She looked about Shelika’s age, a Blood Clan lady draped in twilight grace.

Her clothes glittered like a walking chandelier, gemstones winking like cold stars, with two male servants shadowing her like quiet moons. Status clung to her like perfume.

“Thank you for the compliment. This dress was—”

Warm pride flickered like a candle, then panic snuffed it. Shelika caught herself, hands clapping over her mouth like shutters in a sudden gust.

“What’s wrong?” the other asked, voice soft as velvet rain.

“It’s nothing…” The lie slid out like mist over a pond.

She thought for a heartbeat, thoughts fluttering like startled sparrows, then spun a story about the dress. “This one—was custom-made by a designer for a traveling merchant friend.”

“A traveling merchant?”

“Yes. His name’s Pete. He runs between frontline outposts and the big cities like a migrating hawk, doing military supplies.”

The Blood Clan lady didn’t doubt a thing, her smile smooth as still water. “Looks like a master’s work. Suits your aura nicely.”

“Yeah, it does.”

“You’ve got a great figure too.”

“Yours isn’t bad either.”

“Really?”

“Really… ah-haha…” Shelika echoed her laugh like a windchime forced to ring.

Inside, she groaned like an old hinge. This kind of talk drained her like a leaky gourd.

The lady’s gaze skimmed Shelika’s outfit again, eyes brushing over fabric like moths to flame.

One of the servants stepped up and whispered, words thin as moth wings. Shelika couldn’t catch it; she only saw the lady’s face settle, like clouds folding over a moon.

“Sorry to take so much of your time.”

“As thanks for chatting, let me tell you about a great shop.”

“A… great shop?” The awkward phrasing snagged on Shelika’s ear like a burr.

But curiosity tugged like a hooked fish.

“Yes. A new dessert place. Opened last week like a new flower. A friend recommended it; the taste was lovely.”

She gave the directions, eyes flicking like fireflies. “Right down that alley. It’s called ‘Monster Flavor.’ Try it if you’ve got time, miss.”

She swept off with her two shadows, feet quick as a swallow.

“‘Monster Flavor’… that sounds weird.” A parade of dark cuisine marched through Shelika’s mind, like bats from a cave. Her stomach rolled, then she shook her head, cutting the thought like a blade. “No. Focus. I’ve got real business.”

She had to go to the Central Exchange and sell the Evil Barrier Crystals she’d collected.

The Central Exchange sat across the city like a distant shore, about five kilometers away. Not far, but far enough to weigh on tired legs.

“Walk it?” She sighed, the sound a small cloud in the night.

Luck nudged her. A public beast-bus stood at the corner like a crouching ox.

The one-horned rhino up front bellowed, a horn-blast of a signal. Departure was now.

Shelika hurried, feet pattering like rain, and leapt aboard at the last heartbeat.

Midnight had thinned the passengers to ghosts. She dropped a lupi into a helmet-shaped cash box, coin ringing like a pebble in a well.

The dozing driver jerked awake like a cat, turned his head, and blinked. “Oh? A rare passenger.”

He was a young man of the Demonic Human Race, eyes ember-bright in the dim.

The beast-bus rolled out, wheels humming like a low stream.

He stared for a long beat, gaze heavy as a hand. It prickled Shelika’s skin like cold dew. “Not used to seeing Blood Clan?”

“Ah! Sorry.” He flinched, then fixed his focus on the reins like stitching a straight line.

The bus glided through deep streets, lamplight sliding backward like fallen leaves in a current.

“Where to, miss?” His voice drifted like smoke.

“Central Exchange,” Shelika said, letting the words fall like a stone. To end the talk, she drew an Evil Barrier Crystal from her satchel.

The driver’s eyes widened, surprise flaring like sparks. His tone straightened. “Didn’t take you for a hunter.”

In the Dark Spirit Empire’s shifting winds, that once-dismissed trade had risen like a storm kite. Outside the official ranks, only priests and knights stood higher.

“I’m not,” Shelika added, calm as frost. “This lady’s an amateur. No license.”

He waved a hand, casual as wind in grass. “Who cares anymore?”

They rolled past the city wall where Shelika had worked by day. He pointed, finger a spear toward scaffolds. “See that? A monster rammed the wall. Smashed it like a drum.”

“No one handled it then?” Her brows knit like tangled thread.

“Knights came. A few temple priests too.” His voice painted the scene like charcoal on paper. “But it was broad daylight. The priests’ power wouldn’t light. The beast went mad. The knights pushed it back after a brutal slog.”

“Impressive,” Shelika breathed, awe placed like a lantern on a step.

“Yeah, yeah. Even Oriel City’s like this now.” His sigh floated like fog.

“That bad across the nation?” The question flicked out like a fishing line.

“Not that wild. Mostly around the Holy City—”

The one-horned rhino slammed to a halt. Momentum pitched him forward; his face kissed the dash like a clumsy carp. “Ow!”

He popped up and peered outside. “Central Exchange.”

Shelika stepped down, cloak catching the night breeze like a sail. “Mm. Until next time.”

He waved, a leaf-lazy motion. “Good night, miss.”

The beast-bus didn’t linger. It rolled away like a beetle into the dark.

Shelika’s gaze left the lonely street—far from the Blood Clan quarter, quiet as a shelled seed—and rose to the building that stood like a beacon.

The Central Exchange.

In old-world slang, it looked like an adventurers’ guild, a hive of quests and coin. But this hive kept no adventurers. It was a market-lantern focused on trade.

Simple terms: the Central Exchange was a bazaar built for monster business, a river where materials flowed.

Almost every city in the Dark Spirit Empire had one, a chain of lights along a road.

Shelika could sell her Evil Barrier Crystals here, turning danger into coin.

