Night falls faster in the snow country, like a black shawl thrown over a white, breathless plain.

Tengger’s troops had barely settled, tents sprouting like dark stones in frost, and the day slid away like a sun bleeding behind ice.

Vivian drew her younger sister to a lively patch of the Ninth Prince’s ruined camp, where grills crackled like little stars over rubble.

“Sis, you mean it, or just chasing shadows?” Winona asked, a skewer of lamb in hand, grease shining like moonlight on her lips.

“Who knows. It’s too old a tale, dust layered like snow,” Vivian said, brushing her hair back to her ear like a willow leaf, then smiled sweet as honey at her cheerful sister.

“But don’t worry. This continent has mages like Father, pillars like old pines, and masters like Mr. Jim, sharp as mountain hawks. Even if the Demon Race shows up, that storm isn’t ours to fear.”

She tapped Winona’s forehead, a light knock like a pebble on glass. “Eat, eat—little girl snatching barbecue from uncles, what kind of story is that.”

Winona shrugged, shoulders bouncing like sparrows. “C’mon, sis, if you want meat, you fight for it—otherwise you’re gnawing bones like a stray dog.”

She eyed Vivian’s poise, neat as a lotus. “Sis, why be so ladylike for nothing?”

Vivian stole a glance at Jim, standing not far off with sword in his arms, staring at the sky like a silent cliff.

Heat touched her cheeks like a blush of dawn. “None of your business. Even food can’t clog your mouth.”

Winona rolled her eyes, two little moons flipping, then flitted to the grill like a sparrow, chatter ringing like silver bells, and came fluttering back with dozens of skewers. “Here, sis, you hardly ate today—get some warmth in you.”

Vivian blinked awake, glanced at her sister, and waved the skewers off like smoke. “No, no—told you already, I don’t want it. You eat.”

“Come on, just a bite, don’t be scared,” Winona said, her grin sly as a fox’s tail.

“Scared of what ghost?”

“Tch~ You’re scared of getting fat, obviously,” Winona said, eyes turning like beads. “Relax. As skinny as a reed, no man’s going to like that.”

Vivian stalled, mind fluttering like a moth. “Really?” She peeked toward Jim’s shadowed spot, cautious as a deer.

“Really, really,” Winona said, hands flapping like fans.

While the sisters teased, Jim felt a tremor run through the sword in his hands, a shiver like a tuning fork in winter, and cold alert flooded his chest like icy water.

He projected his voice through the camp like a horn in the fog. “All units—on alert! All units—on alert! Enemy attack! Enemy attack!”

At once, soldiers spilled from tents like ants from split earth; the lines were messy at first, then snapped tight like drawn bowstrings.

Moser stepped from the hut, lamplight staining his coat like spilled amber. “Jim, what’s going on?”

Tengger rubbed sleep from his eyes like grit and growled, voice rough as gravel. “What is it?”

Jim gave them both a quick glance, eyes hard as flint. “Enemy attack. Be ready, my lords.” He dropped down into the ranks, arranging formations like stones across a river.

Moser and Tengger traded a look, tension stretching like a taut wire, then withdrew to prepare.

Meanwhile, around each prince’s manor, a ring of soldiers had appeared like frost-grown thorns; weapons lifted like iron branches, they marched in, faces blank as masks.

“Who are you?” The Fourth Prince stood at the gate, voice thin as a reed in wind, staring at the tightening circle of men.

Ice squeezed his heart like a claw. Had they found out his secret with the Demon Race?

The soldiers didn’t answer; they raised their weapons and drove straight for his face, blades cold as moons.

The Fourth Prince clenched his teeth, resolve firing like an ember. If it’s exposed, it’s exposed—then let this be the first victory I offer my master.

He swept his hand like a banner. “Lords—do it!”

From every corner of the manor, Black Demons stepped out of shadow like poured oil, a rough count hitting over three hundred, a dark swarm against torchlight.

Behind the line, an officer watched the scene, a chill crawling up his back like a wet snake. “Damn it—where did the Fourth Prince dig up this crowd?”

He still had to execute the Third Prince’s order; he raised a speaking horn like a conch and called, voice cutting the night like brass. “Defeat hostile forces and capture the Fourth Prince alive. That’s our objective! Remember—no killing!”

The Fourth Prince bared his teeth at the soldiers closing in, grin twisted like a wolf’s. “Honored lords, looks like they want to jump first. Please—kill them.”

He darted into the inner rooms, feet tapping stone like quick rain, and sent word to Era. “Master, we’ve been discovered! They plan to strike first!”

Era’s pulse flicked once, then stilled like a lake under moon; she frowned as if drawing a blade from thought. “Impossible. After spotting traces of the Demon Race, they wouldn’t fail to send someone of the Sacred Rank.”

Her voice cooled like steel. “In short, kill them all. Leave a few who truly know the inside story—for me.”

The Fourth Prince bowed his head like a reed to wind. “As you command.”

Era smiled, a crescent of cold light. “Relax. The good play’s only just begun.”