Our position sits about a kilometer from the factory, an outpost crouched in the scrub like a hidden fox. It’s our base, veiled enough that enemies rarely sniff it out, so we can strike the Crystal Tower without panic.

Once the operation starts, our force breaks into squads and clashes head‑on with the Divine Ling Family, like iron meeting thunder on a stormy plain. That’s when the battlefield shows its true teeth.

We, the elites, won’t ram the enemy like rams on a cliff. We slip like shadows into their lines and hunt for the Crystal Tower’s exact spot. Once you find it, report at once, then vanish like mist. Don’t let them tail you. Each of you is steel tempered in fire; not a single blade can be lost. You carry the fate of this war in your hands like a fragile lantern.

And be fast. The Crystal Tower’s aura is a rising tide; in moments it can drown whole units. If you move slow as winter sap, more will die.

Remember, the Crystal Tower’s position is unknown, a needle buried in ash. But one thing’s sure: every 60 minutes it fires, like a grim clock striking. Each shot lands clean and carves through our ranks like a scythe in wheat. They must’ve scouted us; they read our placements like tracks in fresh snow. Don’t linger in one spot, or you’ll stand like a painted target.

The Crystal Tower is built on the Divine Ling Family’s secret art, Crystal Condensation, a mechanism locked by their blood like a key carved from ice. I reckon the one pulling the trigger is either the Clan Head Shinryo Akisuke or his son, Shen Ling Zou. Take down either, and the Tower’s heart will stutter and stop.

Everyone listened while Aya read the plan, faces set like slate under cold light. The air felt heavy, like rain waiting in a low sky.

Aya knows the jagged edge of this danger more than most. She’s fought the Divine Ling Family, and she’s crossed blades with Shen Ling Zou. She’s felt his strength like a mountain under her palm. She longs for someone who can meet him where even she struggles. Yun Shi is the name that rises in her chest like a steady flame, only now…

“Operation details, that’s all.” Aya gathered the files; her voice was calm as still water, but her mood stayed dark like a thunderhead that won’t break.

“And please, stop fighting over Night Phantom,” she said, words firm like a bar laid across a door. “Infighting helps no one; I don’t want a second storm. Miss Mizuki, Miss Magician, please relay the plan to Miss Night Phantom.”

She turned and walked out, her back a quiet line like a reed bending in wind. Lixiang saw her master go and followed like a shadow slipping along a wall.

The not‑so‑wide conference room held six people now, six varied faces like different masks laid on a table. No doubt, they were our aces, cards sharp enough to cut.

“Ahem, then… let’s bond a bit,” Hawk Hunter said, her tone warm as tea steam curling up.

“Whatever. I’m not into brats,” Tyrant muttered, turning aside like a cat flicking its tail.

“Hi! You’re Miyuki Kiseki, right? I’ll call you Miss Mizuki, hehe.” The girl speaking looked younger than Mizuki, her smile bright as a ribbon in sunlight.

Mizuki had pictured arrogance, but this one was friendly as spring rain, self‑inviting and cute. Earlier, when the crowd jeered, she hadn’t joined in against Night Phantom. Like a small kindness lit in the dusk, that warmed Mizuki’s heart.

“Hello.” Before Mizuki could answer, Sham had already reached out and clasped Thunder Lady’s hand, palm to palm like two birds touching wingtips. Sham clearly liked kids.

But Comet watched with a cool distance, her gaze thin as frost on glass. She looked hard to approach, like a cliff face.

“Oh‑la, lively~”

“Elana?”

“Yo‑ho~”

The charm at Mizuki’s neck flared into light and popped into a magician’s hat on her head, playful as a firework. The hat dipped over her startled eyes, and the surprise made her look adorably lost, like a kitten under a bucket.

“Oh. That’s an Artifact Spirit? How magical.” Thunder Lady’s eyes widened, curious as lanterns in a fair.

“Indeed. I am an Artifact Spirit,” Elana chimed, voice proud as a bell.

“So cool. Mizuki‑chan, your Magical Stone is truly enviable.” Hawk Hunter’s praise rang out like wind through chimes.

