“So it isn’t Black Hawk. Damn…” His voice tasted of rust, like rain on old iron.

Nightmare Rust toyed with his dagger, a snake of steel in his palm. Beside him, a black iron spike erupted like a tree trunk breaking soil, pierced the corpse from back to chest, and hung it meters high like a macabre banner. Oily black blood welled from the back, crept along the barbs like ants down a branch, then fell and rang on the floor, rippling out a deathly circle.

As the blood ebbed, color fled the face like dusk draining a lake. Only those dull eyes remained, wide to the ceiling, holding the last shock of life like frost that would not melt.

“Shame it’s only a grunt. Still, blood tastes the same.” Her tone curled like smoke from a red candle.

The woman answering him was sin in silk. A blood-red kimono flared like a burning maple. Her lush chest lay half-bare to the night air. Red thread bound her right hand like a spider’s bridal veil, and that hand stroked the corpse’s skin. Her lips, lit like embers, curved in a blissed-out smile.

“That bastard Black Hawk! We’ve already killed two of his men, and he still won’t show!”

“He will. The biggest bait’s finally in our net.” Her laughter rustled like dead leaves.

She glanced down at her feet—at the sleeping catfolk girl. Zaocun bore no wounds, yet her small body was bound tight in blood-red threads like a chrysalis. A black mist, cold as grave soil, smothered her spirit and held her in a fevered dream.

“That little brat almost got me killed in the detention center…” Nightmare Rust’s brow knotted like a storm cloud, memory flashing of the lethal strike from Dixue. “And that boy—do we really need to text him here?”

“What do you think?” The woman’s smile turned fox-sharp. She opened Zaocun’s phone. In the freshly made contacts were only two names: Chulei and Dongfang Chen.

“What if he calls the cops?”

“Then we kill every last cop. Let him taste despair like ash on the tongue.”

At her command, the hidden red threads inside the bodies cinched tight. A choking blood fog jetted from the wounds like steam from a fissure. She giggled as if riding a drug high. “Everyone dies in my domain. Even Chulei dies.”

…

The cargo zone lay dim and dreadful, like a maze under a dying star. You never knew what kind of magic golem lurked at the next bend. There were too many makes and models, like a bestiary cast in iron.

“Why are there so many kinds of magic golems! And that last one was a straight murder bot—blades on its hands!” Zero Wei’s voice shook like a thin bell in wind.

She crept in the middle of the line, trembling. The fuzzball’s light in her hands blazed to full, a little moon shoved against the dark.

“That was a Cold-Storage Magi-Automaton 1080,” Dixue said, voice steady as winter water. “Sometimes the meat’s too big for the gate. You cut it down. Those blades are for that.”

Dixue walked at point. Her silver-white figure cut the gloom like a blade of moonlight, a beacon the others followed.

“Zero Wei, hold the fear. Don’t attack at random, okay? Or we’ll owe Sky Voyager for repairs after.” Her tone was light, but her eyes held steel.

A minute ago, Zero Wei had fired the laser hidden in her fuzzball and sliced a walking 1080 clean in half. The halves hit the floor like felled trunks.

“Mm…” She nodded, still pale, like a tea cup with a crack.

Worry pricked Yue Liuyi first, a thorn under the nail. Why did Zaocun come somewhere this bleak and off-route? Is this where she meets Chulei? The thought fell like cold rain.

A figure slid out ahead, quiet as a shadow crossing paper.

Black military boots. Navy trousers and coat. A lantern-like detector in his hand. He wore the same outfit as the guard at the gate, as if stamped from a mold.

“Who are you? How did you get in?” His voice clanged like a gate bar. “I’m Liu Shaoyuan, security for Cargo Zone Seven. Did you break that magic golem?”

“Sorry about that…” Yue Liuyi tried to explain, words soft as falling snow. “We’re here to rescue someone. We told the white-uniform guard at the gate. We’ll pay for damages.”

