Once the vanguard swarm was summoned, it surged like a hive, and dove at the monsters.

Dozens of drones fanned out like a rolling storm, arrowing toward the beasts.

Faced with a sudden flood of strange-shaped foes, the pack faltered, like wolves blinded by snow.

But instinct bit first; with enemies incoming, the beasts met them head-on.

They kept their earlier frenzy, claws spread, leaping and swiping at the vanguard, like tigers snapping at crows.

They still thought Shelika’s vanguard was just some kind of bird.

Very soon, they learned they were wrong, like a dream dashed with cold water.

The drones dove, then held off. Each hovered ten meters out, like hawks circling out of reach.

A heartbeat later they locked targets. The 9mm micro rotary guns under their bellies began to spin fast—

Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh. Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh.

A dense, piercing whine split the air; the beast crashed down, clean and brisk, like a tree felled in one stroke.

Then the same scene repeated, like scythes sweeping wheat.

Soon the smaller beasts were scrubbed from the field, like foam wiped off a blade.

Only two big ones remained, looming like boulders.

Looking down at them, Shelika said, airy and cold, “You two wish to be this lady’s enemies as well?”

In that scene the words were pure provocation, like a fan flicked in a duel.

One roared; the other spat an ice lance on the spot, like a shard torn from winter.

Shelika pivoted and slipped past the lance, smiling. “Then accept the grand gift of death from this lady.”

Dozens of vanguards surged in, circling the pair and pouring fire like rain.

The two had no defense. They clawed and scratched, all in vain, like bears swatting smoke.

In no time they were riddled like wasp nests, then toppled like small hills, thundering to the dirt.

The father and son, having watched it all, burst out. “Such power! Such strange arts! Is this the true Dark Blood Clan?!”

Shelika answered with easy arrogance and a teasing lilt. “Heh-heh—yes.”

Their attitude turned deferential, like grass bending to wind. Pete glanced at the fallen beasts, then shuffled up. “There’s plenty of valuable stuff on them, miss—no, ma’am. If you don’t mind, I’d like to scavenge a bit.”

Shelika said, “Don’t waste too much time,” her voice cool as moonlight.

“Yes, yes!” The two jumped to it, pulling utility knives to strip the hides, like skinners by a riverside.

The cutting dragged on for half a day, like sawing through old bone.

“Sorry to keep you waiting.” They came back, faces full of apology, like boys caught in rain.

Shelika said nothing, just, “Let’s go.”

“Yes, yes!” They scrambled to their driver seats. The two vehicles rolled out again, like carts under a steady wind.

In the Dark Spirit Empire, day is short and night long. It wasn’t long before dusk bled in, like ink in water.

Near night, more beasts crept onto the road, like shadows thickening.

Even so, the two vehicles kept a good pace, steady as a river.

So the flanking monsters, unless giant like those by day, were just passing scenery, a blur at the edges.

Amid a monster‑sown wild the father and son treated like roadside weeds, Fulin, wearing Shelika’s face, finally felt it sink in.

She had truly arrived in the Dark Spirit Empire, like a traveler stepping onto known yet foreign soil.

Yet what lay before her didn’t match Shelika’s memories, like a map smudged by rain.

Shelika frowned, puzzled. “Aren’t there too many beasts out here?”

Pete turned his head. “You don’t know? After the great Earth Mother granted her Divine Favor, the southern wilds filled up with more monsters.”

Shelika knit her brows. “Divine Favor? What exactly is it?”

“You’re Dark Blood Clan, aren’t you? How could you not know about the Favor?!” Pete was startled, eyes wide as lanterns.

“Well…” Shelika reached for a pretext. “This lady’s been in the Mist Forest all along. I don’t know what’s new.”

“Fair enough.” Pete steadied himself, then explained, his voice slow as a drumbeat.

“A year ago, our great Earth Mother answered Lord Loqi’s prayers and sent a miracle. Her vassal god, Bal, descended upon the Holy City, to aid our legions in quickly defeating those accursed Celestial Spirits!”

“That, in short, is the Earth Mother’s great Divine Favor to save us.” Finishing, Pete wore devotion and pity, like a priest in smoke.

Shelika listened and sank into thought, like a pebble in a well.

Soon she murmured, focused. “Bal… the god of sacrifice and victory.”

Pete brightened. “Yes! Our god of victory.”

Shelika’s confusion deepened. “Isn’t the god of victory a war god? How is he a stone carving?”

Opposite the Heavenly Spirit Empire, the Dark Spirit Empire also has three vassal gods under its chief deity.

They’re called the God of Wisdom, the God of Plenty, and the God of Victory, names ringing like bells.

The Victory God’s image is a burly knight of the Demonic Human Race.

That was the root of her doubt, like a thorn under silk.

Pete couldn’t answer at once, words snagging like twine.

Then he wondered, “Lady Shelika, if you’ve always been in the Mist Forest, how do you know that?”

“Ah—well…” Shelika’s heart skipped, then she smoothed the lie like a hand over satin. “This lady is an ecological surveyor. I exchange letters with the authorities regularly. Major events get reported.”

“I see…” Pete didn’t suspect a thing, trust settling like dust.

After a few casual words, Pete circled back to the day’s events. “I didn’t expect Lady Shelika to be so young yet such a strong mage, and that investigator—”

“Ecological surveyor.”

“Right, right! You serve in a key post with the authorities. You must be a big figure among the Blood Clan?” he said, with plain flattery, like bread and salt.

“Not that remarkable.” Shelika turned her head aside and gazed at the night sky, calm as a lake.

Stars spilled across the sky. Far off, a starless zone gleamed with five colors, like a river of glass.

The scene felt familiar yet strange, like a song half remembered.

Shelika had little interest in the Demonic Human father and son’s chatter. She let it flow past, and pulled a sleeping bag from her pack, like a moth folding its wings.

“This lady will rest now,” she said.

“Alright. Then good night—wait—”

“What is it?”

Pete suddenly asked something that seemed important, a pebble tossed into a pond. “Doesn’t the Blood Clan rest by day and move by night? Why are you resting now?”

Shelika froze for a beat, like a sparrow startled, then quickly, “Work habits,” she slid past, smooth as oil.

“I see. I won’t disturb you, then. I’ll call you if anything happens.”

“Mm.”

Shelika lay down, but the sleep was poor, like rain on tin.

The vehicle jolted to keep speed. Shelika barely slept, shaken like a seed in a gourd.

She woke still tired, spirit frayed like a worn thread.

She wanted to sleep more, but saw the morning sun crawl up, like a slow ember.

She swallowed her tangle of irritation, stowed the sleeping bag, and fixed her appearance with quick strokes, like combing dew from grass.

“When do we arrive?” Shelika asked next.

Pete looked over the barren land and guessed. “Soon. Half a day more.”

“Alright…”

Shelika drifted in boredom, swatting time like dust motes.

Morning. Noon. Afternoon.

Half a day slid by, like sand in a glass.

The gobi that first felt grand yet soon turned dull began to change, like a canvas taking color.

Green patches appeared. Hearth smoke rose from homes. More vehicles threaded the road, like ants on a trail.

The vehicle crested a slope. Looking down and far, they saw ranks of buildings in neat rows, and people drifting like dust, yet filling every street.

“We’re almost there. Oriel City,” Pete said.