Bzzz—bzzz—

A bee-swarm hum grazed Ling’s ears, a mood utterly unlike stepping through the Underworld gate before.

That gate had felt paper-thin and unreal, like crossing a single sheet and finding hell waiting on the other side.

Rafi’s spatial gate was different; it offered a passage, with wind slicing past like silver knives, and a strange force kneading every inch of skin—wickedly soothing.

This Underworld express earned a perfect score from Ling, five stars scratched into stone.

Humm—pshew-da~ (a weird teleport sound)

Even with that little “cutscene,” it was still a spatial gate; if you had to wait ages, it’d be useless, sand draining from an hourglass for nothing.

Two or three heartbeats later, Ling stood in the Underworld, right where she was supposed to “negotiate,” yet early—no one here but Rafi, the room empty as dawn streets.

“Hey, Rafi, where is every—”

“I’m sorry!!!!” Rafi blurted, words crashing like a wave.

Ling blinked, fog curling through her thoughts, the question left dangling like a string.

“What are you apologizing for? I don’t remember you owing me one…”

“Uh… so, when I opened the portal, I might’ve, sorta, kinda been distracted by a loli,” Rafi confessed, voice wobbling like jelly on a plate. “The portal went unstable. But you look lively, spring-sparrow lively, so the spatial turbulence probably didn’t hurt you much?”

Ling froze, then recalled wind hissing past like reeds and something massaging her skin like warm currents.

So that was the turbulence? Tame as a housecat—dang, my image of spatial chaos just shattered like thin ice!

“Meh… forget it. I’m fine. Back to business—where’s Sis?”

Seeing Ling search for Alicia, Rafi pulled out a crystal-ball-like orb and set it on the table, a glass moon on dark wood.

“Here. You came back too fast. Alicia still hasn’t made her entrance. The Ulu Empire bunch have far more bite than expected, iron walls holding off wave after wave of Daemon attacks.”

“And their king is razor-sharp; by the third round he cut through the fog and cracked the secret of Daemon revival.”

“So in round four, he tuned the offensive like strings on a guqin—every Daemon pushed to the brink: unable to fight, yet not dead, so they couldn’t revive or grow, only lie pinned and slowly recover.”

Ling listened in silence, awe blooming like frost flowers. She would’ve spammed Magic Cannon till revival was a forgotten dream, a crater field under endless moonlight.

But for humans without her ocean of mana, the Ulu Empire’s method was the road that stayed firm under rain.

“So, what round is Ulu at? How long till a breakthrough?”

“Emmm… thirteenth round now. A few slip-ups forced them to kill all Daemons, jumping the count to thirteen,” Rafi said, voice tapping like rain on glass. “But Demon Elite at thirteen just aren’t enough. At this pace, we’re talking at least seventy years before the Demon Elite suppress the other side—and that’s factoring food and ammo drying up like a well.”

—Seventy… years?!

The number hit Ling like ice water from a mountain stream; totally unacceptable.

Bang!

Two loli palms slammed the table; a “−1” flashed on the surface like a flicker of neon, and somehow the table survived under their tiny storm.

“Hey! Rafi, open another portal? I’ll go and ‘push’ Sis’s progress a bit,” Ling said, eyes sparking like flint.

Rafi killed the proposal in a single stroke, a knife clean through silk. No room to argue.

“You absolutely can’t go. I’ll go handle it,” she said, voice steady as iron.

This time, Ling didn’t fuss; as long as someone moved the needle, it was fine, her acceptance settling like dust after rain.

“Oh! Right, you haven’t started the Daemon offensive in Elusen, have you? Start it, and I’ll go clean that up!”

Bored wind whistled through her words, but the suggestion met the same cold wall.

“Nope! Elusen is mine to handle. You—and even Alicia—are not allowed to go,” Rafi said, frost-bright.

“Why?!”

“Use that brain with four screws bolted in and think,” Rafi snapped, lightning cracking dry air. “You came here to negotiate. If you pop up in another country and help them solve Daemons, don’t you think that looks weird?”

Ling twisted her screw-fastened head; “ka-ka” clicks echoed like a cicada, understanding landing in one clean drop.

But the thought of waiting bored again lowered her head, moonlight pooling in empty hands—she’d become a legend of loneliness once more.

Rafi felt a twinge of guilt, a host failing to entertain her guest, leaves rustling in an awkward breeze.

“Fine. Go to that red room later—my secretary works there. You can play with her, but don’t break her, got it?” Rafi said, a smile thin as paper.

Such good news won both Ling’s hands, both feet, and one ahoge, her joy springing like a cat; she bolted into the red room before Rafi even moved.

Rafi sighed, a soft wind through black feathers, glanced at the crystal ball on the table, then summoned her familiar black vortex portal; the whirlpool yawned like night, and she stepped into it, body swallowed by shadow.