“You mean we should strike first at the Church, Night Phantom?” Zhurong’s voice flickered like a candle in a draft.

She hesitated, a hawk’s eye weighing stormclouds; the Church loomed like a mountain, not a rock you kick just to hear it roll.

Yet the girl spoke of taking the fight to the Church—a spark tossing itself into a prairie fire; it sounded like chasing lightning with bare hands.

“I think, since we’re already marked, we don’t get to stand outside the rain,” Yun Shi’s tone was calm, a blade cooled in water. “Two paths lie ahead: hide like burrowed foxes until the storm passes, or claw out a victory and claim the right to live.”

Her reading of the sky wasn’t wrong; it was a map etched in frost. Only flaw—this road needed guts like iron and lungs that trust the cold air.

“I know that,” Zhurong murmured, ash settling on her lashes. “But Night Phantom, have you thought—what if we lose? Our strength’s a creek against their river. With what do we fight?”

“Fire God, if we don’t move, the door stays shut,” Yun Shi replied, voice steady as night rain on tiles. “Act now, and somewhere a window cracks open. Give up, and the house floods.”

“I can’t wager my people’s lives like dice,” Zhurong’s chest tightened, a drumskin pulled too taut. “This is war, not play; once breath leaves a body, the chimneys go cold for good.”

“Precisely so,” Yun Shi said, words falling like iron nails. “To keep blood from drying in vain, you step on blood and keep walking. Every war honors that rule—like winter honoring the dead leaves.”

Seeing Zhurong and Yun Shi lock antlers, everyone else sat like stones under snow; even sharp-tongued Teng Liu held her tongue, counting costs like beads under her thumb.

“If we fight, there’s still a thread of hope,” Sham spoke up, her gaze like a lantern in mist. “I say we strike first.”

Eyes turned to her, moths drawn to a quiet flame.

“Magician, you’re not like us,” one of Zhurong’s people snapped, breath hot as steam. “You and your partner walked in ready to fight the Church. We didn’t—we got dragged in by the boss’s order.”

“Yeah. Don’t shove your creed down our throats,” another grumbled, shoulders hunched like sheltering birds.

To them, a steady life was warm rice under a roof; stepping into a stray brawl felt like bringing a reed boat into whirlpools.

Back when the Magic Institution fought the Divine Ling Family’s Flamebu Family in Japan, Zhurong stayed abroad and ignored the summons; even though that “game” promised fat profit and spilled guts, she kept her blade sheathed.

In her bones, war was sour wine she wouldn’t drink.

Now, asking her to enter another war felt like pushing a herb into fire; she didn’t want it.

“If you don’t fight, there’s only the road ending in cliff,” Andrea spoke, rare words like winter geese. “In a dead end, refusing to resist is choosing your own rope. Giving up is the biggest defeat. If you’re dreaming of old days, stop; stepping into this place demands resolve.”

Andrea’s lines were granite and they cut; the Witches had no answer, tongues stuck like arrows in mud.

Fight and you live; yield and you decay. Think poorly, and you wait for frost. That was all she wanted them to swallow; now choice mattered more than bread or breath.

Zhurong thought long, the silence like snowfall piling on a gate, then sighed. She had to admit, only striking first fit them like a coat in sleet.

They came to rescue Moa; now they had to look into the storm’s mouth.

“Night Phantom, you win,” she said at last, a ember catching. “You’re right.”

No paths left, only cliffs; better to sprint and jump than sit and shiver. In the plunge, there’s still a chance for wings.

The Church was brazen, a bull in a market, but not a god. It ruled the Underworld like a crown on a king, yet it counted other spears. Their swagger rose because the Magic Institution and several clans were wounded; if balance hadn’t cracked, their ambition would’ve stayed buried like seeds in frost.

“If you trust me, I have a way,” Yun Shi offered, voice like a thread in rain. “It won’t shake the earth, but it can tilt a stone.”

“...It’s fine. Speak,” Zhurong said, heart beating like drums in fog.

Night Phantom—the dirtiest emblem of the Underworld, the worst name among Witches—yet talent clung to her like shadow, and she fought like night currents. Zhurong knew she needed Yun Shi’s edge now.

“The Church’s eyes sit on us,” Yun Shi said, cool as moonlight on steel. “They sent hounds already—that proves it. When they focus forward, they forget the back fence. We just slipped out; their rear’s blind. Even if they suspect, they won’t reassign in time. So why not yank out one of their posts like pulling a rotten stake?”

Her thinking landed like a sparrow exactly on the branch.

“Good read,” Zhurong nodded, approval a brief warmth. Yun Shi only dipped her chin, face blank as a calm pond.

