In a stone chamber veiled in shadow, a giant furnace burned.

Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, whoosh!

Inside a furnace big enough to hold four cubic meters, wood crackled. The bellows pumped without rest, roaring like a storm-beast.

The bellows ran on a premium wind-aspected magic crystal; their force was ruthless. Dark-red aged timber fed the fire—high-grade fuel, chosen to burn clean and hot.

So the blaze surged. Red light painted a woman’s stunning face. Wind swelled and combed her waist-length, blood-red hair. Tongues of flame licked her long, elegant fingers, yet left no mark, as that hand gripped a black iron hammer and drove it hard into a piece of cold iron heated cherry-red.

Her eyes burned hotter than the flames—two crimson embers frozen into ice. Heat and frost braided together, a clash carved into her gaze.

Hotter still was the way she was dressed.

She straddled a long stone bench at a slant. The hammer rose and fell with a metronome’s calm, pounding the glowing slab of silver-veined black iron on the stone stand before her.

Three-quarters of her skin breathed the air. She wasn’t clothed, nor wholly bare; white bandages wrapped her body. They bound only her proud, snow-white chest. Tempting collarbones and a lithe waist lay boldly revealed.

Her lower body was bandaged too. The white strips covered only what mattered, barely shading the round, lifted curve of her hips. Two long, healthy legs braced on either side of the bench. From the tops of her thighs to her toes, she was naked to the firelight. Sweat-sheened skin reflected a ruby glow, like silk stockings spun of flame, enough to set blood simmering.

Her figure was pure provocation—long arms, long legs, curves that rose and fell like waves. Her chest swelled and surged to each clang of the hammer—clang, clang, clang—grand and untamed.

Her skin held a healthy wheat-gold. In the heat, a fine sweat bloomed. Drops gathered, then slid along the tempt of her lines, throat-dry and dizzying to watch.

All that allure was wrapped in a chill that made the spine tense even as the room burned.

Especially when you met those crimson eyes—fire frozen into ice. The feeling magnified, like seeing a king of winter enthroned on black iron across a polar plain, the world locked in snow.

Thud—

Her arm rose high, then fell like judgment.

The red-hot cold iron rang on stone, ears splitting. It barely bounced before the next blow slammed it flat against the slab.

Iron that could defy blades yielded in her hands. Impurities fled. The metal compressed, growing fierce.

The whole house hummed with the rhythm. The air thrummed like a struck string.

She kept that machine-true motion for who knew how long, never losing force, never showing fatigue. Watch long enough and the violence turned graceful.

Then, her flowing cadence stuttered.

Clang—

The hammer still fell, but the arc bent by a hair. The glowing billet flipped off the stand.

Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh—

The hot iron spun, screaming toward her face. It would smash her features to ruin.

Smack.

Sparks fountained. Her expression didn’t shift. Her red eyes didn’t blink. Her hand flashed out, caught the searing billet like it was nothing, then tossed it back onto the stone.

Her hand was pristine. She lowered the hammer in her right hand. The thing looked no bigger than a palm-sized toy, light as a feather—yet when it hit the floor, it boomed like a boulder.

“I broke the magic talisman I gave him. What a foolish little brother.”

Her voice was low and husky. Red flame froze in her eyes. Her hair lifted in the wind. “But he’s still my brother, the second young master of the clan.”

“No one bullies him but me.”

“Yin.”

“Here.” From the deepest corner, where no light reached, a silver-haired woman stepped out of the dark. She had waited there the whole while, silent as a shadow.

She wore black. Tall, pale, with a fringe so long it veiled both silver eyes, leaving half her left eye to gleam. She gazed at the redhead’s sculpted back, silver irises bright as coins, her desire and hunger unhidden, like she’d devour her in one bite.

“Master, give the word,” the silver-haired woman said.

“Bring Ark back.”

“Can I draw my blade?” Impatience edged the silver in her voice.

“Royal blood can lose hands and feet. The rest—do as you please.” The red-haired woman tugged a pure white towel aside and wiped her skin, lazy and loose, flicking a hand.

“As I please?” Yin’s lips curved into rapture, a grin tinted with blood and cruelty.

“That’s—just perfect.”

