Back in the inn room, she tidied her satchel, then sank into a bath where steam curled like a soft lake in spring.

Shelika slipped into fresh clothes and drew True Crimson Whirl from the bag, the chain-sword a coiled crimson serpent in her hands.

The moment she gripped it, power surged up her arm like a tide breaking through stone.

She lifted it closer and studied the hilt—two spell cores set opposite, colors split like twin stars in iron.

“Dragon’s Heart and Sword’s Soul.” Fresh from the bath, rose-lit cheeks smiled. “I really did pick up two fine treasures.”

After gazing a while, a thought stirred like wind through bamboo.

“Right, I should check my current state.”

She murmured, and the Status Panel unfolded in her mind like a paper screen sliding open.

First lines, clear as moonlight on ink—

Darkborn Bloodline — S Rank.

Spell Level — Lv.14.

…

She wanted to see exactly how Dragon’s Heart and Sword’s Soul fed her power.

Dragon’s Heart boosted the body, so it touched the base attribute, Strength.

Like with Lance, base attributes lived under the bloodline branch.

She opened Darkborn Bloodline’s branch and looked down—

Strength — Lv.1…

Same as last time. A mage’s frail frame, dainty as willow, capped at Lv.1.

Yet behind that bleak Lv.1 sat a +4, like a hidden ember.

In truth, her Strength stood at Lv.5.

That Strength matched what Lance had when he first left Wood Bay, roughly the baseline of a Charge Knight. But Charge Knights flare Battle Aura; Shelika doesn’t. So Lv.5 still feels thin, like a blade against a boulder.

Fulin never meant to lean on that alone.

It’s enough that this strength lets Shelika wield a sword, no longer a girl with no grip to wring a chicken’s neck.

Then add the other core, Sword’s Soul.

It doesn’t show on the Status Panel, but when she feeds mana into True Crimson Whirl, the serrated chain-blade blooms with a faint red aura, like dusk glowing on steel.

That aura, plus the chain-sword’s cunning design, is a hunter’s snare in motion.

Used right, it turns a fight like wind turning a fire.

Shelika breathed in, understanding settling like clear dew. “So this is True Crimson Whirl’s real strength…”

A formidable arcane melee weapon, True Crimson Whirl.

Add Blood Armament’s Vanguard and Shooter.

Even if her Spell Level can’t fully show and her Priestly Authority is locked, she can stand against an Earth Rank Knight, and handle scenes with easy grace—like Lance did.

Joy flickered bright as lanterns. “Great. I’m so much more ready for the Holy City now!”

Then loneliness slid in like a long shadow. “So… I’m leaving this city.”

Oriel City had held her in a quiet eddy. In two years on this earth, Fulin had found her most peaceful days here.

If she weren’t wrapped in Shelika’s skin, this would be the shape closest to her ideal life.

But because she wears that skin, life here stays mist over water, lovely and untouchable.

In the end, a dream—like a night-blooming flower, blazing once and gone. Why?

“Because I’m Fulin Belit.” Before the mirror, she let her true figure spill through, and set a palm to the glass like touching a lake’s face.

The one in the mirror was herself.

A man who once chased a quiet office life, steady as a bench under a tree.

Yet the mirror held no salaryman’s trace, only a Blood Clan maiden, delicate as a bud, beauty new and strange.

She stared at that strange beauty and felt a pang, like a string pulled tight.

Then stubborn fire rose. She blinked away sudden tears. Facing her changing self, she said, “No matter how I change, I must live a quiet life.”

“For the future, I can compromise on many things. But on a quiet life, I won’t bend…”

Those words settled like stones, and the Chaos Vampire’s outline melted away.

Shelika stood before the mirror again, steady as a blade sheathed.

“All right. Time to head for the Holy City.” Her mood leveled, voice firm.

She looked toward the window.

“Evening already.”

“When you don’t watch it, time runs fast,” she sighed, a leaf carried on current.

Outside, the streets ran sparse. Fewer pedestrians than usual, and more soldiers and knights, hard as nails in gray light.

She watched vigilance spike like a drawn bow. “Because of the beast tide?”

In memories of the Dark Spirit Empire, cities didn’t guard this hard against beast tides.

“Sixty years have passed…” she said, voice wandering like smoke.

“All right, let’s go.”

She packed her things, ate a special ration blood cake, tidied the room’s minor chaos, then went downstairs.

She set her key on the counter and left the exact coin beside it, like placing two pebbles on a shrine.

