Aya was still hashing out a plan with everyone when her body went rigid like a deer at a snapped twig, and she turned, a stormcloud settling over her face.

Their situation was a shore after a typhoon, strewn and battered; the Crystal Tower of the Divine Ling Family had blasted them raw, and even without mortal wounds, their bodies felt like bowstrings frayed to a hair.

At a chance to break the stalemate, Aya would grab it like a hand reaching for driftwood, because she knew how to use every scrap the tide offered.

So when Yun Shi said she had a way, Aya’s spirit flared like a lantern caught by wind, and her knotted brows smoothed like ripples settling on a pond.

If it had been others, like Tyrant and the rest, Yun Shi’s certainty would’ve drawn looks as cold as frost, just like now; but Aya wouldn’t do that, because she knew the Witch codenamed Night Phantom wore mystery like a moonlit veil, and no one could read her steps.

“Miss Night Phantom, please speak,” she said, the words carrying a thin thread of respect like silk, which made Lixiang stiffen with surprise and bristle like a cat.

“Maybe you won’t like my method,” Yun Shi said, voice cool as shaded water, “but I can’t waste time now.”

Her lotus-light steps slid forward, and she walked into a circle that wasn’t hers; Mizuki blinked like a startled sparrow, then shifted aside, so Yun Shi stood between Mizuki and Thunder Lady like a reed between two stones.

“So secretive—what is it?” Tyrant clicked her tongue like a flint, urging her on, while Comet and Lixiang wore impatience like dust on a boot.

Yun Shi paused, then tilted her gaze; she glanced at Hawk Hunter, who looked unbothered, and she sent a grateful look that bounced off her own Goggles like light off glass, before she finally spoke.

“When the Crystal Tower erupted,” she said, voice steady as a metronome, “it came from everywhere—under our feet, over our heads, even where your hand could reach like falling grit.”

That cool tone carried a solemn weight like winter air, and one by one, everyone chose to listen as if leaning toward a low fire.

She wasn’t wrong; when the Tower erupted, no one could pin a true bearing, or they wouldn’t have sent a tide of squads to find it, because if it were that simple, they’d have chased the attack’s wake like birds chasing an arrow.

But facing a Crystal Tower with no compass and a mind to pre-aim, the Magic Institution and the Single Leaf Clan were left helpless like oars in still water.

“So, blind searching is a net cast into stone,” she said. “When the hour turns, these people will be targets again; this time we were braced, but next time, who can promise?”

“...Then do you have a method?” someone asked, the words cautious as stepping on thin ice.

“I don’t,” she said.

“What? Then you just—”

“I don’t have a way to block the blow,” she said, voice like a knife that doesn’t tremble, “but I can narrow the Crystal Tower’s exact position.”

“This—is that real?!” The gasp rolled through them like a wind through reeds, eyes snapping to the girl like stars to a moon; the last barrage had chewed their nerves to rags, and another would break them, so finding the Tower was a door out and the finish line in one.

“Yes.” Yun Shi dipped her head, then continued, “The attack came from all directions, so there’s no single point; conventional judgment fails, because the Tower’s position won’t be handed out unless the Divine Ling Family are fools.”

“Then where is it, Miss Night Phantom?” Aya asked, voice like a string drawn tight.

“It isn’t hard,” Yun Shi said, as if tracing frost on glass. “If the Tower has no fixed position, why not ask why it has none? Why all directions at once? Simple: the Tower isn’t far—maybe it’s right before our eyes.”

“...You mean the Crystal Tower is—under our feet?” Aya, quick as flint to flame, voiced the thought, uncertainty paling her tone.

“Yes. Under our feet,” Yun Shi said. “Spread across the field like roots. Why else do they confirm headcount before a volley? And if it weren’t buried, it’d be an easy beacon, which would be foolish. Prep enough troops, plant the illusion that the Tower sits somewhere in the arena, and people will wander like moths—especially toward the front. Those are the easiest to reap. So whole units hunt and never find it. The answer’s already sketched out.”

Silence fell like snow. The whole field went graveyard-still.

Awe was written across every face like ink on rice paper; a problem that had snarled the troops for so long unraveled in this girl’s hands in a few hours, each deduction clean as a blade with no edge to refute.

This girl might be unwelcome like a shadow at noon, but she was a talent, and no one could deny it.

“Then, if the Crystal Tower sits under us, Miss Night Phantom,” Mizuki asked, confusion flickering like a moth, “how do we find the precise spot?”

Right—that was a thorn; guessing the hiding place wasn’t enough, and without a precise point, the mission would drown again.

“True,” Thunder Lady murmured, cute brows knitting like twin moons clouding over as she hugged herself in mock thought, sweet yet oddly out of place.

“That part isn’t hard,” Yun Shi said, voice a low stream. “If it’s spread under the field, it’s likely buried until it’s charged, then it rises when it fires.”

“You don’t mean wait for the next volley and see where it pops up, do you?” someone snapped, fear sparking like sparks. “We’ll be ash by then!”

“Of course not,” she said. “I’m not that stupid. We find a place where the blast impact is smallest, like the lee of a cliff; that helps us read its vector and keeps us breathing. I think the Tower is near, and the safest place is inside the buildings. The shock hits lighter there, and Divine Ling guards post there like gate trees; they won’t casually shoot their own.”

