On the road to the City of the Dead, White Cat’s mind clawed at one knot—how did Jue keep Caro from becoming an insect? If we crack that riddle, we might find a way to resist the Twelve Divine Demon Artifacts.

Fear first, caution second—Augustine pushed the wheelchair slow over the broken earth. The ground bucked like old scales; he feared every jolt would bruise Caro. Same age, same scars, same survivor’s breath—he set his jaw and vowed to protect her.

“White Cat… sir, up ahead… what is that?” Caro pointed with a trembling hand. Ahead, limbs raved like sea-grass in a storm. Arms and legs floated as if alive—thick forearms, silk-thin calves, even insect limbs like jointed knives. All of them swayed, like a carnival for the damned.

Blood pattered from those limbs, bead by bead, painting the dirt, staining the river red.

“That’s… the Dismembering Codex, one of the Twelve Demon Artifacts. Damn it. The Twelve Sacred Artifacts are the tame ones; the Twelve Demon Artifacts are blood made law.” White Cat flinched behind a tree, fur bristling. “You two, hide. If it notices us, we’re done. The Demon Artifacts are brutality itself. Cat Lord isn’t picking that fight today.”

Even without the warning, Augustine’s gut had already told him to vanish. That scene was slaughter given wind.

Rumble—an immense sound rolled out. The earth shivered under their feet.

“White Cat… there’s someone there. Do we… save her?” Caro couldn’t move on her own. She asked soft, only seeking White Cat’s call.

On the open ground, a swarm of limbs writhed. Some hands gripped axes, long knives, tools for ruin. Severed heads drifted overhead, mouths grinning wide, drool stringing down, like hunger that had waited a hundred years.

Those limbs ringed a girl. Her silver hair flashed like cold moonlight. Augustine saw the same death-silver shade as his and felt a small, guilty warmth. But look closer—she wasn’t human. White dragon wings spread from her back. Scales inked her palms, claws taloned bright. A dragon tail lashed, batting limbs away like dried leaves.

“Dragonkin? That little lass is man and dragon fused—half-dragon, half-human,” White Cat said. Caro and Augustine stared, eyes wide; they hadn’t seen a true dragon, let alone a rare half-blood.

“Cat Lord, let’s help her. She’s about to drop.” Augustine’s voice tightened. Her white dress hung in ribbons. Blood bloomed on the cloth like red flowers in winter. She stood on sheer will; the next breath might put her on the ground.

White Cat stroked his whiskers, tail twitching. He didn’t answer yet.

“Human kid, don’t let hormones run your brain. Think. The Dismembering Codex hasn’t seen us. While it watches the lass, we can slip away. If you rush in, you’ll get marked. The Twelve Demon Artifacts aren’t the Twelve Sacred Artifacts—they don’t blink.”

Augustine faltered. Survival was a thin thread; to save another might cut it.

“I know. But Cat Lord—living can’t be hiding under fear forever, can’t be a life of regret and self-blame. If I do nothing and the world dies, if only I’m left—what’s the point? Humans are pack creatures. We laugh together, we grieve together. That’s being human.”

For a boy his age, the words came old and salted. Love or hate, if you’re the last soul alive, even your hatred has no face. Sometimes, being able to hate someone means you’re blessed with company.

Caro looked at Augustine’s set jaw and waved. “Don’t mind me. I’ll wait here. You go save her.”

White Cat touched whiskers again; his eyes were polished jade, unreadable.

“Kid, if you’ve decided, then go start your hero-saves-the-beaut—” His words cut off. A host of phantom figures drifted in from afar, ghosts slipping through trees and limbs. Each held a torch. Black cloaks streamed behind them as they flew.

Augustine thought they were passing through. They weren’t. The torchbearers halted over the knot of limbs. Their bodies couldn’t touch branches or meat, but their fire could. The flames bit like living teeth.

“First squad, hear me—burn!”

The captain jabbed a finger at the gore. Black-robes surged in. They passed through limbs like fog—yet their torches lit flesh after flesh. Heads howled in the blaze, a chorus ripped from the throat of hell.

Caro and Augustine gaped at the ghost brigade. Torches turned limbs to ash. The limbs slashed and clawed, but couldn’t land a blow. The ghostfire kept eating, bright and smug. Augustine thought, If there’s a cheat in this world, this is it—hit them all, be hit by none.

“Comrades, raise your torches! Burn this filth! Give back blue sky and clean air!”

The black-robes chased the fleeing limbs, shouting like a drumline—“Burn! Burn! Burn!” They were untouchable specters, but their torches dealt ton after ton of pain.

Soon the limb-feast was cindered clean. The price was a wildfire boiling across the plain.

With the limbs gone, Augustine moved. He pushed Caro’s chair closer to the half-dragon girl.

“Miss, are you alright?” Caro steadied the girl as she swayed. Augustine tried to approach, but her reaction snapped tight—eyes cold with kill, he stopped. To Caro, a fellow girl, she showed less teeth.

“I’m Caro. This is Augustine. And the one on his head is White Cat.” Caro kept her tone soft. The girl didn’t flinch at her touch, so she went on.

The half-dragon girl gasped for air, spent to the bone. After a while, her breath eased. She looked up at the sky, eyes a lake of fog. “I’m a human–dragon hybrid… My name…”

She wiped blood from the corner of her mouth, thinking.

“My name… is Bai.”

Bai let out a thin breath and turned to leave, steps wobbling like reeds in wind. Seeing that, Caro called fast, “Miss Bai, you’re badly hurt. Come with us…”

Even Augustine worried. But Bai’s frost toward men kept him quiet. He swallowed his words and stood back.

Bai kept tottering. Caro spun her wheels and caught up. “Miss Bai, your wounds are heavy. Don’t go alone just to be stubborn.” She’d thought Bai had some urgent reason—a family in danger, a task on fire. Close up, she saw no anxiety in Bai’s face. Only a blank horizon.

Lost—that’s what you call a child who’s dropped the trail of life.

“Miss Bai, we met on a battlefield and both lived. That makes us friends, right?” Caro’s eyes turned bright with a plan. She waved Augustine off, telling him not to break the spell.

“Friends?”

Bai’s gaze was empty. Maybe her world didn’t have that word.

“Yeah. Friends. We help each other. You’re hurt, so don’t go alone. Stay with your friends for now.”

Caro reached and took Bai’s hand, just to try. Safe now, Bai’s hands had shed scale and claw. They were small and pale, like porcelain kept from sun.

Held like that, Bai trembled. Then she steadied. She murmured, “So… this is a friend?”

“Yes, Miss Bai. A friend is warm. A friend is steady. Stay with us. Heal. Then go where you wish, do what you need.”

Maybe it was Caro’s healing smile, soft as spring rain. Bai didn’t pull away. She shut her eyes, as if tasting what it means to have a friend.