Behind the counter, a Demonic Human Race matron sat easy, smoking a long pipe, her smoke curling like pale snakes. Her eyes twitched, surprised.

“Leaving already?” the hostess said, voice lifting like a startled bird.

“Yes,” Shelika said, calm as rain.

The hostess rose. “Leaving now? It’s dangerous outside. The beast tide’s almost here!”

Oriel City wore her words. At dusk, the streets were bare, shops shuttered like closed eyelids, doors and windows latched. Soldiers and hunters moved in tense files, a river of steel.

Shelika still walked for the door, voice soft as cotton. “Don’t worry about me.”

“All right, all right.” The hostess sighed deep. “May the Earth Mother watch you.”

At the stable beside the inn, Shelika faced the Eternal War Armor, dust lying on it like dry ash after days at rest.

“Time to go, big guy.” She sprinkled water, washing grit away like rain over stone.

Beep—

The sound popped bright, happiness like a sparrow chirp trapped in iron.

It really was delighted. The Eternal War Armor rose from its crouch, almost tipping the stable roof like a careless giant.

With that clumsy lift, its big “cloak” slid down.

Shelika raised the tarp with mana, a gentle wind under cloth. She draped it back, threaded a rope through the collar, and tied a tight knot.

“Keep this on,” she warned. “Don’t let anyone see your shape.”

Beep…

The sound drooped, an apology in two notes.

Shelika didn’t mind. She checked the cover, sure it would pass unless someone stared, like a shadow on shadow.

“Let’s move.” She pointed toward the street, finger an arrow.

Beep!

And so, one woman and one machine set off, footsteps pairing like drum and flute.

In Oriel City, large servants weren’t rare. As they reached the street, they nearly clipped a raging rhinoceros, muscle like rolling hills.

Shelika stepped ahead and offered a quick apology, words light as a tossed pebble.

Hunters on the rhino dismounted. Their captain waved it off, easy as smoke.

He grinned. “You out to make a quick score too?”

“No. I’m leaving the city,” Shelika said, voice steady as a straight path.

He didn’t press. He pointed toward their aim. “The beast tide’s coming from that way.”

Armed folk streamed to that side, a flock shifting with wind.

He pointed the other way. “If you’re leaving, use that gate. Fewer monsters that way. Safer travel.”

“Thanks for the tip.” Shelika parted and moved on, a boat slipping down current.

One woman and one machine kept walking.

Here, the street lay empty.

Stone spread under dusk like a dry riverbed, silent and long.

Shelika looked and felt her heart twist, like a knot not yet pulled free.

“A beast tide, huh.”

Truth is, she still had no real sense of it. She only knew it bit hard, like frost on crops.

She walked on. The Eternal War Armor thudded behind, heavy steps like drums in a fog.

This path crossed the Blood Clan alley.

Charlotte’s Monster Flavor sat in that narrow way, a small den warm as a hearth.

Shelika pictured Charlotte—silly yet sweet, a kitten that trips over its own tail—and worry tugged like a ribbon.

“Before I go, I should say goodbye to Charlotte.” The thought settled like a pebble in a stream.

She had the Eternal War Armor wait at the mouth. She went into the alley, shadow cool as a cave.

It was empty here too, city’s breath held tight.

Sunset couldn’t reach this slot. The gloom lay down like early night.

Shelika paced forward and knocked on Monster Flavor’s door, knuckles soft as rain.

A small side door opened. A scarred face appeared—once wild to her eyes, now familiar as an old path.

He still wore a maid outfit, lace sitting awkward on muscle like ivy on stone.

He set his broom aside. “Oh! Big sis’s friend. Come in,” he said, voice bright as lantern light.

Inside, no customers—only his boys.

All in plate, swords propped, uneasy on benches, eyes flicking outward like sparrows at thunder.

Not seeing Charlotte, Shelika asked, “Is Charlotte still asleep?”

“Boss woke early,” the burly maid said, swapping into plate and hefting a greatsword. He pointed up the narrow stairs, worry like a crease in paper. “She’s still upstairs. You should check on her.”

“Okay.”

Shelika climbed. The stair was tight, steep as a ladder. She placed each step like a leaf settling on water.

Who knows how Charlotte doesn’t tumble coming down. Maybe she’s already fallen enough times to learn.

With stray thoughts drifting like fluff, Shelika reached the second floor.

It was their living space. The largest room belonged to Charlotte, warm as a nest.

Shelika stopped at the door and knocked, knuckles tapping like bamboo.

