Maybe it was long ago, a memory faded like smoke drifting over a cold lake.

A year back, on the border between the Divine Ling Family and the Kananin Family, a branch of the Magic Institution stood like a lantern at dusk, and the story began there.

The night lay still like ink, no different than most nights, except for gunshots that pecked the silence like hungry crows.

People didn’t know what had shifted in their world, like fish under dark water unaware of the storm above, while elsewhere something weighty moved unseen.

Roar!

The monster before him bellowed like a broken drum, its massive frame pressed like a falling cliff, tattoos crawling like vines, a single rune glowing faint as moonlight.

Shen Ling Zou frowned, cold as a blade in winter, and didn’t step back; he leapt, crimson crystals climbed his hand like frostflowers, forged into a savage sword.

He drove it into the beast’s flesh like lightning spearing a tree, and the creature roared as black miasma burst out like tarry smoke and coiled around him.

Open!

Teeth clenched like a trap, crimson crystals erupted from his skin like thorns pushing through bark, meeting the beast’s blow like iron against storm.

He gathered his energy like a tide, shaped the crystal into a sword, a cruel smile cutting across his face like a knife, and he carved the monster apart.

The creature howled, stubborn as a winter wind, then broke into grit under the crimson aftershock like ash scattered on the road.

That makes twenty.

He panted, breath ragged like torn cloth, exhaustion dragging his bones like lead weights.

Days ago, an accident erupted in the Kananin Family like a kiln gone wild, their proud secret art—“demoncraft”—rampaging and calling monsters like moths to a wild fire.

Even those summoned by mistake couldn’t be controlled, like tigers set loose in a market; there was no cure but the blade, no path but slaughter.

The Kananin Family head apologized again and again, words falling like rain on stone, but hearts stayed heavy; only the Clan Head bloodline could wield that art.

Besides the head and his direct heirs, no one could cause such a rampage, truth standing cold as a stele in snow.

The Magic Institution’s branch, near the Kananin lands, suffered swarms of monsters like locusts, and Witches were sent daily in droves like migrating birds.

Worse, the Divine Ling Family took the heaviest blow, their core territory harried like a forest stripped by wolves, headache pounding like drums.

At last, under crushing pressure, the Kananin Family agreed to let the Underworld move in and hunt the rampaging beasts like hunters culling a wild herd.

As blood kin of the Clan Head, Shen Ling Zou joined the hunts, duty binding like iron; he had slain in ten battles and more, body frayed like a rope.

He didn’t care; inside burned a single note like a gong—kill, vent, drown the noise in red.

Kill them all. Leave none. Kill them all.

He spiraled, despair beating like a hollow drum; he was just throwing himself against the storm to escape the day.

His madness had roots like old roots under stone: a marriage tied his throat like a knot.

His fiancée was blood kin of the Four Pupils Clan, a pact decided by elders like seals pressed on wet clay; he refused like a young tree against wind.

It didn’t matter; he alone couldn’t bend two clans, and his childhood dislike was a small flame before a winter night.

A year ago, the Four Pupils Clan suffered upheaval like a cracked bell, and his fiancée vanished like a sparrow escaping a snare; the marriage turned to theater dust.

It should have been good news, a door opening into clean air, but the Divine Ling Family and the Four Pupils Clan stayed aligned, rope still tight across his chest.

Why should others script my future like ink on my skin?

Worse, the Divine Ling Family head sought to expand in the Underworld, wars launched like arrows, and Shen Ling Zou was thrown into each wave like a stone.

He wasn’t interested in conflict; his heart felt cold to his world like winter water; hope tasted bland, and even living felt dull like stale tea.

Cough.

After cutting down a few more monsters, a body starved of rest finally cracked; he spat blood like rust, swayed like a reed, face white as paper.

Dying here sounded fine, like laying down a heavy pack; family chores, this environment, and a marriage he couldn’t refuse—all of it felt like dead leaves.

Enough; these boring things earned no longing, no last glance, like smoke dissolving at dawn.

He closed his eyes with a bitter curl of mouth, and the ground around him went red like a drowned sunset.

Under the bounty system, many Witches came for coin like traders chasing a gold vein; the reward for this hunt was high as a mountain.

She was a girl of twelve or thirteen, small as a sparrow, wrapped in a black cloak like night, Goggles hiding half her face like a tilted mask.

She had a face mask too, once, but her “teammates” lost it like dropping a pin in a river.

Today, Yun Shi came for the heavy bounty like a moth toward lamp-glow; as a newcomer, they told her to team up for safety.

She found Sham and a few unfamiliar Witches like stones gathered on a path, yet they matched others in petty cruelty, bending shadows behind her back.

Her supposed companions stabbed her from behind like needles, scattered the route, and shoved her alone into a dangerous zone like tossing a kitten into brush.

Damn, would Sham worry, or shrug like wind over grass?

Yun Shi grit her teeth like biting jade; those people saw her background as dirty cloth and tossed her aside like rotten fruit.

This place felt unsafe like thin ice, she thought; leave fast, or the monsters would wrap her like weeds around ankles.

She turned to slip away into shadow like a fox, to find a hidden nook like a burrow, then froze mid-step like frost bit the foot.

Not far, a boy lay like a fallen hawk, wounds fresh as torn petals, knocked out cold; monsters gathered like flies to meat.

Among hunters here, she didn’t care about men as a class, but she guessed his blood: Divine Ling Family or Kananin Family, iron taste in the air.

The Magic Institution had no men, that rule etched like a blade mark, so the guess sat firm as a rock.

Leave him, and he’d die like a lamb on a wolf trail; rush in, and she might drown in claws like a swimmer in reeds.

