Yekase, after confirming the bunker was cut off from the world, chose to end it swiftly, like a blade through winter ice.

Nightlight Torch was too wide and loud; two jets of Infinite Power were rain-muted thunder, nothing that would blow their cover at the gate.

One Flash Energy-driven slash cracked the bunker door, and a dim room unfurled like dusk spilling from a cave.

It was a mid-sized bunker with several cells of shadow, yet Yekase saw it at once—a steel cage hunched in the far corner.

Inside the cage sat a girl in a white dress, like frost trapped in wire.

A pin of pain pricked Yekase’s heart, like a thorn under skin.

“Familiar script,” she muttered, breath a thin fog. “Don’t turn this into a backstab on me too.”

She hacked the warped iron hanging from the frame into shards, opening a clean path for Lu Yao, then called out like a bell into snow.

“Sorry for the intrusion. Anyone home?”

Silence pooled like black water.

The girl in the cage looked weak; even lifting her head felt like lifting a stone, ten slow seconds of effort.

By then, Yekase was already at the bars, her shadow falling like a cloak.

Straw-colored hair split and brittle like dry reeds; a fur coat stitched fine yet torn and stained like old bark; eyes ringed with heavy dusk, a faint spark returning as she studied the unexpected visitor.

First impression: beneath the ragged coat, she wore a thin black dress, as useless against cold as silk against sleet.

“Ah…” The sound scraped out, like wind through a chapped pipe.

“I want… to go home.”

“Got it.”

Clang!

The cage split cleanly in half, like a log under an axe, but upright barbs still blocked Yekase’s reach like winter thorns.

She clicked her tongue, stowed both blades into her dimensional clasp, and with bare hands twisted two bars down a full half-turn like soft willow.

“Let’s go. I’ll take you home.”

Yekase lifted the girl and slung her like a bundled swallow across her back, then glanced for Lu Yao, warning like a low drum.

“Desk drawer’s tied to fishing line, and the lobby’s got tiles with tiny height shifts—bomb triggers. Our intrusion was expected.”

“But no ambush?”

Lu Yao had drifted to the desk, eyes skimming papers like a hawk over snow.

“Yeah. Sub-unit of Shadow Realm War,” she said, voice flat as iron. “They’ve been netting a magical lifeform called Icewater Sprites for experiments… extracting Sorcery from their flesh. Early results achieved.”

Mid-sentence, Yekase felt the small body on her back shiver like a pond under wind.

“Alright. We won’t defuse. Grab every document that breathes ink, and we’ll pick a spot and counter-camp.”

They burst from the bunker like sparks from coal and leapt into the spider tank, wind-sliced tracks carrying them away.

Soon after, they split like currents; Yekase took the girl back, while Lu Yao looped around to the bunker’s edge and slid into a stunted shrub, eyes on the gaping door.

She waited like a seasoned hunter under frost, patience coiled and still.

At last, a team surfaced across the wasteland like ants on ash, drifting toward the bunker.

They circled the wrecked door in disbelief, staring like owls at a broken nest, then finally stepped inside.

They’d predicted an intrusion but misjudged its weight; who expects an Infinite Power Ascender to tear in mid-journey?

The “invader” they meant to catch was likely the caged girl’s kin—the Icewater Sprites in those files. Use one trapped prey to lure a larger herd—cruel logic, cold as iron.

Lu Yao chose to erase them here, like a wind that leaves no footprints.

Suppress fortifications, annihilate combatants—back when she was a PeaceWarrior, that was daily bread and bitter tea.

Then, after a while, it was time for old-fashioned cleaning.

Inside the bunker at that moment—

“They’ve already left?” a voice rasped like sand. “We cleared their habitat; no Sprite remnants. Is there another cluster…”

No. The shattered door, the silent dance around every snare… and the way that cage was cut.

Icewater Sprites live like the first people of snow; they couldn’t do this. Someone stepped in midstream. This is the Arctic, a white blade of land.

Who dares provoke Shadow Realm War—known as chaotic evil in masks, yet anyone who digs knows their patron is the Kingdom of France, and behind that crouches a figure vast as a mountain.

“…!”

A streak of lightning crossed the squad leader’s mind; her eyes flashed like steel.

No one without backing takes on an entire faction; that’s a storm you don’t summon bare-handed.