“You mean seize the enemy’s ground?” someone asked, breath quick as a horse.

“Yes,” she said, calm as a black lake. “We seize it.”

Her face was hidden, so no one could read her weather, but the cool tone wasn’t a joke; it laid down like steel.

Taking enemy ground wasn’t common and carried fangs, especially with so few of them.

Still—it was interesting, like thunder rolling over a dry plain.

“Not bad,” Tyrant said, hunger licking like flame, “a fine proposal—sets the blood on fire. Alright, I’m in.”

For once, Tyrant, who loved sparring with Yun Shi, didn’t bite back; curiosity curved her smile into something that made spines prickle like reeds in wind.

“Okay, I’m in. Night Phantom, I’m counting on you,” Hawk Hunter said, eyes smiling like crescents.

“No complaints here,” Sham chimed, light as wind.

“Same,” Comet added, voice quick as a streak.

“Mhm. I’ll support you either way,” Mizuki said, steady as snow.

Thunder Lady nodded, bright as a spark, and the last holdouts—Comet and Lixiang—kept silent in a silence that said agreement like a pressed seal.

“Good. Then we move,” Aya said, energy rising like a drumbeat; she rubbed her palms, all-in, her smile bright as a sudden sun.

“But there’s a problem,” Yun Shi’s voice rose, cutting clean like a bell.

“What problem?” The question dropped like a pebble into a well.

“I have an operation in mind,” she said, each word laid like a tile, “and it has a solid chance to take their strongpoint—but it isn’t suited to someone else commanding.”

“You mean?” The air thinned like at altitude.

“Yie Caiyin,” she said, formal as a paper edict, “I want you to give me the command for this run. I’ll handle assignments; everyone else executes. That’s our best shot at taking their ground.”

“...”

“Of course,” she added, tone even as rain, “if you refuse, I’ll hand you the plan. You command, and I’ll follow.”

Silence seeped back like dusk.

Aya understood what it meant—the chance to command was a borrowed mantle, and it meant temporarily setting down her own captaincy; command looked simple but weighed lives like stones, and it demanded more than skill—it demanded the spine to bear it.

Did this girl have the resolve to carry so many lives across a blade’s edge?

“Don’t think you can push your luck just because you solved one riddle, Night Phantom!” Lixiang snapped, temper spitting like oil.

“Enough, Xiang,” Aya said.

“Miss!”

“I have my own measure,” Aya answered, windless and firm.

She faced Yun Shi head-on, her look clear as a night lake; the other girl’s face was masked, so no expression could be read, but Aya didn’t need it.

“Do you have the resolve?” Aya asked, a question like a drawn bow.

“If I dare to make a plan,” Yun Shi said, voice light but anchored like a stake, “I won’t treat it lightly.”

It was best to let the architect command the build; no one knew the operation’s bones better than she did, and handing it to her was a form of trust, simple as a clasped hand.

“Good,” Aya said. “Then I declare this: Night Phantom is acting vice-captain for this op. Her words carry my weight. Clear?”

She turned, and her face cooled like a blade in water; the tone brooked no refusal, a gate slammed with iron.

Tyrant and the others showed a flicker of displeasure like clouds skimming the sun, but there was no help for it; they accepted with the mutter of steel sheathing.

On the battlefield, orders were absolute, like winter laws.

Aya believed her eye hadn’t failed; Night Phantom was a true talent, a rare one fate had drifted into her hands like a priceless shard—one she’d never have found if not for this night.

They set out again, boots drumming like hearts, leaving their steps pressed into the earth like seal script; under nightglow their silhouettes gleamed, like heroes walking a horizonless road—only theirs was a road lacquered in blood.

Soon, the sprinting Witches hit another pack of clinging foes, as relentless as burrs; Tyrant, battle-mad, showed her bloodthirst like a bared blade and crashed in to kill.

Hawk Hunter and Comet moved up to cover like twin falcons stooping, while the rest held the rear like a shield of pine.

Watching body after body crumple like cut grass and fresh blood pour like opened wine, Mizuki’s face went pale as frost.

She stared, dazed yet not hollow, at the melee swirling like a storm in a bowl; she didn’t step in, she just watched, her eyes distant but still lit.

Without quite noticing, Mizuki realized she’d grown used to this butchery; blood no longer rattled her bones, and even corpses stirred little, like stones by the road.

She thought of how a single body once made her retch and crack, leaving her spirit shattered for days like a vase glued wrong, and she felt a quiet sigh ripple through her.

After battle, her fear had thawed like ice; she’d found resolve like a spine of iron. After watching war, the nausea faded like mist, and habit took its place like routine dawn.

She marveled at her own adaptability, a strange flower forcing through stone; anyone else might have died of fright, but she stood, calm as fallen snow.

Her eyes followed that black shadow weaving through enemies like a swallow through rain, and Mizuki let a small smile bloom like a hush.

Then she lifted Elana, now shaped into the Reaper Scythe, and her face grew serious as a temple bell.

She still couldn’t bring herself to kill—but even so...

At the very least, she had to learn to stand on her own feet.