Fire God Zhurong and Snow God Tengliu, titans of the Underworld, each holds a small banner of followers. Their bands aren’t great houses, but they tilt the Magic Institution’s balance like wind tipping a scale. Without their weight, the Institution’s strength would sway.

They lead their crews through foe after foe, winning sack after sack of coins. Their names flutter like pennants in every Witch’s dreams, a summit most Witches can only see like a distant peak.

Money and fame cling to them like gilded armor. That’s Zhurong and Tengliu.

Confusion pooled in Yun Shi’s chest like fog. Why would people like that come just to help them?

When Moa chatted with them like a warm kitchen fire, she finally realized they knew each other.

“It’s been ages. I heard you went to Canada—pretty impressive.”

“Not bad. Moa, you keeping up with school?”

“I am, I am. Studying hard like a monk with a lamp.”

“Good kid. Leaving you in Japan to study was the right call.”

Awkwardness prickled Yun Shi like nettles. Watching Moa and Zhurong chatter, she wanted to hush them—this wasn’t the place—but the words stuck. She stood there like a post in the wind.

“Hey, you two, are you done? Quit the tea-time gossip. Want the enemy laughing at us?” Her voice snapped like icicles.

Of course it was Tengliu, patience worn thin like fraying rope. She bit back the swear words like smoke behind teeth.

“Seriously, you chatterboxes. Will you die if you stop talking? If I could, I’d kill you a hundred times. You’ve smeared mud over the whole team’s face. Damn it, I wish I didn’t know you.”

Tengliu, the Snow God, was pure tempest. Not a soft word left her mouth; every line hissed like steam off ice.

That must be what they call a sharp tongue, a blade wrapped in frost.

“Sorry, got carried away.”

“Yeah, it’s been too long. Got excited.”

They didn’t look angry at all, like sailors used to Ringo’s winter squalls.

Tengliu choked on their easy tone, then let out a dry cough like gravel. She turned, face blank, to the enemy lines.

“Zhurong, Tengliu. Why block me?”

Rebecca glared at the intruders, cold eyes like knives. The formation alone said her odds were poor; she was outnumbered.

Her plan to kill the two Artifact Spirits had to be re-weighed like stones in a palm. With those two backing them, she didn’t dare push.

“You’re the Third Vessel Soul, huh? A Witch, yet the Church’s blade.”

Zhurong studied the silver-haired girl like a jeweler eyeing ore, interest glinting in her gaze.

“So what?”

Wariness layered in Rebecca like armor plates. She couldn’t read them, so she guessed in the dark.

Church and Magic Institution keep their wells apart, sure.

But Witches’ Magical Stones come from the Church’s hand.

And the Church stayed stable because the Institution intervened in Underworld wars many times.

You know that, don’t you?

“And then? What’s your point?”

“My point’s simple. Could you do me a favor and let them go?”

Zhurong’s smiling eyes didn’t ask; they pressed like a warm hand on a shoulder.

The ties were tangled like vines. If she refused, Zhurong would rally everyone and force a fight. Rebecca was strong, but still one blade, not a forest.

It was a threat—solemn, iron-blooded, like thunder before rain.

But if she agreed, the report back would burn like acid.

What a knot.

“I’m afraid I can’t meet your request.”

She smiled like a closed door—that was a refusal.

“The Hierarch has spoken. If needed, killing the two Artifact Spirits is fine.”

They’re waving the anti-Church banner like a storm flag. Others can live, but Artifact Spirit Witches must not.

“Oh, that’s your reason? You’re loyal like a dog to its master. She says jump, you jump. Living like that beats death? Barely.”

Tengliu’s tongue stayed venomous, words lashing like whips.

Rebecca’s face stayed still as stone; anger didn’t ripple.

“The Hierarch gave me a second life. Even as a beast of burden, I’ll serve her.”

Her voice was small, but iron ran through it.

Yun Shi felt it settle like dust: she had a dark past.

“Is that so? Then I’ll skip the chatter. Everyone, go in hard. Don’t be shy. But hear me—this mission pays nothing.”

Zhurong turned to her crew with a smile like sunrise and gave the order.

