But Charlotte’s answer didn’t soothe them; it struck sparks on dry tinder and set their tempers flaring.

The lead Dark Blood Clan girl pressed closer, chin like a jabbed spear, barking, “No! Answer now—yes or no, do you agree?!”

Their presence bore down like a storm front, and Charlotte froze; her head dipped like a wilted flower, tears glimmering at the corner of her eye.

Hurt first, then breath; she forced her voice through a catching throat. “Charlotte… needs to discuss it… with big sis…”

Hearing the same reply, the other’s anger burst like a kicked hornet’s nest. “Always ‘big sis’—you useless coward!”

She let temper ride the reins and swung a slap, palm slicing the air like a fan blade toward Charlotte’s cheek!

Charlotte hunched, bracing for the sting like a leaf bracing for rain.

The slap never landed.

In a blink, Shelika caught the wrist from the side, fingers like an iron snare.

Her face was winter-cold as she said, “What do you think you’re doing?”

That effortless, razor-straight entrance stunned them like a bell struck at midnight.

Their leader had to wrench hard to rip her hand free; all four flinched back a few steps, retreating like startled birds before they found a “safe” strip of floor and dared to speak.

Maybe it was Shelika’s presence, heavy as a mountain; the leader’s voice lost its swagger and picked up a tremor like ripples on a pond. “Lady Cerise gave an order. Charlotte is to be recruited.”

With the boss’s cue, the other three piped up like crickets after dusk.

“Yeah—yeah!”

“Lady Cerise is not only an elder, she’s a priestess of the Crimson Temple!”

“And who are you to defy Lady Cerise?!”

Shelika’s gaze was cool as moonlight on a blade.

As bearer of the Dark Blood Clan queen’s lineage, she held a gift: she could read the strength of Blood Clan bloodlines as clearly as rings in a tree.

What she saw in these four—young, Charlotte’s age, and thin-blooded besides—said it all; they were errand dogs at best, sad shields at worst, destined to be spent for this so-called “Cerise.”

Pity first, then choice; out of clan mercy, and out of sympathy for their rank, Shelika said, “Go back quietly, and this humble one will pretend she saw nothing.”

But her words slid off like rain on oil.

They took no grace from it; because Shelika hadn’t named herself, and spoke from above them like a cliff above surf, their anger boiled over.

The leader’s hair might as well have bristled like a cat’s. “So you’re saying you’ll defy Lady Cerise?!”

Shelika glanced aside at Charlotte, who hid behind crates like a frightened rabbit behind brush.

“Go back,” she urged again, voice a steady river.

That calm was salt on their pride; the leader’s eyes flashed green with jealousy at the two generous cushions on Shelika’s chest, and she whipped out a staff like a snake. “Don’t underestimate us! Defy Lady Cerise and you won’t like the taste!”

Her stance screamed imminent strike, wind coiling like a whip.

But the instant the staff flashed into view, the world cracked with a single colossal report.

Boom—

Thunder in a clear sky; the sound rattled skulls like a dropped gong.

Of course, it was Shelika’s shooter, a sniper drone she’d set, speaking with a steel tongue.

The would-be attacker’s staff took the round; the shaft snapped clean, and the mana-gorged head clattered to the floor like a fallen star.

Shock hit all four like ice water; they stood dumb with fear.

Shelika, author of the scene, let her voice tilt with teasing bite. “Well now—kids these days, no manners. Have you forgotten Blood Clan rules? Juniors don’t raise a hand to elders.”

As she spoke, three Vanguard drones spiraled at her side, triple barrels yawning like black-red maws, all sights locked on the four.

Seeing that, their faces went ashen, like ashes after a fire.

The boss, boldest moments ago, bolted like a rabbit, tossing words like thorns behind her. “Don’t think this is over!!”

When the boss ran, the lackeys scattered like startled sparrows.

“Yeah—yeah!”

“Don’t think this is over!!”

In a blink, the four were gone like smoke on wind.

Seeing the pests vanish, Charlotte finally slipped from behind the cargo and dove into Shelika’s arms; her cheek found those soft pillows, and she wept in a hush like rain on moss.

“Big sis… Charlotte was so scared…”

Shelika’s palm soothed her back, strokes like warm waves. “It’s over now—this humble one is here.”

“Mm…”

In Shelika’s mind, Charlotte wasn’t one to weaponize tears; if she’d been squeezed to crying, the weight on her heart had been heavy as stone.

But Charlotte’s nature was sun after rain; she sobbed a while, then her spirit kindled like a lantern relit.

“Thank you, big sis…” She rose from Shelika’s embrace, rubbed her eyes like a kitten, and whispered.

“No need. That said…” Shelika stood, eyes sliding toward the aisle where the four had fled, puzzled. “How did they latch onto you?”

Charlotte didn’t look that way. She slipped back into straightening shelves, fingers tidying chaos like combs through tangled hair. “Because I’ve got a special bloodline gift. I can commune with beasts.”