“While their guard’s thin, we strike early,” Yun Shi continued, words measured like steps on stone. “Closest strongpoint’s two kilometers past the back mountain. Someone’s surely garrisoned there. We go with the slope of things and rip it out.”

“Fine. Settled,” Zhurong said, decision crackling like dry twigs. She turned and began assigning tasks, hands moving like a veteran sorting blades; she’d run a bounty team for years, and war maps lived in her gut.

“Night Phantom-chan is amazing...” Mizuki whispered, eyes shining like frost-stars.

She clenched a secret vow; she would work harder, a sapling pushing through snow.

This plan had another root. Everyone, Yun Shi included, had burned plenty of energy; their lungs were thin now. But Zhurong’s unit could brawl in their place; what one pair of hands couldn’t do, a band could. Taking even a small Church strongpoint—a garrison, a shed with flags—would feed them.

“All units, listen up,” Zhurong barked, voice a bell in mist. “We move out. Same as I said—there’s no money in this one.”

“No problem, boss. Just say the word!” Her people grinned, teeth like white pebbles.

Zhurong smiled and turned to Moa, gaze a shawl thrown over a friend.

“Can you still fight, Moa?”

“Of course,” Moa puffed, cheeks warm as embers. “I’ve still got... Night Phantom-chan with me, right?”

“Just don’t be dead weight,” Yun Shi said, words crisp as frost.

“I won’t! I’m strong!” Moa shot back, spark dancing.

Their side tightened straps and checked steel, while the enemy lounged under their own lazy sun.

That garrison had sent help to Rebecca earlier; they never planned for a hollowed-out city, and that blind spot was exactly why Yun Shi chose this target.

While patrols strolled and whistled like minnows in a stream, no one noticed the binoculars tucked in the hedges across the way.

“One hundred plus,” a watcher whispered, breath a thread. “I count three that look like captains.”

“Load ammo,” someone else murmured, palms steady as stone. “Avoid close quarters if you can.”

“Snipers, where? Pick off suspected squad leaders first,” came the low order, a winter wind slipping through reeds.

“Ready. Bullets chambered,” another replied, metal clicking like teeth.

A fresh bloodstorm rolled in like a red tide; fate shrank to the weight of the gun in your hand.

Away from that field, Shitou Yuya and his two companions moved toward safe ground, feet choosing shade like deer avoiding hunters; any zone owned by the Church, they skirted like cliffs.

Caution wrapped them like cloaks; after a loss, they needed to mend, to hold their strength like embers cupped in palms.

But thinking of those Witches who crashed into the fight was a splinter; it wouldn’t stop itching.

Especially Shen Ling Zou—he sagged like a willow after rain. Night Phantom’s truth had hit him like hail; he was a lover at heart, and being cut by the one he craved drained his will.

“Zou, how long are you going to sink?” Kananin Rin snapped, voice sharp as a sparrow’s beak. “Keep this slump, and you won’t lift a blade.”

“None of your business,” he muttered, words like stones dropped in mud.

Being hated by the one you like is a knife only the wearer feels; that bruise blooms in private.

“I get it,” Rin said, eyes a clear winter stream. “You’re fixated on one of those Witches. But hear me—they’re our enemies. Your paths don’t cross like rivers in drought.”

“Shut up...” Shen Ling Zou’s gaze went dark, a shutter clapped down.

“Still not getting it?” Rin pressed, voice rising like wind. “You aren’t the same kind. There won’t be an ending—only a cliff.”

“Shut up!”

“Enough, both of you,” Shitou Yuya cut in, words like a hand on a bridle. Squabbling burned daylight; getting out of this hornet’s nest mattered more.

“Zou, you’re out for the next op,” Yuya said, tone firm as knotted wood. “Rest.”

“Yuya, you...” Shen Ling Zou looked up, eyes cloudy as rain glass.

“You think you help in this state?” Yuya’s honesty fell like cold water. “Truth is, you cling too hard to a feeling that can’t bloom. It’ll hurt you.”

“...”

Silence pooled, heavy as fog in a valley.

“For now, we lay low,” Yuya decided, voice a steady drum. “This mess taught us something—we burned too bright.”

Seeing Shen Ling Zou stay quiet, Yuya softened, his tone like warm smoke.

Inside, he knew he had no right to preach; he himself drifted. Back there, a Witch in a black cloak felt familiar—not desire, but a scent like a remembered road.

Most of all, he felt like he’d seen that Witch long ago, as if in a dream half melted by dawn.

It gnawed at Yuya, a rat behind walls; what was he doing, thinking of Witches now?

“Yuya, don’t think I don’t see you,” Rin said, eyes hawk-sharp. “We’ve known each other long; your ripples don’t hide.”