“No problem, boss. We’re serving you this time, no coin needed.”

Her people didn’t mind, loyalty burning like campfire coals. Long wars hadn’t dulled their blood; they’d forged a brotherhood in storm and ash.

That was why Zhurong trusted them, like anchors in a gale.

She gave a slight smile, then turned back with a face cold as frost.

Boom!

The ground heaved, and fire waves rolled like a red sea.

The roar battered ears, a storm of sound over the field.

Shards and stones whirled like angry hornets.

A beat later, machine guns spat. A rain of lead swept the enemy.

Clang!

Rebecca nullified Zhurong’s strike, eyes cold as moonlight on steel.

She stopped the pep talk and snapped, “Fire!”

Bang, bang, bang!

The battlefield filled with harsh gunfire, noise like hail on tin.

Bullets carved lines of blood, staining the earth dark.

Smoke curled, dust flew, blood-mist tangled—an ugly hymn to survival.

A chill of helplessness pricked Rebecca like winter rain.

She watched Witches charging from behind cover, face calm as glass.

She’d been crushing them before; now the tide turned.

Hiding wasn’t a path; she needed to strike first, like a hawk diving.

Decision steadied in her gut like a drawn bow.

She had one road.

She drew ten steel darts, all barbed like thorns, and flicked them wide.

Hit Witches dropped on cue, breath gone like snuffed candles.

The others snarled and poured more fire, bullets streaming like rivers.

“What are you staring at? Move, this is your opening! Are you all idiots?”

Only Tengliu’s shout snapped Mizuki’s group from their shock.

They scrambled up and fell back toward safety like leaves in a retreating wind.

“Not good, they’re escaping! Chase!”

Real panic bit Rebecca like a cold dog. She wouldn’t go back empty.

But the fire was a wall, every step a fight.

Her targets slid farther like boats on an ebbing tide.

Powerless, she stamped her foot, fury sparking like flint...

Gunfire didn’t let up; smoke swelled like storm clouds.

Sandbag fortifications held, a rough shoreline against the enemy’s tide.

Bullets leapt from barrels, red spray fanning like petals.

A few minutes ago, this sight belonged to the other side.

Now it returned with interest, a boomerang of violence.

Rebecca watched the Witches’ attack grow, a wave stacking high.

She glanced at her receding targets—Yun Shi and Mizuki, the two Artifact Spirits.

The truth sank like a stone: she’d lost, because she’d given them time.

She’d thought her nullification made her invincible, a blade that cut all.

After beating the two Artifact Spirits, pride swelled like summer heat.

But she was only one person. One flame can’t win every night.

That pride opened the door. Their reinforcements arrived on time, like thunderheads, and handed them a chance.

“It was my carelessness…”

She had to admit it—Rebecca lost, the word bitter as ash.

Even the report back would be a thorny path.

A dry smile touched her lips like cracked clay.

“All units, fall back, fast!”

Lost is lost; no need to grind ourselves down. That path only deepens defeat.

With better prep next time, she could still beat Fire God Zhurong and Snow God Tengliu.

Zhurong watched their lines peel back like smoke.

She knew the job was done.

“Don’t chase.”

That’s the rule: don’t hound a routed foe.

Now mattered safety—getting the two Artifact Spirits out clean, like carrying embers in cupped hands.

Mizuki, already far, looked back at the sky of fire.

Survivor’s relief washed through her like warm rain.

“Good thing you saved us in time. Otherwise… I don’t dare imagine.”

Mizuki bowed deeply to Tengliu, like a reed bending to wind.

“No need. You think we came just to save you?

It was that Vivian who decided on her own.

You lot are too useless to deserve a rescue.”

Tengliu’s words stayed sharp, a sleet that stung the ears.

It hurt to hear, but she’d saved them. Complaints froze on tongues.

“Seriously, Ringo, your mouth is still poison. Not cute at all.”

Moa was used to it, but she still pouted, her picture of reunion smeared like wet ink.

“Shut up. Moa, you haven’t changed either.

A whole year of school, and not even your height shifted.

Tsk, tsk. Your future worries me.”

Tengliu’s sharp mouth finally curved into a smile, wicked as a crescent blade.

