"You sure you can take those guys?"

Worry bled through Miyuki Kiseki’s voice like mist over a cold pond. They’d already left their temporary refuge; a nest rarely stays safe twice. They shifted on instinct, but danger moves like wind, never guaranteed to miss. With battle in mind, Sham had prepped early. Her old wand was gone, blown into nowhere, so she had to switch tools. In the Underworld, power isn’t just talent. On the battlefield, steel is as necessary as breath.

Sham drew a black pistol from under her coat. The muzzle was a small black moon, a hole that promised death.

QSG92 pistol. Overall length 199 millimeters, weight 0.76 kilograms. Barrel 111 millimeters. Fifteen-round double-stack magazine. Effective range fifty meters.

Down here, that’s as ordinary as rain. It’s for killing, used whenever killing is required. Sham slid in a magazine, thumbed off the safety, checked the chamber, then locked her grip. A soldier’s shadow settled over her shoulders.

"Kiseki, we’re facing the Clan Head’s people. Going unarmed won’t fly. You should carry one for yourself."

She fished out another pistol and tossed it. Mizuki’s hands rose like startled birds and caught the weight in midair.

"Are you serious..."

Cold metal kissed her palms. A bead of chill sweat gathered at her brow, heavy as dew. She had never touched a gun before. She’d only seen them on TV, read about them in military books. This time it was real. The feel didn’t bring thrill. It dragged her down to an iron-cold hell.

"I know your temperament. But the situation won’t let you hesitate. If you don’t want to die, you’ll learn to pull the trigger."

A hint of reluctance glinted in Sham’s eyes, like a lantern flickering in a storm, then froze over. She didn’t have a choice. If she didn’t force this, Miyuki Kiseki’s survival odds dropped to ash. When the fight starts, Sham might not be able to cover her. If Mizuki’s bare-handed, danger snaps shut like a trap.

"Mm. I get it."

After a struggle that felt like branches catching, Mizuki forced herself calm. No room for doubt. To live, you shoot. If not, you’re the one who falls.

The classroom was a wreck. Chairs lay split and crooked like broken ribs. New scars slashed the ceiling and walls. Bodies sprawled on the floor, freshly peeled from life. Only two were left alive inside. A girl in a black cloak, face half-hidden by Goggles and a mask, leveled a black metal shape at a trembling brute on the tiles. The tableau might have looked absurd. To the brute, it was pure nightmare.

"Where is Miyuki Kiseki?"

Her mouth was masked, but the voice had shifted. Not the deliberately lowered tone from before—her true voice, bent by cloth and filters. Anyone familiar would fail to place it.

"W-witch..."

His voice shook like a drumskin in a storm. He crab-crawled backward, eyes wide like he’d seen a ghost.

"Yes, I am a Witch. But that’s not my question. I asked: Miyuki Kiseki. Your target. Where is she?"

Yun Shi’s voice came cold from the abyss, a winter that carried honest killing intent. If he didn’t answer, she’d end it in a heartbeat.

"I—I don’t know. We lost the trail while tracking... I swear I’m not lying. Don’t kill me!"

Terror ripped him open. He spilled everything, pride left to die in the corner.

"Tch. That’s all you’ve got..."

Cold rose around Yun Shi like hoarfrost climbing glass.

"Then—could you let me—"

A clean click broke the air. The trigger pulled. A ribbon of blood sprang out. The bulky body crashed to the floor like a felled tree.

Smoke curled from the muzzle. The girl didn’t care. She holstered the gun and turned for the next place, steps as steady as rain.

"Who’s there."

Yun Shi’s voice iced over at the door. The gun came out again like a snake uncoiling.

"Looks like I got spotted."

A boy stepped out, wearing a tired smile like a crack in stone.

At the same time, Sham’s spot turned sour. A few minutes earlier, a squad had found them. In a hail of bullets, she dragged Mizuki behind cover, then dropped prone, using a torn steel door as a shield. She fired back, body flat to the floor.

Rat-tat—

Fire licked the air. Brass rained to the ground. Blood splashed like scattered poppies.

Sham’s focus was a blade. Both hands locked on the QSG92. Bullets snapped out. On impact, they bloomed into crimson roses. The roar in her ears faded to seafoam. All that mattered was breaking the encirclement fast.

Mizuki watched from the side, face pale like paper. Each collapsing silhouette turned her stomach. She forced it down, breath fracturing unevenly. She hadn’t expected to adapt this fast. That, in itself, was terrifying.

"If you’re scared, shut your eyes and don’t look!"

Sham shouted between shots, voice cutting through the rattle.

She emptied a row, then swapped in a fresh magazine with a motion smooth as a flowing stream.

After the last target dropped, Sham kept her two-handed grip, then sagged to her knees. She sucked air in heavy gulps. Skirting the line of life and death is exhausting. There’s no joy in that dance.