“Charlotte, you in?”

“I—I am!” The voice trembled, Charlotte’s for sure, a sparrow in wind.

Worry rose like a tide. Shelika opened the door.

Charlotte was still on the bed, not lying but prone, hips raised. A pillow covered her head like a shield, fear curling her small frame.

The sight puzzled Shelika. “What’s wrong?”

Charlotte didn’t seem to notice Shelika had entered. She spoke as if Shelika stood outside. “M-Miss, I… I’m in!”

A flicker of annoyance passed, small and quick. Then Shelika noticed that lifted backside.

It begged for mischief, a ripe peach in reach. She smiled and gave it a gentle tap.

Slap. And at the same time, “Yaa~~!”

A squeal with a breathy lilt, like a flute’s hiccup.

She jolted upright, knee-jerk fast, a startled deer leaping.

Seeing Shelika, her cheeks flushed pink. “D-Don’t tease me!”

The protest faded, and the timid curl returned. She hugged a plush, head down, body trembling like a leaf.

The look worried Shelika. She sat close, rubbed her back like smoothing silk, and asked softly, “What’s wrong? Did someone bully you?”

Charlotte barely seemed to hear. A question called, so she answered in fog. “I-I’m fine, okay~!”

As Shelika’s brows knit, the maid stepped to the doorway, troubled like he was naming a fever. “Every beast tide, Boss gets like this.”

“She turns this useless?” Shelika said. Though she’s kind of useless usually, too.

The burly man in a maid uniform shook his head, helpless as an ebbing tide, and explained, “Yeah. Besides spellcraft, Big Sis was born a beast‑tamer. She communes with monsters and feels their mood like ripples on a lake.”

“So when a horde of beasts flares with anger like wildfire, she gets scared like a fawn in thunder. Especially during a beast tide.”

Understanding settled over Shelika like dusk. “I see,” she murmured.

“But I’ve never seen her this terrified,” he sighed, the sound thin as wind through reeds. “So we’re worried the city might be doomed too.”

Silence fell over Shelika like ash after a burn. She knew what he meant.

“If it is,” Shelika asked, voice steady as a drawn bowstring, “what will you do?”

Relief loosened the man’s shoulders like a rope unknotted. “The Empire’s huge. We’ll take Big Sis and keep heading north!”

The underling who’d been licking his knife sauntered over. Reading the room like a hunter reading tracks, he tried to soothe them. “C’mon, what are you thinking? This is Oriel City, the most important city in the south. We’ve got the army, a priest corps, and the City Lord is That Lord. A beast tide’s just beasts. No way Oriel City falls. Ha—hahaha!”

He finished with a roguish laugh, like surf slapping stone. And then his words turned omen—the echo barely died when a thunderous boom rolled in and the floor shuddered like a ship in waves.

“What’s happening!?” Shock cracked the room like ice.

Fear pricked first, but Shelika moved before it rooted. She strode to the window, yanked the curtain, and looked out.

From the second floor they saw past the alley to the street. A giant monster had burst onto the road like a moving hill.

It was rhinoceros‑shaped, and just its height hit twenty meters, a mountain of flesh and horn that swallowed the street.

In front of it lay a building reduced to rubble, a crushed hive. Smoke boiled up, and blue fire licked from the base like glacier flames.

That same blue fire glowed in the monster’s gaping maw, a forge of azure coals.

No doubt—the beast had wrecked that building, its fury a battering ram.

The boom and the quake had been its ruinous charge, beating the city like a drum.

It had broken through the city wall to get in, stone dust clinging to its hide like frost.

Soldiers and hunters still hung from it like burrs on a bull, their weapons stabbing in and out like needles in tough leather.

A mage squad arrived soon after, cloaking rooftops like perched hawks. They hurled attack spells to pin it, a storm of light and sigils.

It barely noticed. Against that bulk, the soldiers’ blades were a scratch on a boulder, and the mages’ fire was a warm shower.

The giant kept its rush, heedless as a landslide, smashing building after building like clay jars.

Watching the street’s unraveling felt like cold rain soaking their hearts. Misery pooled in the room.

Thankfully, the beast couldn’t reach them yet, distance a thin wall of breath.

In that brief lull, Shelika turned back, slow as a turning moon. “What will you do next?”

They said nothing. Their leader asked Shelika, “And you?”

“This one intends—” As she spoke, her fingers had already tightened on True Crimson Whirl. The etched blade‑spirit stirred as mana poured in, and a red dawn bled along the steel.