The scene lay in hush, like ash after a wildfire.

No screams, no wails—only silence, thick as fog.

On this street, save Shelika, thousands died in a single blast, like candles snuffed at once.

A grieving wind brushed the street-turned-ruin, like a veil over broken stone.

The hands behind the slaughter stepped from the sky, like hawks dropping on prey.

They were from the Heavenly Spirit Empire’s Strategic Bureau—a five-person squad with a Divine Warrior—descending and landing steady amid the rubble.

They admired the wreckage, eyes gleaming like ice.

When they saw someone still breathing, displeasure creased their faces like storm-lines.

“How’s there one still alive?” one said, gaze locking on Shelika.

Shelika’s eyes held grief rimmed with steel, like moonlight on a blade.

A heartbeat later, she spoke, voice low and cold. “Do you know what you’ve done?”

They smirked, pride bright as frost. “Of course. For the Empire—purging those vile Dark Spirits.”

Yet the truth lay elsewhere, shadowed like a blade behind silk.

Shelika knew this was the nearest Dark Spirit metropolis behind the line. “So you mean to cripple a strategic rear city?” she said, voice like a drawn bow.

He laughed, harsh as gravel. “So you can put two and two together.”

His eyes flashed predatory. “Not that it helps. You’ll die soon, filthy Blood Clan.”

With that, the five spread out, formation unfolding like a net.

One Sky Rank knight, two Earth Rank Knights, and two high mages wielding 7th-tier spells—like mountain, stone, and storm.

Even without the idling Divine Warrior, their combined strength towered over Shelika like a cliff over surf.

If blades crossed now, Shelika would surely lose, like a spark before rain.

Knowing that, doubt tightened her chest, a winter knot—then the city garrison arrived like drums on the wind.

Such a brutal blast drew eyes like crows to carrion.

The closest unit, bound east to reinforce against beasts, wheeled back like riders turning at horn-call.

“Leave this to us!” A Demonic Human Race knight waved Shelika back and led his best toward the enemy, a surge like a black tide.

“A bout? Gladly.” They sent an Earth Knight to meet him, steel greeting steel like thunderheads colliding.

“Heh, filthy White Spirit!” The Demonic Human Race Earth Knight rode his Battle Aura like a storm; blades rang, sparks flew, and in several exchanges he matched the elite Earth Rank Knight blow for blow.

His lieutenants pressed numbers like a rolling wave, trading evenly with the other Earth Rank Knight.

Fighting, they cursed. “You filthy White Spirits—slaughtering civilians!”

“Hah. You’ve no right,” the Earth Rank Knight said, weaving Battle Aura and technique like wind through reeds against several foes.

For two minutes the clash roared like iron rain, then more garrison troops poured in.

Fresh from fighting beasts, they saw the street cratered and the five Celestial Spirit operatives; blood ran hot, and they charged like a stampede.

As reinforcements swelled like a river in flood, the squad’s two Earth Rank Knights began to falter.

The other three, guarding the Divine Warrior, watched the tide of enemies, faces calm as stone.

“Hnh. Ants stay ants, no matter the swarm,” one sneered, voice like cold wire.

He unfurled wings of mana and rose into the air, staff raised; power gathered in an instant like a stormhead, then turned toward the charging ranks—

“Be erased beneath the Light Deity’s wrath!”

As he spoke, power hardened and fired dozens of white lances, like comets streaking.

The garrison mages snapped shields up over their comrades, quick as sprouting bamboo.

But the Celestial Spirit mage cast the 6th-tier holy-light spell “Powerful Pierce,” while the garrison used the 4th-tier protection spell “Earth Shield.” Lower tier, and his spell was made to punch through.

The result was inevitable, like glass under a hammer.

Shields shattered; white light speared through the reinforcements. Blood poured, and they fell mid-charge like wheat under a scythe.

After that strike, the battle soured sharply, like dawn smothered by storm.

The garrison commander watched his men drop, fury knotted with helplessness. He shouted at a runner, “Where’s Lady Hela? Where’s our mage corps?!”

The trembling messenger stammered: Lady Hela and her party—bodies found.

Another runner arrived, breath like broken bellows: the northern wall breached by beasts.

Blow after blow, the commander let his head sag. “Damn it. The city’s finished,” he said, voice like a cracked drum.

Yet he didn’t quit. He lifted his head and pointed, roar cutting the smoke. “Whatever it takes—bring those damned White Spirits down!”

“Yes!”

More soldiers flowed in, folding into the siege like waves against rock.

The five saw the count swell to full regiments—no longer a skirmish but a stormfront.

So the squad’s other mage moved, calm as a blade leaving its sheath.

He raised his staff and shot a pure beam into the sky; it burst like cold fireworks.

“Servants descend! Summon divine servitors equal to the enemy’s count!”

More light-points fell, sketching summoning circles; like seeds to soldiers, hundreds of divine servitors rose.

The servitors surged at the Dark Spirit troops, blades bright as noon.

At first, the Dark Spirits held the line like a stout wall.

“Just spellborns!” Soldiers cut down servitor after servitor, pushing the line like a tide rising.

Slowly, the current turned strange, like a chill under warm rain.

As they neared the mages, the fallen servitors rose again, like bones remembering breath.

While troops pressed the revived ones down, a cold chant cut the din: “Servants descend! Summon more servitors!”

The Celestial Spirit mage called yet more, light raining like sleet.

Numbers flipped; soldiers found their arms heavy, like swimmers in undertow.

“Damn it—ah!” Exhausted troops couldn’t hold; light-swords skewered them, blood pouring, bodies dropping like felled pines.

The commander had to join, resolve hardening like iron from the forge.

While legion and servitors clashed like wildfire, Shelika slipped in from another side toward the five.

The wind stilled; they sensed her and turned, faces like masks.

“What’s your play? Not running?” one called, voice carrying like a bell.

Cold gaze steady, Shelika asked, emotion a deep, dark tide. “You plan to kill the rest in this city, don’t you?”

“Of course,” he said, laugh sharp. “If they’re Dark Spirits, not one walks away.”

A mage snapped a light-arrow at her without warning, swift as a viper.

Shelika slid a body-length aside, the arrow hissing past. She lifted True Crimson Whirl. “Then whoever you are—I will not forgive you,” she said, voice like winter steel.

“Heh.” Cold snort; the attack unfurled like a stormfront.

Two Earth Rank Knights rushed left and right, pincer closing like fangs.

In answer, Shelika spread her wings; a surge of air slammed them back. She vaulted into midair and summoned twenty Vanguard drones, like crimson swallows.

“What—?!” Seeing the strange craft, the two Earth Rank Knights raised their guard, wariness like drawn wire.

At once, Shelika sent the Vanguard cluster at the two, motion like a net cast wide.

“Go, my retainers.” At her word, the drones swarmed like a storming bat-cloud, diving at the knights.