"Found you~"

A demon’s whisper rippled at her ear, cold as an autumn draft. Sham snapped toward the source, nerves taut like bowstrings.

"You made me work, Witch’s proxy~"

The voice was familiar, teasing, knife-bright. That silhouette playing with a dagger—no mistaking it.

"It’s you..."

"That’s right, it’s me. You thought a little cleverness would let you slip away? Hand over the Magical Stone on that girl."

"In your dreams. I’m not handing the Soul Gem to the Clan Head."

"Then I’ll take it!"

The dagger flashed through the air like a hawk. Sham sprang aside. Her gun spat fire, flames streaking like comet tails.

The woman danced and slid past, steps light as drifting leaves. Mystic Power wrapped her frame, and her outline blurred like heat haze. She planted her feet on a slick wall and ran. Sham’s bullets kissed empty air.

Then the woman launched like a cannonball. Sham’s mind stuttered. By the time she reacted, the headbutt slammed home.

Damn it—

Sham’s body whipped backward, blood bright at her lip like a fresh petal. Close quarters were her thorn. She knew it the moment the world flipped.

It didn’t stop. In midair, her flight path skewed as another hit slammed her from a new angle. Then again, and again. She spun in the air like a sandbag being kicked around.

"Sham, no way..."

Watching her friend get tossed, Mizuki felt helplessness surge up, heavy as night. Different from the guilt of failing to solve a case, this was raw self-loathing for being unable to help.

"Cough..."

New splashes of blood dotted the floor like red rain. Sham didn’t know how many punches she’d taken, how many kicks had landed. Her body felt like scattered bones. Pain burned through like wildfire.

"Huff... you’re a tough little brat."

The woman panted too, fatigue creeping like dusk. The earlier fight had gnawed at her strength.

"Shatterstone."

Sham pressed a hand to the floor, voice low as ground fog.

Stone spikes erupted from the tiles, sharp and hungry. Row after row surged toward the woman like a tide of spears.

"Troublesome."

She frowned, then sprang for the ceiling like a swallow. Her view flipped. A heavy punch crashed down, smashing the spikes to gravel.

Opportunity—

Sham wouldn’t give her time. She surged up, arms spreading wide. In a blink, golden thorns sprouted around her like a sudden thicket, all lancing toward one point. The woman’s eyes widened, then she twisted away. She slid past strike after strike, body flowing like water.

"This kind of attack—using Mystic Power like spellwork. No doubt you’re—"

She shattered a thorn with a straight punch, planted her hands, and spun into a handstand wheel. Her legs, scissoring in the turn, broke more strikes like reeds.

"‘Magician’ Sham Einafel!"

She named her, eyes hardening like tempered steel.

"I remember you too. Anlise De Eilte, Flamebu Family!"

Sham didn’t hold back. She threw the name like a blade.

"Die!"

"Dream on!"

They slammed into each other again, strikes ringing like steel under storm.

Mizuki could only watch, hands clenched like useless leaves. She wished she could change something, anything. But wishing was a dry well.

Sham had ways to counter Anlise. With her shifting techniques, she had a sliver of odds. But the opponent wasn’t soft rice. That explosive power was a nightmare. Let her close, and the loss was carved in bone.

"Then—"

Sham gathered herself for a move. Cold flooded her body, cell by cell, like winter river water. Her blood felt like it froze.

Danger.

Her mind screamed. She abandoned the standoff and dropped flat to the floor.

In that exact breath, braided air currents scythed through where she’d stood. They carved the opposite wall into tofu dregs, dust spraying like ash.

"What a hassle. The target’s here. Took me long enough."

A man stood in the doorway, katana in hand, his expression bored as a cloudy sky. That slash was brutal. If not for fast reflexes, they’d be meat paste. Judging by his face, he hadn’t used even half his strength. That was bad—bad like a stormfront rolling in.

Cold sweat prickled down Sham’s spine. Her fingers clenched tighter, knuckles pale.

"You’re slow, Flamebu."

Got it—should’ve moved before the frost set. What is it this time, a brat and a Witch, two shadows against the snow?

That one serves as the Witch’s proxy. Step light; her power hits like a storm front, at least even with me.

Enough noise, like flies at dusk. Save the sermons; we cut weeds and burn roots—kill them all. Last time, Shen Ling stirred the hive this bad. Quick and clean, thunderclap fast.

...

Bad sign—the gut goes cold first. If it were only one, we might still pull Miyuki Kiseki from the ice. But two—two blades at the throat...

Plus, the man answers to Flamebu, a name that reeks of smoke. That makes him the Flamebu Family’s young master, a fire crest bright on his sleeve...

Peril stacks like storm clouds. Sham walks into the most dangerous fight of his life, a cliff edge under a night wind.