Ling spun and let a punch fly; the gale off her knuckles peeled the dirt like a storm-plow, yet it lifted no shadow of the one she hunted.

Don’t be that rough, Ling.

Irritation spiked first, hot as a coal; damn it—here and gone like mist at dawn.

She slammed both palms to the ground; the earth shivered like a cat’s arched back.

Magic Cannon: Tracking Ground Spikes!

Boom, boom, boom!

Magic Cannons swarmed up from the undersoil and roared skyward, iron thorns sprouting like a bristling hedgehog of earth.

Aer slipped through the gaps with lazy ease, a leaf riding a rogue breeze, and even had breath to comment on it.

Not bad. You already thought of a second use. Your learning’s as sharp as ever—turning trash magic into something interesting.

Ling used the opening like a fishhook; a flick of her small hand sent a cannon that grazed Aer’s clothes, shaving off a thread like a dragonfly skimming water.

Well? Still trash? Magic Cannon’s the best under heaven!

Aer took the hit to the pride like rain on oiled silk; she just smiled and kept coaching, a lantern held out in a storm.

Ling, try strange angles. Hit the enemy, not the enemy’s sleeve.

That upside-down kindness scraped Ling’s nerves like sand under an eyelid; a person who smiles when they shouldn’t is the most hateful kind.

Shut up! I don’t want an enemy’s advice.

Aer laughed, loud and careless, bells shaking in a cold wind.

Hahaha! I called you my enemy at the start, but I was joking. Beating you now would take a heartbeat. I don’t call that an enemy.

The barb landed like a needle to the heart; Ling’s fury surged, a kettle boiling over.

Bastard—! Magic Cannon: Ripple Rush!

She unleashed without pattern, like fireworks in a thunderstorm—no rhythm, no angles; one here, ten there; mana’s a river, so just let it flood.

That chaos forced Aer to spend more focus, her body weaving like a swallow in squall winds, yet she still spared breath for a taunt.

Ling, Ling, Ling—your strikes are all over the place. You’re wasting mana. Even you can’t keep this up. Your mana’s not infinite.

A sickly smile split Ling’s face like a cracked mask; she didn’t care to count costs—last long or not, stand or fall, none of it mattered.

As long as I can kill you, what happens to me doesn’t matter!

Aer blinked, a flake of surprise in her eye; even she felt a shiver—was the Yokai blood raging?

She kept the playful mask anyway, a paper fan hiding a watcher’s gaze.

Wow, that strong a kill-urge for me? You weren’t like this before.

Bullseye. The words struck a buried knot; identity clawed like thorns in her chest. I am me; I am not Yufan Ling.

One last time! I—am—not—the—old—Yufan Ling!

Her small foot stamped; the ground caved in like wet clay, a crater blooming in a single breath.

The Magic Cannons sped up, raindrops turning to a downpour; Aer had to focus, because her magic needed a beat to weave, and a beat could be fatal.

Shhk!

Two cannons knifed toward Aer midair; she snapped off a flash-wind spell, body blurring like a kite tugged sideways, and barely slid past both shots.

She dropped with gravity’s pull; dread rose like cold water up the spine—too late—another cannon burst from below and speared through her body like a sudden icicle.

Ling saw Aer pierced and, panting like a bellows, halted—then flicked a hand back and popped a small cannon behind her, a cobra strike without a glance.

Because the woman who died in front just jabbed at her chest from behind; that alone was proof enough of a slippery monster’s trick.

Good grief. Didn’t think little Ling would come up with such a weird use. I got careless.

Ling slapped away the hand on her shoulder, disgust wrinkling her face like bitter tea.

Shut up, bastard. You’re barely hurt at all.

Don’t kid yourself. Look—this is a wound, isn’t it?

She lifted her shirt; a thin scratch showed, a red thread across pale skin.

A vein popped on Ling’s temple, anger flowering like a red lotus.

Sensing the edge of the cliff, Aer changed the wind with a soft turn.

Alright, alright, no more jokes. Today’s fight ends here. I didn’t come to brawl. Ask what you want. I’ll answer if I feel like it.

Ling wanted to keep swinging, but reality pressed like a cold hand—she couldn’t beat this woman now. Given the step offered, she swallowed fire and asked what mattered most.

Question one: Why do you know about this book?

Answer: No big why. This book is our symbol.

The word “our” rang like a bell; at least several people had made or held it, not just Yufan Ling alone. A tiny, ugly chance also flickered—was it some keepsake between Yufan Ling and this woman?

Question two: Then why is the book with me?

Answer: Because I left it with someone. For now.

Who else but Yufan Ling?

Question three: Who are you? You’re not Dragonfolk, right?

Answer: Who I am—no comment. Call me Aer. And no, I’m not Dragonfolk. I’m—a Yokai.

Yokai. So she wasn’t the only one in this world. That made the water deeper.

Question four: Why did I end up in this other world? I believe you know.

Answer: Ah, the key. But that one’s your road to walk.

Question five: Why answer me at all?

Answer: No reason. For Ling’s sake.

No wonder—the current tangle made sudden sense.

Aer stood, already a step ahead; before Ling could voice a sixth question, she dropped a single stone into the pond.

As for your sixth question, here’s advice: don’t get lost. You’re not Ling. You will never be Ling. (soft)

She turned to go, then looked back halfway, a fox smiling over its shoulder.

Forgot to say: nature magic is the truly powerful magic. Know why I can use five elements?

Green light rose from her skin like spring sap, the color of living mana.

Whoosh—

This time, Aer was truly gone.

Only Ling remained with her shadows, thoughts circling like crows. Don’t get lost? It sounded like guidance dipped in hate. When did I offend her?

She started to stand, and a wave of vertigo washed over her like a tipping boat.

What’s… this? So dizzy. A side effect? Forget it—rest a bit.

Thud.

Ling collapsed, and a figure appeared at her side like a silhouette rising from fog.