In a lightless room like a sealed well, a doll-faced girl crouched, ringed by splintered bones.

Now and then, a whole fragment lingered like stubborn ice, and her small hands pinched it to chalk.

“Sis, should we smash all the Skeleton bones?” Ling’s voice fluttered like a sparrow in the rafters.

“It should slow their recovery.” Her excitement fizzed like soda under a lid.

She turned to the red‑haired girl behind her for a nod, but her fingers were already at work like busy ants.

Alicia thought the same, gave no reply, and crouched to pick up a shard like a curious scholar.

She wasn’t helping; she only wanted to study an Undead body like a puzzle laid on stone.

A tremor pricked her soles like a drumbeat under dirt, and unease rose like cold mist.

She straightened at once, dragged Ling away from that patch of ground like a fish pulling line.

BOOM—!! The earth bucked like a beast rolled in its sleep.

As expected.

Ten meters behind, the floor caved like wet clay, and two figures burst up, one ink‑black, one bone‑white.

Alicia brought her hands up like shields and steadied her breath like a drawn bow.

A split second later, a voice she knew knifed out of the dust like a bell cut sharp.

“Die—!!”

It was Edmund’s voice, heavy as iron in a storm.

The black shape raised a greatsword that breathed black light like smoldering coal, and chopped straight down.

The blade split the white Skeleton cleanly, the frame halved like a snapped rib.

Flame bloomed from the cut like flowers in a kiln, and the whole Skeleton went to ash.

Watching from afar, Ling’s eyes sparked like twin stars, locked on the sword in Edmund’s hands.

“Hey, hey! Sis, Edmund’s sword looks so cool!” Her words skipped like pebbles across water.

She’d almost shed her past life’s habits like old skin, but a former guy still loved steel and edge.

For a heartbeat, she wanted to rush in and snatch that blade like a magpie steals silver.

She let it go, since Edmund was a teammate, and loyalty sat like a weight on her palm.

Alicia’s thoughts didn’t wander; her gaze fixed on Edmund and that ominous sword like a hawk on prey.

“Edmund! Can you hear me?!” Her voice rang like a bell tossed into fog.

If he was controlled, she would snap him awake, even if she had to sting like cold rain.

The ram’s head shrouded in black stuff turned toward her like a statue creaking, and his eyes gleamed scarlet.

That gleam crawled like a centipede under skin, and Alicia’s gut tightened like a knotted rope.

She prepared a magic circle in her palm, a thin wheel of light spinning like moon glass.

She meant to slap it to Edmund’s face, drop him, then fix the rest like mending torn silk.

Before her hand fell, the black film peeled off his skin like soot in water, and the red faded like embers.

“Alicia… Master…” His voice came rough, like gravel washed by rain.

Conscious, not lost; Alicia let the circle unravel like a melting snowflake.

“Master, don’t worry,” Edmund said, steady as a lantern in wind.

“It’s just a small side effect. This sword won’t take my reason.” His tone cooled like steel in oil.

The last rind of blackness slid away like ink drained, and his words felt true enough to touch.

Alicia stayed wary of that blade like a cat near a stove, but she trusted Edmund not to harm her or Ling.

“Forgive me… my recklessness disrupted my masters’ moves.” He bowed slightly, heavy as an old tree.

Alicia didn’t strike, and Edmund felt suspicion lift like fog at sunrise.

The matter should’ve ended there, but Ling raised her small hand, and a green sphere coalesced like dew.

Edmund’s steadied heart kicked hard again, thudding like a drum in a canyon.

“Ling… Miss Ling, I…” His words stumbled like stones on a slope.

He thought to explain, but silence felt right, and the words died like sparks in rain.

He had left the team on his own, a choice that risks the whole line like pulling a keystone.

Punishment was due, and he accepted it like a soldier bares the neck.

“Miss Ling, please… be gentle.” His plea hung like a thread between blades.

He lowered his head without hesitation, offering the clean hit like a board set straight.

He also obeyed a crooked superstition—what you don’t see won’t hurt—like closing eyes before the needle.

Ling looked at him standing big but bowed, her voice came cold and small like winter wind.

“Squat down.”

A strange order, but Edmund obeyed, and squatted like a boulder folding into shadow.

He clasped his head with both hands, the pose on that bulk had no hint of cute, only mass like a hill.

He shut his eyes and waited for heat, but instead a blade hissed above like a swift slicing air.

Then a Magic Cannon roared over his crown like a comet, and detonated behind him with a furnace gust.

The blast singed two hairs on his back like incense catching, and he jerked, startled.

He turned, confused, and saw the Skeleton he’d burned to ash had vanished, leaving only a thin ribbon of smoke.

In an instant, he understood: the Skeleton had started to revive, ready to strike like a snake, and Ling saved him.

Gratitude warmed his chest like tea in cold hands, yet he glanced at the sword and sighed like wind through reeds.

Still… a bit too weak.