Azrael returned home around nine that evening, his mind already focused on the events of the night. There had been no point in trying to negotiate with Daniel; talking would have been a complete waste of time. Sometimes, the direct approach was the only one that mattered.
Settling onto his sofa, Azrael turned his attention to his card collection, mentally cataloging his assets. His Black Iron-level biological cards included Demon Slayer Yoriichi Tsugikuni (purple), Ken Kaneki (red), and Pidgeot. At the Bronze level, his main powerhouses were Luffy and Zoro. His prop cards consisted of [Three Treasures], [Breathless Orb], and [Mark3].
However, a troubling pattern had emerged since his promotion to the Bronze level: Yoriichi and Kaneki were becoming increasingly difficult to deploy effectively. Kaneki still showed potential with his advancement routes, but Yoriichi presented a more complex problem. The original worldview constraints meant there was no clear advancement path after his initial creation.
Azrael recalled the cryptic instructions from the mysterious book: As long as the settings are reasonable and perfect, successful production is possible. The strange reaction from the mysterious space during Mark3's creation still puzzled him. If everything was fabricated, perhaps Yoriichi could evolve beyond his limitations.
Another complication had emerged with his Crimson Oath Society cover identity: Zoro could no longer appear in public operations. This tactical limitation left Azrael feeling uncomfortably exposed and in desperate need of additional trump cards for future confrontations.
"The problem is, I already wrote Yoriichi's death," Azrael mused, his fingers drumming against the arm of the sofa. If Yoriichi had survived, countless story possibilities would have opened up. He could have traveled to the mainland, where he might have encountered Wuming, the legendary number one martial artist of that era.
"But Fengyun's style doesn't really match," Azrael muttered, his mind cycling through various stories from his previous life. Suddenly, a detail from Demon Slayer caught his attention. "Wait—wasn't there something about souls in the original setting?"
That was right. When the creator developed Demon Slayer, soul mechanics were indeed built into the worldview, though they weren't featured prominently in the main storyline.
"Then maybe I can connect it to Utanigami mythology," Azrael said aloud, touching his chin thoughtfully.
Swordsmen, death, and souls—the logical connection pointed directly toward Utanigami concepts. If this approach worked, it could solve multiple problems simultaneously.
"If that's possible, then Zoro's potential is practically limitless."
What's wrong with the number one swordsman in his world wielding a Zanpakutō?
The concept felt both audacious and perfectly logical.
However, when Azrael checked his remaining balance—just over 600,000 Empyrean dollars—melancholy crept in. "Even the best cook can't work without ingredients."
Upgrading Yoriichi to the Bronze level would require at least two or three Bronze-level materials for the fusion process. His current funds wouldn't even cover a single purple Bronze-level material.
Then he remembered his remaining secret realm entry. He needed to maximize this opportunity for profit generation.
His original plan had focused on finding a secret realm rich in medical materials. However, with Mark3 providing solid defense and mobility options, the urgency had decreased. After all, he was just a high school senior—daily dangers shouldn't be a major concern.
Azrael almost laughed at his own optimism. His track record with avoiding danger was less than stellar.
Still, joining the Crimson Oath Society had significantly reduced threats from Velkairos's darker elements. That had to count for something.
"Hey, did you hear about the murder in the Nirvale District?"
The next morning at Silverbrook High School, several students huddled together in a key class, engaged in hushed conversation. Azrael's body tensed involuntarily as he entered the classroom. He then forced himself to relax while positioning himself to eavesdrop on their discussion.
"I know! The criminal's called Iron Man."
Iron Man? Azrael blinked in confusion before realizing they meant "I am Iron Man." He fought the urge to laugh or groan at the garbled translation. There was no way to correct them without raising awkward questions about his knowledge of the incident.
"Yeah, and I heard he was wearing silver armor."
"Silver armor? I heard it was silver tights."
What the hell? Azrael's expression darkened.
"His card summons a three-sword swordsman."
"Nonsense! It's obviously a four-sword swordsman!"
"You're all wrong. My uncle told me it's a ninety-nine-sword swordsman."
Why are uncles always involved in these rumors?
Despite the absurdity, Azrael felt secretly relieved. At least one correct detail had emerged from their speculation. Fortunately, no one besides that woman had witnessed the events directly. He'd maintained his disguise with Mark 3 and Hidden Breath Pearl throughout the operation, never exposing his appearance or leaving traceable evidence. The card he used was brand new, so there was no risk of identity exposure through pattern recognition.
It was inevitable that Daniel's death would become public knowledge—too many people had died, and there was a surviving witness. Lian could have suppressed the story through official channels, but that would have raised different suspicions. Since Azrael's identity remained secure, it was better to let Lian work behind the scenes, guiding the development of the narrative.
Taking his seat, Azrael noticed Gabi was absorbed in reading. This reminded him of her previous comments about her father's recent behavioral changes.
Azrael's suspicions were crystallizing. Master Lucian and the others probably considered Uncle Gustav an insider.
He had entertained this theory before, given Gustav's frequent involvement in sensitive situations. But Azrael had good reasons to doubt it. He had personally called Gustav multiple times during various incidents. Moreover, if Gustav were a true insider of the Crimson Oath Society, Cory would have faced serious consequences the moment he joined the organization.
Pushing these thoughts aside, Azrael greeted Gabi. "How has Uncle Gustav been lately?"
Gabi looked up, her expression brightening slightly when she saw him. "Better than before, actually."
"And I don't know if it's just my imagination, but Dad seems to have much more free time recently. He's been spending way more time at home than usual."
Sure enough, Azrael sighed internally. Gabi's observation confirmed his suspicions. The association had definitely marked Uncle Gustav as a potential insider. Otherwise, how could a Gold-level Lore Cardian be essentially unemployed during such turbulent times?
Theoretically, clearing Uncle Gustav's name was simple: Azrael could secretly report Lian as the actual insider. The problem was that the Crimson Oath Society wasn't staffed by idiots. Lian's identity was closely guarded information known by very few. Azrael encountered problems almost immediately after joining the organization. Anyone investigating would quickly identify those with access to report Lian's activities.
Even if the connection wasn't obvious at first, a simple process of elimination among those with relevant knowledge would expose Azrael's involvement.
This was precisely why Azrael had decided against making the report, at least for now.
"I need to figure out how many other moles the Crimson Oath Society has planted first."
Despite his churning thoughts, Azrael offered comfort. "Well, people should rest more as they get older."
Although Gustav was only in his forties, it was the most diplomatic explanation Azrael could provide. He certainly couldn't tell Gabi that her father was under suspicion as an insider and had effectively been sidelined.
Gabi seemed to accept this reasoning, breathing a visible sigh of relief. "You're right. He was always so busy before, like he was running on empty. Now he finally has time to spend with me."
Seeing Gabi's relieved reaction, Azrael felt his own tension ease slightly. As long as she could accept the situation without questioning it further, they could maintain this delicate balance.