“—!” The sound caught in his throat like a fishbone.

“Night Phantom, right?” Rin’s smile was thin as steel. “Fine. I’ll go meet her. You two leave. I want a face-to-face with this odd Witch.”

Rin’s anger and questions flared like torches; she turned back toward the battleground without looking over her shoulder.

Yuya watched her go, feet rooted like trees; maybe he did need time to sift his own dust.

“What is she...” he whispered, the thought a moth to a lamp.

What kind of person is that Witch?

------------------------------------------------

The raking chatter of machine guns washed over the garrison like hard rain, snapping drowsy men awake; they fumbled for weapons, barked orders room to room, and soldiers outside formed ranks like rows of winter wheat.

“Enemy attack! Fire!”

Deafening gunfire swallowed the yard, smoke curling like hungry snakes. A Witch on high pulled a ring and tossed a grenade, hand sure as a stone-thrower.

Boom!

Fire leapt skyward, sand and chips and blood spattering like storm sleet, flying wild.

This is war: no absolute justice, only absolute force—a cold moon that favors no one.

Winners wear crowns while losers wear chains; it’s the fairest law in the Underworld’s iron book.

“Alright,” Yun Shi called from above, peering through the magnification of her Goggles like a falcon. “They’ve started to counterattack. If we keep pressing, it turns into a slog, and when their reinforcements return, we’ll be mired.”

“What’s our next move?” Zhurong asked without fuss, straight to the bone, treating her like a field strategist under a pine.

“Retreat,” Yun Shi said, simple as a bell.

“Retreat?” Zhurong stared, confusion a whirlpool. The raid landed like a sharp axe; push again and the post might fall. Calling a pullback with victory in sight felt like stepping away from ripe fruit.

Yun Shi didn’t sound like she was joking; her calm was deep water. Zhurong felt torn, unwilling to gamble all lives like leaves tossed to wind.

“It’s okay, Vivian,” someone urged, voice warm as a cloak. “Trust her. She doesn’t misjudge—every time, she’s saved us!”

Moa saw Zhurong waver like a candle in a draft, so she rushed in like wind and pledged her own name like a seal.

“Night Phantom, your operations never miss, like an archer’s arrow, right?”

“Not always; I only step where the stones hold across the river.”

“Got it. Everyone, fall back like a receding tide—five hundred meters to the rear, and hide like shadows under trees!”

Zhurong’s order cracked like thunder, and every Witch stared like birds caught in sudden rain; Yun Shi’s plan had carried them like a rising tide, yet retreat felt like cold water on hot steel. Still, the leader’s word stood like a mountain, so they obeyed like reeds bending in wind.

“Retreating now? I don’t get it—like dropping a blade mid-swing.”

Mizuki sighed, steam in winter air, and folded her gun like a wing against her ribs.

“Night Phantom’s thinking is tight, like a net,” Andrea said, her words drifting like mist over a pond, leaving people puzzled.

The Witches truly prepared to withdraw, and Yun Shi beckoned Moa like a sister’s call through rain. They reached high ground like a watchtower on a ridge, and Yun Shi drew the thin thread of her Mystic Power, weaving it into Moa’s body like a violet ember. Purple light blossomed like a night lotus, and Moa clenched her fist like a stone, then unleashed everything as wild thunder fell like a dragon from the clouds.

Boom!

The strike carved dread like frost down spines, leaving the enemy with terror like a shadow at noon.

After that blast, the Witches slipped away in order, like a school of fish diving for deep water, with no thought of pressing the attack. Moa, spent like a rain-washed leaf, let Zhurong carry her like cradling a coal gone dim. Yun Shi scanned the field like a hawk at dusk, then drifted back like ebbing tide.

“The Witches are retreating! They must be out of Mystic Power!” someone cried, crows cawing over a field.

“No skill, and they dare fight us,” another spat, sparks jumping from flint.

“Chase!” came the whip-crack shout, snapping like a bowstring.

The sight veiled their eyes like gauze, and they rushed out with men and horses like hounds off the leash; felling one or two Witches made their pride drum like war-skins.

“Damn these bastards—!” Tengliu snarled, teeth grinding like stones, and he almost surged in alone like a spark racing toward oil, but Zhurong’s hand checked him like a reins’ pull.

“Ringo, hold back,” she said, burying heat like a seed under winter soil.

“But several of our companions have fallen, blood spreading like spilled ink!”

“This is war; to win, you swallow fire like iron and endure.”

The pursuit ran along a smooth road like a river, with no obstacles in sight, yet cliffs stood on both sides like knife-edges, a perch made for hawks.

For an ambush, it was perfect, like setting a snare in a narrow pass.