Rebecca Ben Lowell—no one had ever heard that name, no one cared. After today, it would race like wildfire through the Underworld.

Because she was the master of the Third Vessel Soul, and she served the Church; that twist hit like a storm out of clear sky.

Confusion tightened Yun Shi’s chest, like a knot in wet rope. If Artifact Spirits choose their hosts, why did the Church manufacture them?

Do they birth them and then let them drift, like paper boats on a river?

Then why wield an Artifact Spirit Witch to chase a crown over the Underworld—and that Witch is one of theirs?

She knew one mind couldn’t solve that riddle; Artifact Spirits were a fogged maze. First it chose her, then Mizuki, now Rebecca; three Witches born of Artifact Spirits, each standing on a different shore.

Now she faced the strongest Artifact Spirit yet, a mountain shadow falling over the field.

“You’re never winning. You’re not my match.”

Rebecca watched Yun Shi and smiled, thin as frost on glass.

“Do you mean to kill me, no matter what?”

“Do I even need to say it? You and I were born enemies.”

“Then tell me—what are you? Why did the Artifact Spirit choose you?”

“Why ask that?”

Rebecca’s voice bristled, like fur under a sudden spark.

Yun Shi felt the barb land, and pressed on. “I want to know why the Church chose you.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re not Church, are you? What drove you into the Church...?”

“Shut up!”

It hit a sore nerve; her easy composure shattered like brittle ice, and her face twisted like a stormfront.

A flicker of sympathy rose, soft as smoke. Maybe her past was tangled, like mine, Yun Shi thought.

“Enough wasted time. Kill them. I’ll handle their attacks.”

Rebecca flicked a hand backward, like brushing dust from silk, and the order cut through the ranks.

At her command, people surged forward like a tide. They still feared the lightning from before, but with this Church Witch, fear sank to the seabed.

She carried a black-sun power to erase all things; no one doubted it.

Yun Shi glanced back. Moa and Sham were ragged with wounds, like torn banners.

She looked to the other side. Mizuki and Andrea bore new cuts, crimson vines across pale skin.

All that was left...

Her gaze caught on the trio. Not them—him. Yuuya.

Shitou Yuya squinted at the girl in Goggles. She felt familiar, like a half-remembered melody, yet he knew he had never met her.

They stood only yards apart, yet their hearts were split by a watershed, visible yet out of reach.

Relief and ache braided inside Yun Shi. She turned away and didn’t look at her brother.

She had seen the family she longed for; the wish now settled like falling leaves.

Two years had passed; even without her, he lived well. That was enough.

No need to reunite or speak. One glance was enough.

“I won’t yield, even if it kills me.”

She drew her Light Blade, its charge thin as dawn mist. She thumbed the switch; light sprayed, ready for the clash.

If Rebecca nullified everything, she’d avoid a direct duel and carve through the enemy ranks instead.

“Fair enough,” Sham said with a small smile, steady as stone. She knew Yun Shi, and had nothing else to add.

“Yuuya, let’s run while we can. They’re fixed on the Witches. This is a once-in-a-lifetime window,” Rinyu whispered, voice like a pulled bowstring.

“Rinyu...”

“We have no choice. If we don’t, we die. Shen Ling Zou, don’t chase empty hopes.

“They’re our enemies. Even if they save us, that won’t change the sky.”

It was ugly, but it was the only way. Using them as bait to escape felt like mud on the face; otherwise, they’d all be buried.

She wouldn’t let Yuuya or Shen Ling Zou die. Not here.

So she did it. To live, you learn the knife-edge. This world is that cruel.

Weapons rang and braided, and a new round ignited. They fought hard against the enemy, blood spraying to score a tragic anthem.

Yuuya snapped his head away, grabbed Shen Ling Zou with Rinyu despite his struggling, and hauled him off like thieves in rain.

To survive the Underworld, you sometimes sacrifice others; that’s the method the streets teach.

Not long after they fled, Yun Shi’s group stayed locked in the grind. Yun Shi herself was spent, body at its limit after too many storms.

Moa beside her was no better; heart blazing, arms heavy, like embers under wet ash.

“Night Phantom! Moa!” Mizuki fought fiercely, trying to reach them; easier said than done.

She watched them about to be butchered by attrition, like lambs in the sleet, and she felt helpless.

“This ends here, people of the Church!”

Boom!

Fireballs dropped from the sky like meteors and hammered the crowd. Screams tore the air open.

Moments later, snow drifted down. It fused into a surging snow-current and slammed into them like a white river.

“Aaaah!”

As expected, the enemy couldn’t withstand that storm. By that sudden strike, Yun Shi’s side was saved by a thread.

“Who are you!” Rebecca shouted, her voice cutting like a whip.

Across the way, a mass of Witches gathered, flexing and ready, knuckles cracking like seed pods.

Two stood at their center, leading like twin stars.

One wore a smile, pink hair pouring like silk. A fireball flickered in one palm; a gun gripped the other.

The other girl looked displeased, eyes full of disdain. Her chestnut ponytail streamed on the wind like a banner.

“Are you Fire God Zhurong and Snow God Tengliu?” Rebecca seemed to know them.

“More or less. Good that you recognize us,” the pink-haired Zhurong said with a light laugh.

She snuffed the fireball and stared straight at the enemy, eyes steady as coals. The sight made them flinch.

“What’s wrong? All of you turtle into your shells? Useless,” Snow God Tengliu barked.

“Weren’t you loud before? Now you’re scared—bully the weak, fear the strong!”

“How did they even get here...” Yun Shi wondered, mind stirring like wind in reeds.

Moa, bright with joy, waved and called, “Vivian! Ringo! I’m over here!”

“Long time no see, Moa!” Zhurong—Vivian—called back with friendly warmth, as if greeting an old neighbor.

So they knew each other...