She looked Moa up and down with a disdainful gaze.

“Mm, a year ago was… a year later is…

Uwah, bullying!”

After a stern comparison, Moa faced a cruel fact—she hadn’t changed at all.

“Mizuki-senpai, wuwuwu!”

With nowhere to vent, Moa flung herself at Mizuki and sobbed, tears like warm rain.

The sharp-tongued girl had hit hard.

“There, there. It’s fine. You’ll grow more.”

“Really?”

“Of course.”

What else could she say? Calming Moa’s heart mattered most now.

“I just want to know—what’s her connection with them, exactly?”

Yun Shi wanted to ask how Moa knew the Underworld’s titans, the Fire God and Snow God.

But with Moa crying, it wasn’t the moment.

“Ringo, you bullied Moa again, didn’t you?

Seriously, can’t you behave?”

Zhurong arrived late, sighed like wind through pine, and spoke.

“I didn’t bully her. She can’t take a joke. So this isn’t on me.”

“Alright, drop it. Our objective’s done.

Time to plan the next step.”

Zhurong’s thoughts circled the Church like crows.

They’d snatched lives from Church hands; it was open defiance.

The road ahead would be rough.

Planning mattered most.

“Fire God, what exactly is your relationship with her?”

Yun Shi pointed at Moa, still clinging to Mizuki, and asked.

“Nothing fancy. I’m Moa’s agent. That’s all.”

Zhurong didn’t bother to hide it; it wasn’t a big deal.

In the Underworld, she’s a known Witch agent. No secret.

“Fire God and Snow God are mutual Contractors. I know that.

I heard Fire God has another Contractor. Looks like it’s her.”

Yun Shi studied Moa, thoughts drifting like clouds.

She hadn’t imagined Moa’s background this heavy. Being Zhurong’s Contractor—what a surprise.

“Sawagawa Moa, why didn’t you ever tell me this?”

“Uh… you never asked, did you…”

“…”

What else could she say?

“So… shouldn’t we figure out our next move?” Her voice flickered like a candle in a draft.

“Yeah. I don’t see the Church letting us walk away; their hounds already have our scent.”

We can’t ignore it; after that uproar, the Church will circle like hawks watching prey.

Just like when Sitong Yuuya and his crew tore through the Underworld; attention swooped in, and Rebecca beat them down hard, a storm breaking over a frail boat.

They got lucky and slipped the net; otherwise, I can’t even picture the wreckage we’d be left in.

So Yun Shi and the others worry the enemy will mark them, like ink seeping into silk.

Rebecca’s strength is obvious to all—she’s toppled opponent after opponent, a blade with no rust, making everyone wary.

Honestly, if Zhurong’s squad hadn’t rushed in like rain quenching a fire—and if Rebecca’s energy hadn’t been drained—getting out intact would’ve been a dream.

“The worst part is her Third Vessel Soul,” someone muttered. “She can nullify any ability. Normal tricks are reeds in a flood.”

As the final Artifact Spirit, Rebecca holds every advantage; hard to believe she used to be a nameless shadow on the wall.

“Tch. Big deal. We still made her eat dirt,” Ringo snapped, a spark jumping off flint.

“Don’t judge by the surface, Ringo. This success was pure luck,” Zhurong said, cool as frost on stone. “Without any prep, we’d be captives already.”

Zhurong stayed clear-headed, not drunk on a single night’s victory.

“Then, Miss Zhurong, what do you think we should do?” Mizuki asked, voice soft as snow falling.

Zhurong glanced at Mizuki, then shook her head, the motion like a leaf saying no to the wind. “If I had the answer, I wouldn’t have had to mobilize my people.”

“The Church really means to break the Underworld’s balance. We’re birds in a storm; where we’re blown, no one knows.”

With the future fogged over, the girls had no path to follow—only waiting, like boats moored in mist.

“Since we’ve got no effective way… maybe we tear the net even if the fish dies.”

Long silent, Yun Shi finally spoke; her words dropped like a stone into a still pond, ripples of confusion spreading.

“You mean we start a fight with the Church on purpose, Night Phantom?”