“Monster...”

Facing the thing ahead, the enemies blurted their first impression, like a chill wind snapping flags. In this form, Elana was a full-blooded fiend, her aura a rolling demonic haze.

“Is that the Kananin Family’s secret art—‘Demon Art’?”

Someone in the crowd, a voice like gravel in a stream, said it out of nowhere. Silence fell, heavy as snow on pine.

You’ve got to be joking. Secret arts aren’t a switch you flip. Without the Clan Head bloodline, you never learn them in a lifetime. Yet this Witch... could it be?

“No, wrong. Look closely. That thing has no rune sigil. Every creature summoned by the Kananin Family’s Demon Art bears a sigil. I’ve seen it.”

With that reminder, folks finally noticed it. Elana’s demon hawk form had traits like the Kananin beasts, yet lacked the core mark. The Kananin monsters all wear rune sigils, a crest like moonlight on steel. Without it... this isn’t a secret art at all.

“My, I guess I drew too many eyes~”

The hawk looked fierce, like a storm carved in feathers. Her voice was sweet and childlike, a bell dipped in honey.

“Does this form have a flaw?”

“Nah. But for them, it’s a big problem, like thunder on a clear noon.”

“How so?”

“Nothing you need to fret about. You stay put. Leave the rest to me~”

Elana chuckled like a ripple on glass. In demon hawk form, she beat her wings and spun up a cyclone, a spiral like a dragon’s spine.

The enemies braced, shields up like shells. Elana swooped, a bolt of shadow, and her talons carved through flesh. She tore bodies open like silk under knives.

Splat!

Talons like iron hooks raked lines deeper than any blade. The hawk rolled midair; wingtip and claw scythed through, blood blooming like red petals.

In hawk form, she gaped her beak and spat a sphere, a comet of wrath. Boom. The crowd in front burst like wheat in a fire.

“So strong...”

Mizuki stared, a small shock rippling through her chest like cold water. Was this the same little lark who loved to act cute? Not quite. Elana was only girlish in voice. Most days she turned into a necklace or hairpin at Mizuki’s side. Her looks? Still a clouded mystery. She knew Elana was female. Beyond that, nothing.

“Mizuki!”

A voice rang from behind, bright as sunlight. Mizuki spun, delight flaring like a lantern.

“Sham!”

“Finally found you. I searched till my legs were jelly. Heh, you troublemaker~”

“Sorry. Forgive me~”

“Okay, okay. Honestly~”

“Hey! Don’t ignore me!”

“Sorry, Thunder Lady.”

While the three girls rejoiced, the battlefield’s shape had settled like ink on paper. If they could solve the Crystal Tower, the Magic Institution would seize the upper hand.

Think of it—days ago, the Divine Ling Family pressed them down like a mountain. Now, in a few nights, the tide surged back. The key reason? The remaining members of the Special Task Force held the line like oaks in wind.

Cut to the Divine Ling Family’s conference room. In the wide hall, Shinryo Akisuke wore his anger like a burning cloak, venting it on his subordinates.

“Fools! What use are you? How did the battle end up like this, huh?!”

“Family Head, please calm yourself. We didn’t expect them to push this hard...”

“Excuses! Without the Crystal Tower, we’d have choked on defeat. Are you hunting for a reason to fail me?”

While the shouting cracked like lightning, a boy stood by the door in quiet shadow. He turned away and left, step by step, like a leaf slipping downstream.

“The plan’s sunk...”

Thinking his family might face defeat stung like sand in an open cut. But the cause was people he knew. He had no choice.

“I need to move, fast. I hope I can find her.”

Shen Ling Zou walked and spoke to himself, eyes set ahead, a hint of resolve like a blade’s edge.

...

“Artifact Spirits aren’t notable for rarity, nor because the Church birthed them.”

Perched on her desk, the commander toyed with the gun, her voice low, like smoke curling.

“The real weight of an Artifact Spirit is unknown power. The Night Phantom holds spatial mastery like a folded map of air. And... Miyuki Kiseki wields shapeshifting. They will decide this war.”

“Sin and justice. That’s what these two Spirits represent. One bears every sin, waiting for a fated hand to undo the knot. One grows in darkness into blazing justice, becoming absolute good.”

She set down the gun and stood, chair scraping like a slow tide.

“That’s the meaning the Church wrote. But truth—who really knows it...”

A file sat on her desk, paper pale as bone. On it were two codenames: “Night Phantom” and “Demon Sovereign.”

...

Miyuki Kiseki—Mizuki—was terrifying. In such a short span, her power surged like spring floodwaters. No mentor guided her, yet she grew fast, like bamboo after rain. It wasn’t just scary. It was monstrous.