…

…

“—[Heart of Arrogance]?”

Aerin rolled the words on her tongue, baffled. No one had ever told her of such a thing.

She was about to ask when silver light drenched her body. She looked up in shock—and saw a silver meteor dropping from the sky.

Boom—

The impact shattered stone. Dust exploded. Wind kicked wild. A tall silhouette rose through the grit.

It wasn’t a meteor. It was a person.

A beautiful woman with a head of silver hair. A precise face. Moon-bright eyes. A black bodysuit clung to every curve like midnight lacquer.

She stood inside the range of Ye Weibai’s arena-wide spell—a field that had almost crippled the entire coliseum—and moved like it was a summer breeze. Unaffected. Unbothered.

Her gaze skimmed the wreckage, then found Ark writhing on the ground. Her lips, full and crimson, tipped in a smirk. “What a waste.”

“But thanks to you,” the smirk twisted into a grin, warped and bloody, “I get to play properly this time.” Her dotted silver pupils flickered, snake-tongue uneasy in their motion, eyes fixed on Ye Weibai.

Noticing those dotted silver pupils, Aerin’s eyes pinpricked. Something clicked.

“She’s—the [Black Silver Moon]! Master Bai, plea—”

Before “be careful” could leave her lips, pain cracked her skull. Hard.

It wasn’t a tease or a pat. Ye Weibai meant it. He smacked her—using a twenty-centimeter black ruler conjured from who knew where.

Aerin clutched her head, dazed and stinging, unsure what she’d done wrong.

“Idiot!” Ye Weibai didn’t spare her. “Did you forget the [Heart of Arrogance]?”

“I…” She stared, lost, at Master Bai.

“Does it matter who she is?” Ye Weibai’s voice was mild as cloud. “Either way—she’s trash.”

Aerin’s eyes flew wide.

“Hah?—Trash?”

The woman blinked, tilted her head. Her hair slid left like silver rain, baring one full eye. Her mouth smiled wider, and those dotted pupils drew into slits—silver, serpentine, chilling.

She didn’t move. She just locked those silver slits on Ye Weibai. Her smile stretched until it didn’t look human anymore, the corner of her mouth hiking toward her ears.

“I must’ve heard wrong,” she purred. “Or you spoke wrong?”

She twisted her neck, angled her head, turned one ear toward him, body cocked like a playful girl asking sweetly. In her it felt wet, cold, viscous, and black—like a snake writhing in a swamp, skin-prickingly wrong.

“Come now, boy.” She smiled. “I’ll give you a chance to say it agai—”

Boom—

Wind erupted.

Thunder cracked inside the round arena.

Her voice cut off. Her body flew like a shell fired from a cannon.

Her face twisted. She spun midair, shot dozens of meters, and smashed into the front row of the stands.

Splurt—

Blood sprayed skyward.

Her eyes bulged. Her waist hit the metal railing dead-on. Railings strong enough to withstand high-tier magic bowed on impact. Her body bounced high, then rolled across the ground like thrown garbage.

Only then did Ye Weibai’s robe settle back to calm in the wind.

His hair still lifted. He looked at the wide-eyed Aerin with a sky-clear ease. “Did you catch it?”

“N-no…”

Staring at the silver-haired woman tossed like trash, Aerin’s heart hammered to escape her ribs. That was the Niefeng clan’s [Black Silver Moon]! A vassal of [Crimson Blossom]! Master Bai hadn’t even seemed to move—and she flew?!

“Master Bai, you were too fast,” Aerin stammered. “I didn’t see anything before you acted.”

“Idiot!” Ye Weibai frowned. The black ruler flashed, smacking hard against her forehead again.

“Ow!” The second sting made her yelp.

“I wasn’t asking you to watch my technique. That doesn’t matter.” Ye Weibai’s voice stayed calm. “What mattered was my reaction.”

“W-what?”

“I didn’t know who that woman was. I didn’t need to. I didn’t need to hear her drivel. If the enemy shows even a breath of disrespect or hostility—kick them like trash.”

“That is what a [Hero King] must carry—” Ye Weibai met Aerin’s eyes. “—the [Heart of Arrogance].”

…

…