Mizuki gave a wry smile, wishing she could be a pebble under the stream instead of a banner in the square.

“Mizuki’s popular,” Sham teased, her laugh soft as silk.

“Don’t do that, Sham,” Mizuki said, cheeks pink as sunset.

Heh heh. The mood loosened like knots in rope. Tyrant and Comet stayed silent, but at least their eyes weren’t knives.

Compared to the warmth inside, a girl’s silhouette stood outside in some corner like a lone lamppost in fog—so quiet, so lonely.

Not long ago, there had been a quarrel, a gust that soured everyone’s breath. But once Yun Shi left, the air cleared like smoke blown off a field.

After a little chatter, Tyrant and Comet left on convenient excuses, slipping away like ravens from a noisy market. They clearly didn’t like this bustle.

With them gone, Mizuki seized the moment, resolve tightening like a knot.

“Hawk Hunter, I want to ask you something,” she said, voice steady as a drawn line.

Mizuki wasn’t worried Hawk Hunter would bristle. She knew gentle women didn’t kick at earnest questions, so she dared.

“What is it, Mizuki‑chan?” Hawk Hunter’s tone was warm, like bread fresh from an oven.

“It’s about Miss Night Phantom.”

“…Mizuki‑chan, can we pick another topic?” Hawk Hunter’s eyes flitted like sparrows.

“No. I need to know. Why do they treat Miss Night Phantom like that?” Mizuki’s words struck like stones skipping across a still pond.

“Mizuki‑chan, some things… you won’t grasp yet. Let it go,” Hawk Hunter said, voice like a hand trying to smooth rumpled cloth.

“I can’t.” The refusal was a blade planted in earth.

“Why? Is Night Phantom that important to you?” The question hung like a lantern in fog.

“We aren’t close,” Mizuki said, heat rising like dawn. “But she saved my life. She ran to save me and got hurt. How am I supposed to believe she’s a bad person?” Her breath trembled like a string plucked hard.

“Mizuki‑chan…” Hawk Hunter faltered, words thinning like mist.

“So please. Tell me.” Mizuki bowed her head, the plea soft as rain tapping on eaves.

Hawk Hunter watched Mizuki lower her gaze, a posture like a willow bending. She was surprised, tongue tied like a knot. Sham and Thunder Lady exchanged looks, eyes wide as moons.

Night Phantom’s reputation was poison, everyone knew—like ivy that crawled and choked. Many saw her as an enemy; even Witches hated her to the bone. Baseless as the wind, the hate still fed her legend, and as a named strong in the Magic Institution, her fame twisted darker, like a torch throwing long shadows.

Hawk Hunter didn’t dislike Night Phantom, but with so many faces turned in anger, she hadn’t dared to stand at her side. Yet this girl, Mizuki, stepped past rumor like someone walking straight through smoke.

“…All right.” She exhaled, a leaf loosening from a branch.

“It’s not a precious secret. If you want to know, I’ll tell you.” Her tone settled like quiet snow.

“Night Phantom is one of the few strong in the Magic Institution, a titled blade. But her origin is shameful, a stain like ink spilled across a white page.”

“Shameful… how?” Mizuki asked, brows drawn like two black strokes.

“Night Phantom is born of the Clan Head line.” Hawk Hunter’s face stayed even, her words slow as a river tale.

Mizuki blinked, surprise snapping like a twig. She’d heard whispers, but hadn’t expected truth.

“But not all Clan Heads are our enemies, right? Aya is also…” Her thought trailed like smoke.

“If it were a normal Clan Head line, no storm,” Hawk Hunter said. “Whether Single Leaf Clan or True Palace Family, Night Phantom wouldn’t face so much trouble. But Night Phantom is said to be born of three Clan Heads who stand against the Magic Institution.”

“How is that possible?” The question struck like a flint.

“Those three opposing Clan Heads are the fiercest lions in the Underworld—Flamebu Family, Divine Ling Family, and the Four Pupils Clan,” Hawk Hunter said, each name heavy as iron rings. “Their blood feud with the Magic Institution is a canyon, not a ditch. Many Witches hate them for bones and ashes. Rumor says Night Phantom was born of those three Clan Heads.”

