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The Cartel employees arrived at the village around 2 a.m. Riding in a stealth vehicle, they slowly made their way through the village, where only scattered streetlights illuminated the ground.

“Rear clear. No ghouls.”

“Left and right are clear as well. Even with thermal imaging, nothing could be identified.”

“Looks like they’re not active. Keep moving.”

The woman in the passenger seat gave the order. Adjusting the assault rifle in her hand, she stared silently out the window.

The sound of the vehicle rolling forward was greedily swallowed by the shadows. A vehicle that used human blood instead of electricity or fuel was, by itself, a byproduct of mysticism. The Cartel had quite a few things like that.

Of course, the side effects were certain as well.

For instance, when the fuel ran out, it would forcibly drain the blood of the passengers; or if it ran into a navigation ghost, it would stage an outlandish collaboration and lead them to the Sanzu River. There were plenty of risks that could get you killed if you slipped up even a little.

But the Cartel didn’t care about that kind of thing.

Humans, too, were in a sense just another resource that could be bought with money. If they died, they could simply be replaced, so there was no hesitation when it came to using mysticism. Why would they refuse to use something so efficient and capable just because an employee died...