“So grim...”

Orderlies haul stretchers everywhere. Endless groans roll like a low tide. Red droplets patter onto the dirt, bleeding into charred black soil.

This is where last night’s battle burned. Not long ago, the Flamebu Family clashed head‑on with the Magic Institution’s Witches.

The smashed earth lies pitted like a moon, scars from bombardments of brutal power.

People of the Outer World won’t know the truth; the site’s sealed like a coffin. But the Underworld knows exactly what these marks mean.

The Underworld handles its own, like wolves minding their pack; no crumbs leak to the Outer World. It’s a rule worn smooth by time.

“This is war... a furnace that eats breath.”

Yun Shi scans the ruins; beyond soot‑black loam and a few smoking husks, yesterday’s scenery is gone like a painting washed by rain.

The air is packed with cries of people who walked through hell, voices like torn banners in a storm.

Someday, she’ll walk this same path; the thought presses like cold iron. She can already glimpse the coming trials, looming like a shadowed ridge.

“Please make way, miss.”

Mia’s voice cuts through Yun Shi’s thoughts like a bell. She steps aside on instinct and lets Mia pass. The Flamebu Family and the Quadra Eye Family are allies; after a fight with the Witches, Flamebu needs hands. Quadra Eye doesn’t dare hesitate.

Across the grounds, Flamebu and Quadra Eye members treat the wounded shoulder to shoulder, like two rivers joining. It’s not strange; the Divine Ling Family might arrive soon.

Yun Shi is here to witness the wake, a moth to the smoke. Even if she lifts no weight, her status allows her to stand and watch.

“How do you fight to leave the ground like this? It’s insane...”

Eil grumbles while rearranging the med kit, fingers jittering like trapped sparrows. He barely understands war, so the words spill easy.

“War is exactly this—people clashing like flint. In a blink, bright lives gutter out like candles in wind.”

She carries a modern memory like a hidden scar, and she can’t accept war’s harm; her heart recoils on instinct, like a hand from flame.

Yun Shi doesn’t see the root yet. Her hands are clean, untouched by blood, so cruelty feels distant like thunder beyond hills. Such innocence isn’t strange. When she finally steps into the dark and lets it in, she’ll learn these thoughts were far too simple.

“Is it really like that...”

“Yeah. War is a world where edges cut. None of this is exaggerated; it’s hard stone, all of it.”

“...”

“This world is already broken, like a mirror laced with cracks.”

Her eyes brim with revulsion, a tide of loathing for the world surging like a storm‑tide.

“Do you hate it here, miss—this world?”

Mia passes by hugging a stack of bandages like bundled straw, voice lifting with a question.

“Isn’t it obvious? Who could like a place like this—like a pit of knives.”

Any human flinches from the dark. This Underworld is blood‑stained, always fighting, like a city built on blades—hard to love.

Only those warped by long years down here learn to scuttle and survive, like crabs under rocks.

“We’re people of the Underworld, after all; sometimes there’s no way out, like roots trapped in stone.”

Mia says it with a helpless sigh, like a leaf giving up to wind.

In a place like this, everyone knows hope is small, like a candle cupped against rain.

“But it’s not all darkness, right? If you look with care, you’ll find light—thin as dawn, but there.”

“How could that...”

She wants to argue, but in a breath she falls silent, words drying up like spilled ink.

The light Mia speaks of in this dark world is small and hazy, like fireflies—fragile yet real, blinking in the night.

For Yun Shi, that light is Mia, Eil, and Yuuya—three lanterns in her dusk.

No grand words needed; when the heart knows, walls fall like paper screens in rain.

“Mia’s clumsy with words, please don’t mind, miss. But Mia believes you’ll someday find your own light.”

“My light?”

“Mm. That light will brighten your world like sunrise, point you the right way, and guard you. It’ll lead you back to where you belong—that’s what I think.”

Truth is, Yun Shi can’t grasp Mia’s words—not really; they slip like mist through her fingers.

But somehow, warmth pools in her chest, rare as sunlight in a winter courtyard.

Even without understanding, it’s fine; comfort now is enough, like a blanket over cold bones.

“I don’t really get it. And Mia, forget that—go work. Shoo.”