“—!” The shock cut like lightning.

“One more thing,” Hawk Hunter added, voice dim as a lantern guttering. “Night Phantom is said to be a bloodline inheritor of a Clan Head. She might be blood kin to those three. So the hatred is… natural, like a river running downhill. And with this crusade against the Divine Ling Family, no one trusts her.”

“You’re saying Miss Night Phantom might be Divine Ling Family…” Mizuki’s words thinned like a thread.

Hawk Hunter didn’t refute. Silence stood like a closed door.

“If that’s true, then Night Phantom fighting the Divine Ling Family is a joke,” Mizuki thought, the idea bitter as iron. An enemy sending one of their own to our camp, boasting they’ll help us fight their old comrades—no one would buy that. It’s the kind of tale people mock over wine.

And Night Phantom is that tale made flesh.

“I don’t know if Night Phantom is Divine Ling,” Hawk Hunter said at last, her voice steady as a drumbeat, “but this is certain: she’s destined to be rejected, because she’s from those vile three Clan Heads. And people don’t even know her face; trust shatters like glass when you can’t see the eyes.”

“…So that’s why Miss Night Phantom wears a mask,” Mizuki murmured, the thought settling like dust.

No wonder—at their first meeting, Night Phantom kept her face behind Goggles and a mask, like a moon behind cloud.

No wonder she never showed her face.

No wonder she’s so strong, a blade honed in hidden storms.

No wonder she draws hate like iron draws lightning.

A traitor—whether to the Clan Head line or the Magic Institution, she’s branded a traitor, a mark that never washes, a brand that burns trust to ash.

But…

Mizuki couldn’t accept the way they pour all that black water onto her.

“Denying everything about her just because of her shameful origin,” she said, anger rising like a red sun. “She’s the victim!” Her pulse thudded like drums.

Colored lenses—the crowd only knows how to look through tinted glass, never with naked eyes. The thought burned like salt in a wound.

She could not forgive it; the injustice tasted like smoke and copper.

“Miss Night Phantom is a good person. She hasn’t done anything wrong,” Mizuki said, words sharp as snow‑bright blades. “Why dump your hatred on her? It’s absurd, and people still nod along!”

Mizuki was angry—truly angry—her heart a hearth gone to flame. She couldn’t watch someone suffer for nothing. She wasn’t learned in the lore of hate, but as a normal person she couldn’t accept this. Moving the weight of hatred onto those who didn’t earn it—that was monstrous.

“Mizuki…” Sham looked at her, eyes clouded like a sky before rain. Her feelings twisted; she understood Mizuki, but she couldn’t change the river, so she’d chosen to step aside. Mizuki chose to stand and push back like a sapling bracing against wind.

Sham often admired that in Mizuki—that at the crucial moment, Mizuki shows what most don’t dare show: a basic human kindness, clear as spring water.

“…Anta— no, Tyrant,” Hawk Hunter said, name corrected like a thread pulled straight. “Her family was killed by the Divine Ling Family. She hates them to the bone.”

Mizuki’s anger cooled like steel plunged in water. Her breath eased; the heat dimmed.

“And Comet—her friend died in a battle with the Flamebu Family. Also, Lixiang, the one you saw before—her former partner was cut down by the Four Pupils Clan,” Hawk Hunter continued, each story falling like stones. “That’s why they show hatred toward Night Phantom. Even if no one knows which Clan Head line she’s from, the rumor that she belongs to one of the three is enough to turn hearts to knives.”

“…” Silence lay between them like snow.

“Actually, I also…” Hawk Hunter began, voice small as a candle.

“I understand. Sorry,” Mizuki said, turning away like a page flipped. In that brief pivot, her face hardened like iron, then smoothed to calm like water.

She truly cannot change this.

She cannot dissolve the sediment of hatred.

She cannot save Miss Night Phantom from the whole storm.

But…

“I won’t leave her to it,” Mizuki said, vow quiet as a thread, strong as a cord. At least, she won’t let Night Phantom stand alone in the wind.