The bedroom was a mess, so the two of them had to go downstairs to the living room. The security staff outside had all been sent away by Qin Feng, and he had instructed them not to disclose what had happened tonight—anything they said was to remain strictly confidential. Seeing Román glaring at him with such anger, Qin, the young executive, was puzzled and asked, “What’s wrong? I don’t think I’ve done anything to upset you. You asked me to make a vow, and I did. What more do you expect?” Now that he hadn’t brought up these points, the beautiful manager grew even more incensed: “You call that a vow? Qin Feng, today I’ve finally come to understand you. You’re nothing short of a colorless, insipid, manly-looking wolf—purely a romantic façade. The girls in the company must be blind indeed, treating you as a true hero.” Qin, the young executive, chuckled and shrugged, saying, “Why don’t you go and expose my colorless, insipid wolf nature to them? See who they believe—me or you—wah-hah-hah!” "If it's a male colleague, with Romani's charm, he'd definitely convince a whole group of people—no doubt about it. But if it's those fangirls, honestly, she's not even sure of herself. Plus, nowadays, it's simply true that men don't have to be bad to win women's hearts." "Today, I've really come out on the short end of the stick. You've got to reduce my debt by a portion, or else we're not done." The beautiful manager began waving her small fists around, her animated gestures adding a distinct flair. Qin Feng poured himself a glass of wine and took a sip before speaking, "Being a decent person means we're just giving away fifty thousand? Just played a scene and got such a high fee—can you imagine? Even the top-tier stars in China wouldn't reach that level. Still, I personally think the money is well spent. Your cut was quite sharp—probably even if the 'god of battle' stays lame, he won't be able to keep up. Shasha will easily catch up and finish him off." This is a quiet compliment to the beautiful manager—just look at her expression, clearly delighted. After all, her opponent is a legendary killer in the world of assassinations. To land even a single cut on him is something that would excite her for days. She pouts, tosses a cup over, and says, "Give me one too—tonight is going to be a night I'll remember..." "Are you talking about my flirting with you?" "How could you not die? Self-absorbed, colorless, shameless, a complete failure..." Hearing her string of unflattering praises, Qin's younger brother feels so overwhelmed—he's practically searching for a crack in the floor to hide into. Is he really that bad, as she claims? Well, then, better not to provoke an overheated woman. Romana rants on, then sits down on the sofa with a huff, shifting her focus to the wine before her. Minutes pass—still no sign of the veteran coach returning. "Strange. Is it possible that Sasha is staging a cover-up?" "That wouldn't take that long at all—defeating a half-injured warrior of such caliber is nothing short of a breeze," Qin said, growing increasingly impatient and standing by the balcony, gazing out into the distance in hopes of spotting Isabella's figure. "I'm really disappointed!" Sasha's voice came from behind him. He quickly turned around, seeing Isabella already holding her glass of red wine, and asked, "You came from behind, right? What exactly did you mean by 'disappointed'? Did the warrior actually escape?" The veteran instructor first exchanged a few words with Romain before adding, "Indeed, he did escape. What a surprise—our assessment of the warrior's strength was too low. We simply couldn't believe that such a skilled fighter would fall into your trap and be defeated so completely by the two of you. That's truly remarkable." What could she possibly mean? The facts were right before them—could there be any mistake? As the instructor recounted the events, both of them found themselves drenched in cold sweat. Originally, Isabella engaged in a fierce battle with the wounded Death God, and the two emerged as evenly matched. If they had pushed themselves to their limits, it might have come down to a matter of fate whether one would prevail. The Death God's formidable combat prowess left Isabella utterly astonished—had it not been for his injury weakening his strength, she was certain she would have been unable to hold her own against him. Upon hearing this, Qin Feng expressed disbelief, asking, "How is this possible? That man simply can't withstand our combined attacks. You're so strong yourself, Sasha—how could you possibly defeat him?" He even suspected that perhaps the beautiful instructor was deliberately easing up, given that only the three of them remained alive among the members of the Death Island now—each death meant a permanent loss. The veteran instructor analyzed, "There's a peculiar aura surrounding his body—one that reminds me of an ancient profession in America: the Wraith." Qin Feng blinked, "Wraith?" "You're referring to the immortal vampire from American mythology, aren't you? He's clearly of European descent—how could he possibly be a vampire?" The young instructor, with her bright eyes, gave him a withering look and remarked, "I'm from the Middle East. I don't necessarily have noble bloodline heritage either—so that's nothing surprising. Moreover, compared to bloodline-based races, vampires are more like a profession; they don't have to be native Americans to be one." So, indeed, the killer god had been somewhat underestimated. According to legend, the immortal vampire never dies. Higher-level vampires have bodies as dry and brittle as ancient wood, immune to all forms of physical assault, yet they wield an ever-changing array of poisons that can ultimately kill their enemies. Roman spoke softly, "Hearing you say that, I now think he's quite different from ordinary people. Qin Feng—do you remember when we each struck him once, and yet he didn't bleed at all?" Before Isabella, she could never project strength—despite having once been the most powerful of the Four Pillars of the Shōrō. Indeed! Qin Feng lifted his leg and dashed upstairs, turning on every glowing item in the bedroom. On the floor and the bed, there was not a single trace of blood—only a few green, viscous liquids seeping through the carpet. He took a small glass bottle, filled it with several fragments of the carpet soaked in the green liquid, and prepared to take it back for Hou Bao's laboratory analysis. The two women followed him. Isabella shook her head and said, "You're truly fortunate. The Slayer was so careless upon entering that, otherwise, with your combined strength, you'd have both perished." Romana's face turned pale as she picked up a strange dagger from beneath the bed—the entire blade resembled a snake, with the head forming the handle and the body serving as the blade. "By heaven, that snake's dagger is still here!" Qin Feng nearly jumped out of his skin. The sword is called Fúshé, the companion weapon of the God of Death, and countless people have died at its blade. Isabella grew pale. "Now I understand why he didn't make a move with his sword during the fight—he must have lost it here. Given the God of Death's nature, suffering such a defeat and losing his weapon, he will surely be determined to see it through to the end. My dear, shall I give this sword to you?"