed. A single trip to Bagins’s clinic is all it takes to figure it out."

Constantine said, "The newspapers in his clinic are only of three types: one is about himself, another is about his apprentice Lankao, and the rest are about the Dragon Eater Association and the Blood Biter."

The Dragon Knight said with serene confidence, "And so, a theory emerges. I figured the Blood Biter was either Bagins or you. As for the Dragon Eater Association, perhaps they’re the organization pulling your strings from behind."

For the first time, Lankao’s expression fluctuated intensely. His pupils shrank to pinpricks, but then returned to normal.

"So... Teacher Bagins knew everything all along."

He then sighed again. "Mr. Constantine, has anyone ever told you that you’d make a great detective?"

’I have. In a strange Otherworld, as Demon Hunter L. I killed a Vampire and became one myself.’

Baron recalled everything that had happened in Prole. His heart twinged with a slight pain, but he replied in a half-joking, half-mocking tone:

"Yes, and thanks to you, a fugitive who’s never been a prisoner doesn’t make for a good detective."

He said coldly, "Now, please explain why you framed me and what exactly your blood ceremony is. Then, you can prepare to go to Hell for your sins."

"And if I say no?"

Lankao said faintly.

In the rearview mirror, his pupils began to turn the emerald green of Bronze, while a red Ghost, faintly in the shape of a woman, began to emerge from his body.

With a flick of his hand, several intricately patterned cards appeared. They were the Magic Cards used by the Wizard profession.

A Bronze Wizard.

Baron’s heart sank.

He had systematically learned about this profession, hailed as the strongest of the Third Law, in the *Prole Professional Encyclopedia*.

Wizards: a profession that relies on a Magic Staff and chanting, using Spiritual Power as a cost to cast Magic on the outside world.

The first type of Magic involves a Wizard using alchemical cards known as "Magic Cards," which store the Magic of others. By activating these Magic Cards with their Magic Staff, they can expend Spiritual Power to use Magic of an equal or lower Tier.

The power is significantly reduced compared to the original, and it consumes more Spiritual Power, but its advantage lies in diversifying a Wizard’s combat methods.

The second type of Magic, however, is similar to a Contract Knight’s [Promise]. It is a Wizard’s exclusive Authority, with one new form of it gained at each stage. A Golden Mage can have a maximum of four.

And unlike Magic Cards, which can be used quickly, this kind of Magic requires chanting to be used or to increase its power. Furthermore, this Magic cannot affect the user themselves; it can only alter the external environment.

Generally speaking, aside from the method Lawrence mentioned—the classic "look at their eye color"—there are two other ways to identify a Wizard’s Tier: their chanting speed and their Magic Staff.

There’s no need to discuss Gold Tiers. After all, the only Golden Mage in the Inner Side right now is Isaac Newton. If you run into him, you don’t need to identify him, you can just point him out.

Black Iron and Bronze Wizards require both a Magic Staff and chanting to use their Magic. Silver Tiers and above, however, no longer need to chant and can cast spells up to a kilometer away from their staves.

Lankao is a Bronze Wizard. He needs a Magic Staff to use his Magic.

Therefore, the next thing he had to do was...

Just as the red Ghost on his body lunged at Baron, a gunshot rang out.

The red Ghost shattered. In the instant the muzzle flashed, Lankao ducked and pulled a hidden Magic Staff from the car door. Just as he was about to touch the Magic Card to the staff, a hand grabbed its other end.

Lankao looked up and saw the Dragon Knight’s faintly glowing Golden Eyes.

The fearsome majesty in those eyes made him subconsciously release the Magic Staff. The Dragon Knight snatched it and cleanly snapped it in two.

"There," Baron said, tossing the broken Magic Staff to Lankao and pressing the muzzle of the gun to the Blood Biter’s forehead once more. "Now we can talk business, can’t we?"

Looking at Lankao’s bewildered expression and the heavily guarded Great Britain police officers outside the taxi, Baron suddenly recalled a joke from his past life.

Beyond seven paces, the gun is fast. Within seven paces, the gun is fast *and* accurate.

’So why is there a police station here just because I picked a random location?’

’Life isn’t easy,’ Baron sighed.