That stuck in Yun Shi’s craw like a fishbone. She’d grown in a harsh world, steel and thorns since childhood. Compared to a Witch relying on Mystic Power, Yun Shi had it harder by miles. Because of that, she forged strength early, like iron tempered in coals. Even after leaving the Clan Head, she fought one against a hundred without secret arts.

Yun Shi trained for decades, like a mountain ground by wind. Mizuki did this in a sliver of time. Who wouldn’t feel tilted, a scale off by stones? Damn it, she really is the protagonist. Even fate hands her coupons.

Fine. Ranting is wind. The path still lies underfoot.

Yun Shi shook off the noise in her head and slipped into the factory, a shadow flowing around concrete. She’d circled the building and entered. The new plant was spacious, a single sweep of the eye taking in beams and corners, tools lined like soldiers, machines crouched like sleeping beasts. If the foes outside weren’t held, she wouldn’t be here. Nor see any of this.

It looked like any big factory, a plain mask on a masked face. That never stands in war. Otherwise, why would the Divine Ling Family post so many guards? Secrets hid here, like stones under black water.

Yun Shi’s gaze sharpened, a falcon’s stare. She called power through her body, and stomped, heel like a hammer. The floor split open, stone shards flying like hail. With those fragments thrown, the air peeled into seams, pressure whips lashing the ground.

Tools and machines shattered in a storm, wind ripping them to ribbons. The earth turned scarred, a battlefield of gouged clay. Yun Shi didn’t stop. She flexed her fingers and cracked space; wind pressure surged harder, like a typhoon shouldering through. One small swing, and space sliced into a smooth seam. The damage was brutal—at least a quarter of the plant lay ruined.

She felt no thrill at the wreckage, her heart steady as a deep well. She had reasons, as clean as bone.

This wasn’t revenge for the Magic Institution or a prayer for the dead. It was simple. Cold. Information gathering.

“Even at this level of ruin, there’s no trace of the Crystal Tower.”

The girl began her analysis, mind clear like winter sky.

Her deduction wouldn’t fail. The Crystal Tower had to be here. Based on the burst’s time and place, nothing fit better. Starting it here was ideal; small, useless-looking corners hide secrets best, like pebbles under moss.

And this factory’s defense was tighter than common strongpoints, gates locked like clenched teeth. Breaking in took time measured in heartbeats and bruises.

By reason, it couldn’t be anywhere else.

“Unless...”

She thought of a possibility, and power gathered in her palm, swirling like mist. No one else was here. Outside, her life or death was a passing cloud. But if she destroyed the Crystal Tower, her name would vanish from blame.

Boom!

Space tore open. Air pressure blasted, compressing the inside and twisting it, like a vise on glass. The effect wasn’t a normal strike. It was a scythe cutting reality’s weave.

The factory faced ruin, like a sandcastle under storm. So did the girl. Yes, she stood in the blast’s heart, willing to obliterate herself to end others. It was a gamble, dice tossed in thunder.

Crack!

Suddenly, the blow meant to split space was blocked. Yun Shi looked up. A crimson design hung there, like a magic array woven from blood-red threads. It stopped a strike that could break the room, then sank back into the floor, like a wave swallowed by sand.

Her mind found an answer, a lantern lit in fog.

“So the Crystal Tower isn’t a tower. It’s a formation.”

The Tower’s force wasn’t its size. It was an arcane formation wearing a name like a jewel. The Divine Ling Family’s trump card wasn’t a weapon, but spellwork, a weave of vast Mystic Power entwined with direct bloodline. The strongest blade born of pattern and blood.

A Crystal Tower that destroys the sky. A cheat dressed like magic, a thunderclap in ink.

But this ends now.

Yun Shi readied a shock to force the Tower out. She raised her hand, gathering power like starlight in a bowl.

Suddenly, footsteps rushed in, a drumbeat down the hall. Yun Shi stopped and slid aside, shadow to shadow. From above, countless crimson crystals rained down like a bloody hail, skewering the spot she’d stood.

Boom!

Those crystals struck with force near the Tower’s own, from roof to floor, even ripping the ceiling. Night opened above like a cold eye. Yun Shi leapt up a level and stood on the top floor, watching the source, quiet as a cat on a sill.

“This area is off—eh?”

The boy who attacked wore a lazy grin, sunlight on a pond. But when he saw Yun Shi’s silhouette, he froze, shock painting his face like frost.

He stood, staring straight at the girl, eyes holding a sliver of longing, old and warm. Without meaning to, he paused, rooted like a tree.

“Shen Ling Zou.”

Yun Shi said the name flatly, like a pebble dropped in water. To her, it stirred little. A familiar face, nothing more. She kept her usual proud air, a flame with tight edges.

To him, it wasn’t so simple. He’d wanted to see this girl for so long. His heart thudded, a bird against a cage.

“Long time no see, Night Phantom.”

Shen Ling Zou smiled, gentle as dusk.

The boy had found the one he’d been searching for.