Don't confiscate my identity as a human race-Chapter 1270 - 815: Lanci’s Blood Moon City Hell Mode

Dusk.

No matter how bustling the national festival in November makes the city-state look, no one notices that deep underground, an ancient city beyond old times is slowly operating.

If granted permission by the elusive forces that be, one could traverse the long and shadowy path straight to the deepest black palace.

"Strange, where did my ID go?"

A man muttered to himself.

He was dressed in a slick black leather jacket, its shiny buttons glistening under the blood-red sky.

Maquiel couldn't understand how his ID from the Empire's Special Operations Department could have just vanished into thin air.

Having ruled out the possibility of misplacing it himself, he would only ever hang his jacket in his office, rarely out of sight, and no one apart from him could open his office, not even Nikola could sneak in there.

But he couldn't afford to ponder this now; he had to report the loss and get a replacement immediately, and couldn't afford to make a big deal of it, as such a blunder at this crucial time could be fatal for him.

As the only Seventh-order combat member of the Empire's Special Operations Department, no one dared to track Maquiel, and he, likewise, possessed the keenest anti-surveillance awareness.

Besides, this isolated underground stronghold, even the entries and exits through the municipal hall's internal doors were unnoticed by gods and ghosts alike.

Maquiel leisurely walked towards the farthest end of the Underground City-State. The majestic castle built of natural obsidian stood quietly in the night, its outer walls inlaid with cold, hard silver edges, decorated with translucent red crystal carvings, refracting bewildering light patterns in the weak illumination.

The crimson blood moon hanging above the pitch-black dome scattered its pure moonlight onto the earth, casting layers of hazy red gossamer over the city meticulously constructed with dark stone materials, walking through which felt like being in a mysterious and deceptive dream.

Passing through layers of corridors, Maquiel pushed open a giant door carved with the Curse Mark of the blood moon's heyday.

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The view before him suddenly enlarged, an awe-inspiring, palatial, council-chamber unfolded before him.

Maquiel bowed respectfully.

In front of the Blood Clan, he was acutely aware of his insignificance and humbleness, not daring to look around freely, he could only wait silently for the response of the Ancestor of the Blood Clan.

He waited for a long time, but no command was given.

It seems that he had arrived too early; the Ancestors of the Blood Clan calling him back had yet to arrive.

Only then did Maquiel slowly raise his head.

High above the dome, iron chandeliers hung under cold iron chains, and on either side of the council table, thirteen high-backed chairs, like thrones, had not a single figure in sight.

Suddenly.

Maquiel sensed something, his gaze turning to a shadow-shrouded corner of the council hall.

Someone had arrived earlier than him—

The tall figure was like a statue carved into the darkness, the coat appearing to rustle in the slowly rising wind, difficult to discern in the pitch-black.

In the dark, only those deep purple eyes were exceptionally clear.

"Colonel McCree, what are you doing here?"

Maquiel fixed his gaze and from the barely visible contours of the formidable purple eyes behind the sunglasses, recognized the man's identity.

In the Capital Garrison Command, the Military Police Brigade was divided into the First and Second Brigades.

Last month, when the Brilda magical energy carrier encountered an accident, it was the Second Military Police Brigade responsible for the outer areas of the capital that responded.

And the First Military Police Brigade was in charge of security within the capital's inner ring.

Colonel McCree was precisely the commander of the First Military Police Brigade.

"..."

The man merely stood with arms crossed, silent.

"Cold as ever."

Maquiel had no intention of saying anything further to him.

On the surface, he didn't get along well with the commanding officer of the Capital Garrison Command's Military Police First Brigade.

Always wearing sunglasses, acting high and mighty.

Even though they were both colonels, the Empire's Special Operations Department as a secret service held greater authority than the conventional forces of the Military Police brigades of the Capital Garrison Command, but McCree acted as if unaware of this fact.

Just then.

A sound of dripping water that should not be present echoed in the council hall.

In the depths of the palace, a flicker of green light emerged quietly.

On the once lifeless floor, a tender green sprout broke through.

It grew at a speed visible to the naked eye, with vines writhing and coiling like snakes, and leaves rustling noisily.

In moments, a tree as tall as a person sprung from the earth, branches and leaves thick and lush.

Suddenly, the trunk split open, and a slim figure slowly emerged, like a butterfly breaking from its cocoon.

Her skin was as white as snow, with long light golden hair elegantly falling down to her waist.

Her long eyelashes fluttered slightly, and as her eyes slowly opened, they were like new leaves in spring, or deep waters in a clear pond, lucid and bright with a faint glow.

Dressed in a simple white gown adorned with complex green patterns, she appeared as if wrapped in intertwined vines.

She walked lightly in wooden clogs down from the tree trunk, drifting through the palace like the wind.

A refreshing light floral fragrance pervaded the air around her, imbuing the air with the charm of spring.

"Sorry about that, this is my treasured Saint Heir, that's just his nature; I do hope Captain Makuire can excuse it."

The light-haired, green-eyed woman appearing in the palace answered with a smile.

This made Maquiel shudder.

He instinctively didn't want to make eye contact with the woman.

Withered Bishop Nedodichka.

She was proficient in Wood Attribute and Spirit Attribute.

An enigmatic woman who revels in manipulating people's hearts, she liked to enchant those in power, dispensing malicious advice, causing the execution of many brave generals and wise ministers, bringing the nation to the brink of collapse.

It was assumed that she would pick a Saint Heir or Saintess with equally abhorrent abilities.

Yet she had chosen a Saint Heir whose most notable feature was his exceptional prowess in frontal combat.