Ping!

The Demonblade did swing, but it struck not the ice carving—it struck Ling’s favorite book. That fragile-looking book, paper-thin in the rain, blocked Alicia’s strongest blow.

Alicia backpedaled like a startled deer, staring at a face both familiar and strange.

“Ling...”

“Shut it. Ling isn’t a name you get to use. Alicia, why go that hard?”

“Wait, Ling, it’s not what you think—”

Rage boiled like oil; Ling gave her no space to explain.

“I was wrong. I thought once we ended, we’d walk our own roads. I didn’t expect you to hound me after, didn’t expect you hated me this much.”

“It’s not that—listen to me—”

Anger pounded like drums; Ling couldn’t stomach any ‘explanation.’ Forget being abandoned—now she saw you swing at the one person she cared for. Once, she could only turtle up, watching Rafi in danger, helpless as a buried seed. Now, power flooded this body like a river in spring; mercy wasn’t in season.

Magic Cannon—thirty percent output!

She wasn’t being kind; thirty percent was enough. Five hundred percent once blew up the Godrealm—the name alone carries thunder. Thirty percent could erase this arena like sand before a tide. It should hit hard without killing; the rules forbid killing. Forced retreat would hand Alicia a win by default; Ling wouldn’t let that happen.

Boom!!

As expected, the thirty-percent Magic Cannon swept two-thirds of the arena like a storm of fire. Alicia had nowhere to run; it smashed her head-on.

A dull ache bloomed like frost; tears leaked despite her will as the beam swallowed Alicia.

Her wet lashes fixed on Alicia’s place, but the sustained beam walled off her sight like a dust storm; no way to see inside.

She drew back a strand of mana, hastening the end like closing a fan. When the beam finally dispersed, Alicia appeared, propping herself with the Demonblade stabbed into the ground. The flames on her clothes dwindled like dying embers; a breeze could snuff them. Ugly wounds lay open to the air, raw as torn bark.

Pain and regret flooded her head like black rain. Unbidden, she whispered, “Alicia... sis...”

A crackling of ice snapped behind her; Ling whipped around. Rafi, once a statue, thawed back to life like spring breaking winter’s hold. The wound across her back had healed by more than half, pink as new skin.

She forced her wobbling body toward Ling. Whether by chance or design, Rafi stepped left on right, shifted her weight, and fell into Ling’s arms like a willow tipping in wind.

“Sorry, Ling. I got careless.”

Ling patted her back, pulling her heart away from Alicia like a blade slipping back to its scabbard.

“It’s fine. I won’t mind. No matter what, as long as you don’t abandon me, I won’t abandon you.”

Rafi hugged the small body tight in return and murmured, “Thanks.” Where Ling and Alicia couldn’t see, she wore a smile like a victor’s laurel...

The host, stunned as if watching a yearly melodrama, finally noticed the match had ended; only Ling still stood steady. No need to say it—that’s the winner.

“Then, I declare this tournament concluded. The victor is Rain—”

ROAR!!!!!!

The announcement was cut short by a colossal roar, mountain-deep and sky-wide. In that instant, everyone reeled. Alicia lifted her head to the heavens. A vast black “mist” smothered the sky—no, not mist. Countless dragons, scales like night, wings blotting out the sun.

—Elsewhere—

A dense sea of dark heads surged; keyboard clacks filled the room like rain on tin. Countless operators manned consoles flashing the words RED ALERT in giant letters.

“Report, General: countless flying forms over our territory. Assessment says an eighty-percent chance they’re Dragonfolk.”

The General flared like a match.

“Shut it. We’re past ‘probability.’ Don’t need eyes to know they’re dragons. You ever see a mosquito that big at home?”

“S-sorry, General!”

His roar spent the anger like thunder rolling off. No need to keep chewing the mistake; he let the apology stand, a rung to climb down.

“Fine. Forget it. So, the Dragonfolk finally showed. I thought even with the Godfolk gone, fear would keep them hidden.”

“Then... should we report to the King, General?”

“Go. And ask for weapons-use authorization.”

“Yes, understood, General!”

When the soldier left, the General sighed; melancholy, helplessness, and bitter ache lay bare in his eyes like weathered stone.

“Eh... from here on, the human world won’t know peace...”

—Elvenfolk perspective—

“Your Majesty! The Dragonfolk are attacking the humans. What are our next moves?”

Seated on her throne, the Queen closed her book like folding night. She took in her battle-hungry retainer, then waved a hand and issued an absolute command no Elvenfolk could disobey.

“We’ll send a third of our elves to sow chaos inside the city while the dragons strike. Save some Beastfolk if you can.”

That order stunned the retainer like a bell struck wrong. Shouldn’t they join the fight? Why chase ‘meaningless’ tasks?

“Um... Your Majesty, forgive my ignorance—why save those low Beastfolk?”

The Queen sighed; her gaze held both disappointment and pity, like moonlight on shallow water—pity for his wits.

“I know spending elven lives to save ‘low’ Beastfolk is hard to swallow. But they’ll be leverage when we negotiate. A straight fight against humans will be tough—especially now. They wield body arts we don’t know, and mysterious black weapons. Those aren’t things we can counter. So we need those ‘brutal, foolish’ Beastfolk.”

The retainer seemed adept at flattery; his face still read confusion, but his tongue showered praise like incense smoke.

“I see. Your Majesty truly thinks three moves ahead. Forgive my short-sightedness.”

“No need. More important: while rescuing Beastfolk, guard your own lives like flame in wind. If you can avoid death, do so. Don’t throw yourselves away.”

“Understood, Your Majesty.”

—Perspective returns—

After Alicia saw the dragons, she forced herself up and limped back to the palace, like a wounded hawk seeking roost.

Rafi rubbed the face of the sleeping Ling in her arms. She studied Ling’s profile; heat burned in her eyes like a hidden flame with nowhere to hide.

“Everything is moving to my Script. Just a bit more. Just a bit. For now, hold it in.”

Her whisper was so light no one could hear it, a moth’s wing against the dark.