So they must be nation-backed mercenaries, pressing Shadow Realm War now to sap France, signal rivals, and claw advantage in the Golden Apple race—no other road makes sense.

Which nation? Don’t think—Britain.

Those ever-haunting Brits, clinging like fog.

“Don’t pursue. Form up and return to HQ to report!” cried the 31-year-old squad leader, her voice cutting like a whip. Fighters and researchers gathered in the center like sheep.

She faced away from the door, gaze on the line like beads on a string.

“Count!”

“One!” “Two!” “Three!”…

…Click.

“Four!” “Captain, there’s something…”

The fifth didn’t call a number; he pointed at the floor behind her like a blade.

“I said count. Why are you—” she snapped, yet instinct tugged her down; she looked.

A small cylinder rolled on the concrete like a beetle.

…Stun grenade.

“Wha—”

WHUM!!

Some dropped fast, flat to the ground like leaves; the rest were tossed by light and thunder, ears ringing like bells.

Lu Yao sprang from beside the door, eyes lit a bright red like embers—she’d sipped a little of Yekase’s blood before splitting up; short-lived, but enough.

She held… a square iron box with a pistol grip below and a handle above, like a suitcase with teeth.

Black smoke and fire bloomed from its muzzle, and tiny, nimble bullets poured out like a hail of sparks, shredding researchers in a blink.

Tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat!

Someone counted twenty or thirty rounds, poised to rise as if from surf during a reload, but the stream never paused; the shots hammered him back like rain on tin, and he never rose again.

The stench of blood and gunpowder pooled like swamp water, and fear bloomed like mold; these fighters were used to netting docile Sprites and drinking under warm vents, their battle nerves dulled to wax.

Two heartbeats later, gunfire braided with screams and pleas; as sight crawled back, they saw the intruder was just one woman, and terror didn’t ebb—it twisted stranger.

Who is she?

Could she be the “greatest uncertainty” the leader had mentioned—Luciferin de Fenxi, the Pasturer of Beasts?

At last, the long storm of shots went silent, like snow after wind.

A burly fighter who’d hid behind a stack of bodies wriggled up and rushed at Lu Yao like a boar.

Lu Yao didn’t reload; she gripped the iron box’s integral sight—the top handle like a briefcase bar.

Then she swung the whole gun in a full arc.

Bang!

The man took it on the jaw; half his face shattered like crockery, and he flew, landing in the heap as another broken branch.

Only Lu Yao remained standing, a red line in quiet gray.

She drew a long breath; the crimson faded from her eyes like dusk retreating.

“You, under the desk.”

“…?!”

“Tell me where your main base is.”

“Ee—! I, I don’t know! I’m just a grunt… only the captain knows…”

“Where’s the captain?”

“She’s… under your feet…”

Lu Yao looked down at the woman with a captain’s armband. She’d stood closest to the door, back turned—riddled in the first heartbeat like a sieve.

“…”

A mistake. She’d assumed squads operating in empty lands were special-identity elites; grab any and the base would fall from their tongues. Instead, they were no different from cannon fodder elsewhere.

“Ma’am! I only grabbed a few Sprites; I never killed anyone! Please, please spare—”

Bang.

Yekase carried the girl back to the off-road truck, wind scratching the paint like claws.

Harrison dozed in the driver’s seat with arms folded; her boot thumped the door, and his eyes snapped open like shutters, face meeting the ceiling with a dull thud.

“What—who’s this?!”

He sprang from the seat, clutching his head, then stumbled out like a startled cat.

“Subject pulled from the bunker,” Yekase said, voice turned soft as warm tea. “We’ll get her home once she rests.”

She glanced at the girl leaning on her shoulder, eyes like mist.

“We still don’t know your name.”

“…I’m Banxi…”

The name sounded more neutral than feminine, cool as stone, yet pleasing; maybe in her tongue it held special weight.

“You’re safe now. Lie down in the truck; I’ll fetch food…”

Harrison swung open the rear door, and found Dorothy sprawled across the backseat alone, asleep like a log.

“Hey. Up.” Yekase nudged Dorothy’s dangling arm with her boot, a swift kick under the rain. “Two people napping—aren’t you afraid of a sneak?”

Dorothy jolted upright with a familiar snap, like a spring.

“Ah—eh?! Enemy attack?! Where?!”

“…”

Yekase stared, wordless as snow. Dorothy froze, eyes wide, like a deer in frost.