“Is that so…” Shelika’s thoughts dipped like a pebble into water, then ripples. “But plenty of spells can do that. Yours shouldn’t be that rare, right?”

“You’re right,” Charlotte finished setting the last wayward item, turned, and patted her own chest with proud, adorable pomp. “But I’m different. I can hear exactly what monsters mean.”

Shelika’s interest lifted like a brow. “For example?”

“For example, when I meet a monster in the wild, I know which part of a person it likes to eat. I know why it’s attacking. I can talk and tame it directly. Ah! Right—right—”

Charlotte grew more animated, words bubbling like a spring. “My ‘Blood-Seeking Hound’—I met it on the road, it was about to attack an army! I spent forever talking it down, but then that hateful Blazing Fire Knight… no, that hateful big sis… wait, that’s not right either… anyway, it’s gone now.”

Watching Charlotte ramble herself cheerful, thoughts skipping like stones, Shelika could tell the fright had lifted; she smiled, warmth like tea.

She tapped Charlotte’s nose with a fingertip. “Alright, alright. If you still remember, tell me next time we have a free evening. For now, don’t you have work?”

She pointed toward another rack beside an empty container, yawning like a hollow gourd.

“Oh—right! Tonight then!”

“Mhm.”

Charlotte dove back into work, whole heart like a river flowing back into its bed.

Only now did the anxious clerk return, trailing the supermarket manager and a patrol squad who’d answered the call—late sunshine after the storm.

Shelika stepped out from the aisles and met them. She gestured at the restored shelves, tone light as a breeze. “It’s handled.”

Seeing order restored, the clerk let out a breath like a punctured bellows. “Thank goodness—thank goodness!”

The supermarket manager, a sharply dressed matron of the Demonic Human Race, gave Shelika a measuring look. “You’re that Blood Clan mage’s friend, right? You chased off those Crimson Temple acolytes?”

“That’s right.” Shelika replied, and briefed the manager, the patrol knights, and the temple priest like a quick sketch on silk.

The manager relaxed like a knot undone. “Oh—thank the heavens.”

Shelika was puzzled; it was only a few Crimson Temple troublemakers—why such relief?

Still, she asked, “No one hurt?”

“We’re fine,” said the manager, gratitude warm as lamplight. “Miss, you’re impressive, handling people from the Crimson Temple.”

The clerk added, “Nobody messes with those acolytes now. Many serve with the Hymnal Guard Mage Corps, and the Dark Blood Clan casts a long shadow!”

“Speaking of which, you’re Dark Blood Clan too, ahaha—”

The crowd dispersed like mist.

Even though the scene looked wrapped, unease fluttered in Shelika’s chest like a moth; she stayed inside the store until dusk, when Charlotte clocked out.

They stepped into the evening. Charlotte held her pay, but her mood dragged like a wet cloak.

She slouched ahead like a salt-dried fish, then turned and walked backward, grumbling to Shelika. “Big sis, can Charlotte skip work? Today was so, so tiring…”

Shelika tilted her head toward the sunset spilled over the street like molten gold.

At twilight in the Holy City, foot traffic thickened like a tide, and the dusk’s thin chill took on the warm breath of crowds.

She answered softly, a smile like a crescent moon. “If you don’t want to, this humble one can always pick up another job.”

Charlotte’s twin braids perked up like antennae. “Eh—! Wouldn’t that be too tiring for you, big sis?!”

Shelika laughed, sound like chimes. “How would it?”

“Eh? It wouldn’t?”

“Of course not.” She chuckled first, then spoke as if it were simple arithmetic. “With time planned well and strength not overdrawn, this humble one could juggle three jobs.”

Stars lit in Charlotte’s eyes like fireflies. “Big sis, you’re amazing! Charlotte worships you even more!”

The air between them was lazy and bright. Charlotte’s eyes still sparkled, and she drew breath to ride the mood—when Shelika suddenly stopped.

“Eh? Why stop? Aren’t we going back to the inn?” Charlotte blinked, then halted with her.

Down the sunset-bleached street, a line of figures in priestly robes emerged, silhouettes like crows on a gold field.

Backlit by the dying sun, their faces hid in shadow, but in the dim each pair of eyes glowed faintly red, like embers under ash.

No doubt—every one of them was Dark Blood Clan.

In this dim corridor of light, being watched by so many ember-eyes felt like frost crawling the spine.

Sensing trouble, Shelika straightened like a drawn bow and set Charlotte behind her like a shielded candle.

One of them stepped forward.

The angle shifted, and sunset lacquered her figure; the darkness slid off her like a cloak, and Shelika saw her clearly.

“You’re… Cerise!” Shelika warned, voice tight as wire; even as she spoke, True Crimson Whirl was already in her hand.

Seeing Shelika so wary, the woman smiled like a knife in silk. “Heh. Shelika—you’re the ‘big sis’ Charlotte keeps talking about, aren’t you?”