“Ah! Right, I forgot. Oh no—my clumsy hands again~”

Teasing this maid now and then is a small delight; Yun Shi hides a laugh like a cat with cream.

After Mia’s chatter, her mood lifts like a cloud parting. Credit goes to Mia.

I’ll treat her to something later—of course not as thanks. Definitely not. Right.

“I get the feeling you’re thinking something rude, miss.”

“N‑nonsense. Right—Eil, stop wasting time. Let’s work together!”

“Huh? Sure, but why so sudden...”

“Quit yapping. If I say work, you work!”

Today will be busy, but it’s fine. Someone’s mood is bright like morning, yesterday’s slump burnt off. At this pace, her lively self will return soon.

Yuuya watches quietly from the side, a monk by a stream, and doesn’t intrude—just leaves a small smile.

While they clear the battlefield here, the main house hums too. The Quadra Eye Family isn’t idle over Flamebu’s trouble; cleaning their own field costs no small effort.

More importantly, they must guard against the Magic Institution’s opportunistic strike and the Church’s moves—exhaustion hangs like wet cloaks, and it makes sense.

But the main hall holds no crowd; in a wide chamber like an emptied shell, only two remain.

They are the Quadra Eye Family’s highest hands: Shina and her husband, Zongci.

“Zongci.”

“I understand.”

Zongci is a steady man, stone under moss. He knows what his wife will say, and what’s about to happen.

“Recently, the head of the Divine Ling Family has been pressing me.”

“Shinryo Akisuke?”

“Yes. He wants his son’s matter settled fast. The boy has officially stepped onto the battlefield; the Magic Institution waits ahead. Wanting a strong backing now is understandable, like armor before winter.”

“...”

Zongci doesn’t answer. He drinks, silence pooling like ink. Bitterness spreads on his tongue.

“The Divine Ling and Quadra Eye have been intertwined for many years.”

“Mm. It’s been three centuries, give or take—like rings in old wood.”

“In all those centuries, our family birthed only one female—a lone moon in a long night.”

“Our daughter.”

“Mm.”

Zongci falls silent again and drains his cup, like drawing a line.

Both know what they’re circling, but neither names it—words hovering like crows on a fence.

“In any case, our family history runs like a river—never a bend, never an exception.”

“Zongci...”

“Agree to it. I’m no oath‑breaker. I know what Shinryo Akisuke wants. If he wants to play, I’ll meet him on the board.”

“That’s right.”

Shina’s relief flickers into a smile, then hardens to ice.

“A political marriage may be a bridge over a gorge.”

“Besides, she hasn’t mastered the family’s core art, so there’s little to debate. Shina, handle everything.”

“I understand. Yun Shi’s marriage to the Divine Ling Family was set long ago; I’d do it without you saying. It’s just—she seems stubborn, an iron knot, hard to untie...”

Shina bites her lip and sinks into thought, like a stone into deep water.

Zongci says nothing. He knows her temper; she’ll find a good answer soon, like a needle finding thread. He only needs to give her time.

This quiet talk between two decides Yun Shi’s everything—even her life—from this moment on, like a wheel taking its first turn.

Fate turns its gears in silence, the teeth catching when no one looks.

Beyond Flamebu’s battle line lies the cleanup zone run by the Magic Institution. Surviving Witches bustle, clearing wreckage and tending the spared, hands moving like swift smoke.

“This fight wrung me dry; good thing I grabbed my life back.”

“Yeah. I never thought Yanbu Junichi was that strong. I lost several comrades because of him—damn it.”

“Let it go. Coming back alive is blessing enough; don’t stew over it.”

“By the way, we owe this battle to that rookie. Without her stepping in, our losses would’ve been worse.”

“Right, she’s an acting Witch, but she’s frighteningly good. I bow to her skills.”

Without meaning to, they bring up a newcomer—not a full Witch, but an acting Witch.

It’s clear how much weight she carries right now, like a keystone in an arch.

“Hey, Sham—Sham Einafel, are you listening?”

At the sound, the robed girl slowly turns, sets down her bottle, and looks annoyed, a cloud shading her face.

“What is it.”