A male clerk shuffled over, dark circles pooled under his eyes like ink. He smothered a yawn with a hand, manners stitched in even at midnight.

“How can I help you?”

“Selling. Evil Barrier Crystals.”

She spoke and produced one crystal, its depths breathing like a night lake.

Natural mana gathered inside it like stars in black water. It glowed with quiet, luring beauty.

The clerk woke up at once, interest flaring like a match. “Oh! We can.”

He glanced at the empty stalls in the hall, space yawning like a quiet field. “But I’m sorry. The guy who handles those keeps daylight hours. He opens around noon. Since you’re Blood Clan, it’s better to have someone set a time for you.”

“It’s fine.” Shelika nodded, voice cool as shade. “Let him know. I’ll be there.”

“Sure? I mean, you’re Blood Clan.” His worry fluttered like a tethered kite.

“It’s fine.”

“All right. Find me then, or go straight over there.” He pointed at the vacant stalls, fingers lazy as drifting reeds.

“Then I’ll take my leave.”

“Yeah, take care.” He yawned again, then muttered to the empty air, voice tumbling like loose gravel. “Times are tough. Even Blood Clan have to fend for themselves…”

The words weren’t quiet enough. They reached Shelika’s ears like a tossed pebble.

“What do you mean by that?” Her confusion rose like ripples.

“No, no!” He panicked, hands fluttering like startled birds. “I mean—it’s rare in this city to see a Blood Clan hunter. You’re unusual!”

“Is that so.” Her tone was unreadable, a mask smooth as lacquer.

“Good night then.”

“Good night.” He bowed a little deeper, respect widening like a doorway.

It was still late, and the hours felt hollow. With nothing to do, Shelika wandered the streets, footsteps a thin thread through stillness.

Blood Clan had fixed zones for their night-walks, and this sat on the edge like a shoreline. The street breathed the clean, cool quiet a night should have.

The wind moved like a cat’s paw. A few rodents skittered over stone eaves, their soft rustle like paper.

No threat. No danger.

Everything wore its everyday face like a familiar mask.

Today had been ordinary, every task a smooth pebble in the hand.

Unlike playing the Blazing Fire Knight not long ago—back then every heartbeat was a coin toss in a storm.

She looked down the street stretched long by night, a river of shadow. A low murmur slipped out like smoke. “If one day I get a peaceful life, could I live quietly somewhere, like this?”

She gave a small shake of the head. It felt like denying a wish tossed into a well, or mourning a petal already fallen.

Half an hour drifted by like pale ash.

After spooking a gravy-licking stray with a quick ghost act, she remembered the Blood Clan lady’s tip. A dessert shop with good reviews. Maybe a café.

She thought of the hours before noon, empty as a bowl. “I’ll kill time there.”

Decision made, she turned her steps back toward the Blood Clan street, then slipped into the named alley like a fish into a stream.

Blood Clan frequented the place, so the shops burned bright even now, lanterns like warm fruit. Voices jostled like a small market tide.

Gift shops, blood banks, beauty salons, and other tasteful spots lined the lane like beads. There were weapon stores too, selling ritual tools and knives that gleamed like cold teeth.

Shelika walked with a clouded gaze, seeing and not seeing, but careful not to miss any sign that might say “Monster Flavor.”

About ten minutes in, a rough shout cracked the alley’s refined air like a drum.

“Hey—hey—hey! Over here! The Empire’s freshest flavor, all in Monster Flavor!”

A mountain of muscle in a maid outfit held the front like a carnival barker. His arms were too thick; the sleeves had exploded like overripe pods, tattoos crawling into the light like vines.

The outfit was a joke, but his hands moved like a pro, sure as a chef’s knife.

“Just one sip of Monster Flavor! Watch this!”

He hawked and worked, shaking a cocktail shaker with beast milk and ice. His rhythm snapped like a metronome.

He made hand-shaken milk tea on the spot, motions smooth as a dance.

Shk-shk-shk. Shk-shk-shk. Before long—

A neat, pretty milkshake slid onto Shelika’s table, perfume sweet as a small orchard.

“Heh-heh-heh. Fair price. Nine lupi a cup.” The muscle-maid sold it like contraband in a back alley, grin wolfish.

Up close, his face rang a bell like a tapped cup. Shelika blurted, “You’re—?!”

No mistake. The “society man” from daytime.

Why was he working here? The question bobbed like a cork in her mind.

He seemed to have forgotten the earlier scuffle. “What about me?”

Taking her stare for curiosity about his getup, he puffed his chest, voice a drumbeat. “This is my uniform! It’s got Big Sis’s thick bonds of loyalty sewn in! And back in the day—”

A steel tray flew from behind and smacked the back of his head like a flat thunderclap. “Ow!”

A girl’s scolding floated from the kitchen like a flicked fan. “You’ll scare the customers!”

The voice tugged at Shelika, familiar as an old song she couldn’t place.

Another staffer leaned out, eyes sharp as pins. He was the one who’d licked the poisoned blade. “Boss, it’s her!”

The muscle-maid snapped to like a struck gong, then roared at Shelika, voice a bonfire. “What?! You, Blood Clan?!”

He bellowed toward the kitchen, “Boss! The one who bullied me in the day is here! She’s nasty and shameless—get her for me!”

“What?!”

Clatter—utensils shattered in the kitchen like ice.

A young girl burst out with a surge like a breaking wave, then slipped and hit the floor. “Ouch!”

She popped up a beat later like a spring, wiped a tear from the corner of her eye, and hopped onto an empty table. Hands on hips, tiger tooth flashing, she cut a fierce silhouette.

“Let’s see who dares bully my people. I, Lady Charlotte—”

Her gaze met Shelika’s face. The words hit a wall and fell, silent as snow.

The air in the hall froze like water in a sudden frost.