“The Wasteland Deity’s got heavy troops on the gates.” Shelika’s gaze drifted to the Earth Mother Grand Hall, to the divine pillar spearing skyward in a blade of light. “Hit it head‑on, and many will die.”

Fear fluttered first. Then Charlotte blinked her big, innocent eyes like twin springs. “Sis… no, Fulin will die— wait… will Charlotte die?”

A soft ache crossed Shelika’s face. She unwound her Dual Incarnation on the lonely high platform. Street lights below rippled like a painted river. Fulin stood there, cool as moonlight. “If you don’t act rashly and follow my lead, you’ll be fine.”

Doubt sank like a pebble in Charlotte’s chest. She bunched her tiny fists and lowered her head, words swelling like a storm she couldn’t let loose.

Fulin pulled her gaze back from the glowing streets and tilted her head at Charlotte’s small, aggrieved face, like a flower bent by wind.

“If you’ve got something to say, say it to me.”

Charlotte lifted her head. Her little fists pressed to her chest, heartbeat tapping like a sparrow. “Charlotte thinks— if we’re doing something big anyway, isn’t killing them just their own fault?”

Shock hit Fulin like cold water. How could such a clean girl carry words with no mercy?

She breathed, thoughts fanning out like leaves. Then she spoke steady. “That’s not right. I am going big. But no matter how big, I’ve got principles.”

“Principles?” Charlotte’s head tilted, curiosity like a cat’s ear.

“Yeah.” Fulin sighed like dusk and raised a pink hand toward the streets below, a river of lanterns and faces. “See?”

“I see… what?” Charlotte’s eyes roamed, puzzled clouds drifting.

Fulin softened her voice. “Tell me what you see in that scene.”

Charlotte tried, counting like beads. “So many people. Rushing people. Drunk people. And—”

“Enough.” Fulin’s voice fell like snow.

“What life do you think they want most?”

Charlotte thought hard, brow wrinkling like ripples. “Hmm… maybe they want a plain life too?”

“Not just want.” Fulin let out a quiet breath. “For most, ‘plain life’ is a lifetime wish.”

“But lots say they’ll beat Whitespirit, back the Gaia Legion. Lots want to be heroes. Charlotte thinks many don’t want plain at all!”

Fulin’s sigh sank deep, a tide pulling back. “Plain is a kind of happiness. Happiness has a trait—”

“It often shows only after it’s lost.”

Charlotte winced, hand to her head, a knot tightening. “Hmm… is that like being blessed without knowing it?”

“Not entirely. But one thing holds.” Fulin looked again at the bright river of streets, at the lanterns like constellations. “If war shatters a quiet, ordinary life, they’ll miss the days before—”

“And only then realize they were happy.”

“Hmm… Charlotte doesn’t get it at all!”

“It’s fine. Just think I’m speaking for them.”

The peaceful, busy street kept flowing, time dissolving like tea in a cup, harmony playing on and on.

“Thank you, Lady Fulin. I don’t get it yet,” Charlotte rallied, eyes bright as stars. “But to help you more, I’ll try my best to understand!”

“Then let’s go.” Fulin spun her Dual Incarnation again, light folding like silk. She became Shelika once more.

“Mm!”

They stepped off the high platform and returned to the street, weaving through the night river back to the inn.

At the Rose Traveler’s door, Shelika set a gentle farewell down like a note. “I’ve got things to do. You go rest well.”

Charlotte’s fists tightened with earnest cuteness, resolve like a lit candle. “To help more, Charlotte will sleep hard!”

That answer drew a helpless smile. Shelika tapped her little forehead, like a raindrop on a bell.

“Then I’m off.”

“Bye‑bye, sis~~”

Shelika waved and left the inn. She slipped into the commercial street’s glow and pushed open the doors of Delicious Archdemon Shrimp, picking up the job from two nights ago.

“Oh— miss, big help!” Chef Viktor’s warmth rose like steam. “Haven’t seen you in two days.”

“I had things.” Shelika gathered plates, her voice casual as smoke.

Viktor didn’t pry. He carried on, gossip bubbling like a pot. “Heard the Holy City’s restless. Whitespirit spies. Human special knights spotted outside the walls. Something happened at the Crimson Temple too—”

“Heard a pretty Blood Clan girl made trouble there. Big scene. Her boyfriend saved her, and that boyfriend turned out to be the Knight of Annihilation. Not simple. I wanna see what that girl looks like.”

“Is that so.” Shelika’s tone stayed cool, a blade in its sheath.

“Hahaha, maybe I shouldn’t tell you this.”

“It’s fine… customers coming!”

“Oh, I’ll trouble you again.”

The deep night’s busy hours burned out like candles. Shelika finished the shift cleanly.

She walked the late‑night commercial street, moonlight pooling in puddles, and tucked her coin pouch safe.

“Next…”

She drew a wine gourd from her satchel, its curve like a small moon.

The gourd was the divine domain of Dilnis, God of Wine. Shelika used it to speak with him, a whisper through grapes and shadow.

To avoid last time’s misunderstandings, she slipped into a quiet alley, stones like sleeping fish.

“Hey, Dilnis.”

She pressed her thought into the gourd. It answered quick. A soft glow pulsed like a heartbeat.

“All sneaky. It’s you. What’s up?”

“You wanted tribute wine. I’ve got it.”

“Oh! Not easy.” Excitement rattled the gourd, like drums before a feast.

“How do I get it to you?” Shelika’s voice was steady, a string drawn tight.

“Right…” The grand male voice paused, a cliff before a leap. “Come to my temple. Hand it to me.”

“What?” Shelika froze, worry coiling like ivy. “I’ve got history with your chief priest. I might not deliver clean.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll instruct them. Come now.” The light faded. Silence settled like ash.

Shelika’s heart twisted, a shadow tugging. “So I have to go…”

Resolve rose like dawn. “Go. Who’s afraid. Worst case, I flip the temple upside down.”

Ready for trouble, she headed for the God of Wine’s temple.

Same as last time— a temple doubling as a bar, faith poured like liquor, followers gathered like moths to flame.

Deep night was its peak. The hall churned, a sea of bodies in joyous storm.

Men and women danced wild to bar‑top songs and heavy metal, hips like waves, arms like banners.

Shelika hesitated at the edge of the crowd, a reed in the wind. Then—

“Lord Dilnis awaits you at the altar.” Two men in formal vestments stepped to her, words clean as polished steel.