“Rescue? Don’t joke. This is cargo. There are no people here. Leave now. You’re blocking work.” His tone was a broom sweeping them out.

“Wait—”

“Xiao Yue, hold on.” Dixue lifted a strand of side hair, calm as a tea pour. “Officer, if the corner centrifugal pump gets corroded by toxic storm rain, which repair solvent do you use?”

“Hmph. You doubting me?” The guard’s smile was thin as a blade. He hooked the lantern to his belt. “T-C45 neutralizer, of course.”

“And the ratio and temperature?” Her voice was a quiet needle.

“…” He went silent. Then, after a long beat, he clapped, slow, like rain on tin. “Not bad, miss. Tell me—where did I slip?”

“You did well. Every inch matches protocol. Even that fake face feels true.” Dixue sighed, regret a white breath. “But I checked before we came in. The real Guard Liu stutters. Speak. Where did you stash the real security?”

“I rushed it. Should’ve asked before knocking him out.” His eyes flared like storm sparks. “Since you won’t leave, I’ll make you. This isn’t work for adventurers.”

He clenched his fist. Fine lightning crawled over him and crackled, bones popping like firewood.

“Then come.” Dixue’s eyes sharpened like frost on glass.

They moved at once. The man blurred into a black wraith. A silver arc bloomed before Dixue, cold as a drawn moon.

Silver met shadow in a heartbeat, kissed, and parted. The man stood back where he’d been, still as a statue, as if he’d never moved. The silver light at Dixue’s front was gone, swallowed like a star by cloud.

“!!”

Surprise pricked both hearts at once, a twin spark. In that first taste, each found the other deeper than expected. Treat this lightly, and it would turn thorny fast.

“Xiao Xue!”

“Are you the one who took Xiaoyue’s friend?” Dixue asked, but her hand flicked behind her, a falling leaf—don’t act.

“You really came to save someone?” His stance surged like a wave meeting rock. “I admit you’re not ordinary adventurers. But ahead is my enemy—and my junior. I won’t pass that to others.”

He planted a foot. The air around him felt like a drawn bow.

A flicker of recognition tugged Yue Liuyi first, warm and startling, like a hidden lantern lit. Same outline. Eye spacing a mask can’t fake. A name rose in her mind like dawn.

“Xiao Xue, he might be here to save someone too,” Yue whispered, breath a thread.

“I know, Xiaoyue.” Dixue nodded. Shorter she might be, but her silver presence pressed like snowfall, quiet and heavy. She stepped up. “Apologies. Rangers Lodge has authority to take over in special cases. Even if this ties to you, it’s our duty. No one may block us.”

“Rangers Lodge? Silver hair? Thousand Night Snow?” He blinked, then his voice dropped like thunder rolling close. “I didn’t recognize you. Guess the crisis rattled me.”

“Not just me. The whole Rangers Lodge is here.” Dixue’s smile was a thin crescent.

“Watching Dixue perform is so boring. My lips are dry…” Maria sighed, snapped her fingers, and a lip balm popped from the finger of her mechanical arm. She painted her lips, a noblewoman before the hunt.

Xiang Xiaoyan stepped up beside Dixue, silent as a shadow, heat banked like coals.

“Arcanist Maria? Shadowflame, Xiang Xiaoyan? Ha!” He eyed them and laughed, sound bright as lightning on iron.

“Why are you laughing!” Xiang Xiaoyan’s brows knit, a blade’s edge showing.

“Sorry. I’m not laughing at you.” He lifted a hand, palm to cheek. “I’m laughing at Nightmare Rust and the Blood Witch. Those Murder Fiends cast for minnows. Looks like they hooked a whale.”

He gripped and tore the face at his cheek. The disguise peeled like old bark, and his real features showed, sharp as a storm-cleared sky.

“Formal introduction. I’m the bartender—Chulei. Or, if you like, call me the leader of the Thunderclap Smugglers—Black Hawk.”