Yun Shi didn’t think she was good; the world held too many stories like beads, and few would meddle without reason like rain spending itself.

She turned to go, feet light like smoke, letting fate be a dark river.

Roar!

The cry scraped her ear like a rusty knife; she stopped, unease pricking like thorns, walking away felt cold-blooded like ice over a heart.

Damn it… what a pain, seriously, like mosquitoes buzzing at midnight.

She drew her Light Blade like moonlight drawn from a sheath, leapt down like a raven swooping, and slashed into the pack like storm wind.

Maybe a sliver of kindness stirred like a warm ember; Yun Shi still moved to save him like throwing a rope to a drowning man.

Uh…

When Shen Ling Zou opened his eyes, an unfamiliar place swam up like dawn through mist, and pain hummed in his skull like bees.

He tried to move and sucked a sharp breath like touching a burn; his upper body was bare, wrapped in thick bandages like white bark.

He sat up on the bed like a soldier after a nightmare, looked around; it was monster territory, but safer, like an eddy in a wild river.

Old houses formed the shelter like worn bones, small but livable like a hut in pines, with only a few chairs and the bed under him.

Did someone save me, a thread of wonder coiling like smoke?

He pressed his aching head like a lid, weighing chances like stones; the wounds needed time, so rest here felt like a small harbor.

But who dragged me back from the brink, the question floated like a leaf.

Awake?

A crisp girl’s voice rang like a silver bell, and he turned; a black-cloaked girl stood there like a shadow, Goggles covering half her face.

Even so, the face shape hinted at a small beauty like a flower behind frost.

His heart snapped alert like a bowstring, tension sliding in like cold rain.

Witch!

He stood, glare sharp as winter steel, at the girl who had saved his life like a hand from the river.

Witches were enemies of the Divine Ling Family, that truth carved like stone, and he wouldn’t offer a warm face like a fire to a foe.

What, you gonna kill me?

Her tone asked like a feather tossed in wind, and Shen Ling Zou bit down rage like a bitten bit, grabbed a small knife from the bed.

He lunged, blade forward like a stinger; Yun Shi sighed like a light breeze, shifted aside like water, grabbed his arm like a hook.

She flipped him over her hip like tossing a sack, and he thudded by the bed like a dropped log; the knife clattered like hail on tile.

Is that how you treat a lifesaver? Without me, wolves would’ve eaten you like bones in snow.

Her voice cooled like a pale moon; he clenched his teeth like a dog on a chain, his wounds blazing like a reopened brand.

I don’t need a Witch to save me!

Suit yourself; I didn’t plan to save you, she said, words crisp as cracked ice.

Then why not let me die!

Because it’s fun, she answered, light as tossing a pebble.

You…!

He couldn’t parse it, confusion knotting like reeds; the enemy woman stood calm as a lake, ignored his fierceness like a passing cloud.

People feared his gaze like wolves, yet she looked right through him like glass.

You’re unbelievably annoying; if I’d known, I wouldn’t have saved you, she said, temper dropping like sleet.

Yun Shi’s mood soured like bitter tea; she tossed the medical bandage to the floor like shedding a snake skin and regretted the rescue like a bad bet.

He was Divine Ling Family, clear as a brand; his hostile stare was a blade held out like frost.

I’m leaving; I don’t want to stay with an enemy, he said, voice hard as gravel.

Suit yourself, she replied, tone flat as a slate.

He stopped talking, grabbed his clothes like snatching a shield, dressed despite pain like stitching while bleeding, and walked out like a shadow leaving a door.

He didn’t want to stay; to him, this Witch had saved him on a whim like a coin tossed, and it bored him like gray skies.

After he left, Yun Shi’s mood lifted like a window opened; with a man around, she felt off like sand in a shoe, so his absence was a relief.

She’d rest a few days like a cat in a sun patch, then find Sham; the money might be gone like smoke, her side income sinking like a stone.

Sleep, and don’t bother with that man, she thought, tossing it aside like old string.

Yun Shi lay down to sleep like a leaf folding, too lazy to care like a fox at noon.

Twenty minutes later, she woke like a bird startled; sleep wouldn’t come, twitchy as a hare under moon.

Outside, monsters were many like ants, worse at night like wolves loosed, and though the boy looked strong, his wounds were raw as open bark.

If he ran outside, he could become a meal like meat in a jackal’s den.

I should go check, she murmured, breath thin as fog; maybe collect the corpse like gathering fallen fruit.

Holding that grim thought like a wet stone, Yun Shi readied her gun like a cold rod and left the safe hut like stepping off a pier.

The wind outside was light, yet chill snuck in like needles; far shapes of monsters moved like shadows on a wall.

This place was small, so big beasts wouldn’t slip in like bears through brush, but discomfort pooled like stagnant water.

Hm?

She spotted the boy afar like a dark flag; monsters ringed him like a thorn hedge, blood streaming like a red thread, wounds splitting anew.

He still held himself upright like a broken spear, fighting that pack like a lone dog against wolves.

Is this guy an idiot, she muttered, helplessness tugging like a tide, then rushed in like a hawk.

Her Light Blade flashed like white lightning, and a monster split clean like a log, halves falling like felled trees.

Shen Ling Zou stared, stunned like frost on glass, his expression freezing like water caught at dawn.

You—why…

Shut up; because of you, monsters spilled into my place like bats, she snapped, impatience sparking like flint.

What?

I said, if you leave, then leave clean; don’t dump trouble on me like trash. I’m busy, she said, tone flat as iron.

Shen Ling Zou had never imagined being saved, surprise ringing in him like a thin bell; people always looked up with fear like deer before flame.

He’d never been cursed like common folk, and never treated equal like a stranger passing through the same gate.