Seeing that, Aphelia felt no fear; instead, a faint smile bloomed at her lips like a pale flower.

The instant a lance seemed ready to skewer her silhouette, the two shadows lunged and hit nothing; the “unavoidable” Aphelia now stood behind them like a ghost slipping through mist.

Her heavy Bracer Gauntlets of Aether smashed the ambushers to shards; black blood sprayed like ink in rain, and before a struggle could spark, both creatures lay on the ground.

Yet two creatures alone couldn’t have cut elite guards down in a heartbeat, not like wheat under a storm-scythe.

From the void, a dagger stabbed out toward her unguarded ribs from behind, while several light-blurring figures roared and charged like wolves through fog.

With a flick of thought, she sensed each ambusher held Titleholder-level strength; surprise pricked like cold rain—since when were Titleholders hired like knives in the dark?

This all reeked of groundwork; one deathtrap shattered, and another rose like a coiled snake under snow.

A lesser powerhouse would feel their scalp crawl under such suicidal Titleholder strikes; a venomous dagger at the ribs, a wall ahead like bricked ice—choose wrong, lose the lone gap to break free.

“So passionate… I can’t handle that kind of welcome.” Her tone drifted like a breeze with hidden frost.

Pure-white Aether gathered along Aphelia’s arms like snowlight; she watched the charging beasts with a cold smile.

A jeweled crystal flower was about to bloom at her chest when their breaths cut off like snuffed candles.

Even the dagger at her ribs hung midair, shuddering like a trapped moth.

A shrill wail tore the air; the riven space stitched itself shut, leaving only the dagger like a thorn on bare earth.

Following the fading scent of the fallen, Aphelia turned.

Violet, pale as moonlight, stood by the carriage with Lilo supporting her; wine-red eyes bloomed with a blood-like flush, and her wine-red hair gleamed like midnight lacquer.

“Violet, was that you?” Her voice was soft, like a blade wrapped in silk.

The pure-white Aether traced the thread of death back to Violet, and surprise rose in her chest like a tide.

In Aphelia’s Aether-sight, life surged inside the pallid Violet like a spring after drought; yet that vigor wasn’t born of Violet herself, so she remained wan as frost.

Violet answered with a slight nod, a leaf under gentle rain; after erasing the attackers, her weakness eased like a fading bruise, but she still looked drained, a candle low at dusk.

“Let’s get moving first; they’re Abyssal Progeny—kill one, and more crawl up like ants from a nest. I’d heard of them near Norton Town, but not at this caliber…”

Lilo scanned the dark like a hunter; crimson sparks drifted from her palm and flared into roaring fire, turning the corpses to ash like dry leaves. Then she helped Violet back into the carriage.

Seeing that, Aphelia returned to the carriage; her pure-white Bracer Gauntlets unfurled into a gorgeous crystal flower, which she pinned to the coach wall like frostwork lace.

Fortunately the coachman hadn’t been touched, so the three didn’t have to take the reins; aside from Aphelia, the other two were noble ladies—Lilo born out of wedlock like a wild rose, Violet from a stern house like iron in winter—neither fussed over roles.

After that strike, their road smoothed like a quiet river; likely the crystal flower Aphelia left worked as a veil, a snow-screen against hungry eyes.

What gnawed at Aphelia was the leak—who bled her movements ahead of time like ink through paper? Or was this aimed at Lilo? The hand behind Phoenix and the Demonic Knight still hid like a spider in shadow; her head throbbed like storm drums—she had barely set foot in the Demon World and already sprouted enemies like weeds.

With the road quiet and the camp by the Abyss still days away, chatter drifted in the carriage like soft rain; Aphelia, body transformed yet habits old as stone, couldn’t mesh with their threads, so she shut her eyes and cultivated Aether like breathing mist.

“Ah… so Aphelia’s that kind of person?” The words bubbled like teasing springwater.

“Yeah, yeah—she used to wear a stone-face all day.” The laugh clinked like pebbles in a stream.

Somehow the talk veered into Aphelia’s “dark history,” and squeezed between them she broke a cold sweat like dew on glass; calm practice frayed, and she shifted like a cat on needles.

Chatter was fine, but why dig up old bones like crow feathers in the wind?

One spoke pleased, the other listened bright, like longtime friends with no walls; stuck in the middle, Aphelia became their pastime like a painted target on bark, and she couldn’t protest without souring the air.

Those occasional glances carried a hint of pity, like autumn light falling on a wounded bird.

“Violet, what technique did you use on those Abyssal Progeny earlier? I don’t recall seeing that,” she asked, curiosity flaring like a candle.

She seized the gap when their banter paused, cut off her practice without a blink, and looked at Violet with keen interest like a fox at a new trail; truth was, Violet’s power felt far beyond a normal Titleholder.

Violet gave a light laugh like chimes, traded a knowing look with Lilo like a spark between flint, then spoke.

“That’s my Titleholder power—Blood King.” Her words lay heavy as iron and sweet as wine.

“This power ties to my family’s legacy like roots in old soil; in my generation it shifted like a river finding a new bed. None of my ancestors shaped it; in truth, it was born with me, a blood-red dawn.”

Her gaze dimmed like a cloud over the sun, memory stirring with shadowed salt.

“The power does what the name says—controls blood. And I’ve learned higher uses. Like earlier, I stirred their blood like a storm, then shaped it into countless spikes in their vital organs, turning their insides to churned mud.”

“No matter how tough the hide, the inside stays fragile—glass under velvet.”

Lilo, seated beside Aphelia, felt a jolt like lightning in her chest; the Crimson Dragon Clan was famed for iron flesh—demon-resistant skin, born might that grew like a mountain—one of the peak body-lineages under the sun.

But Violet’s inward strike, destruction from within, felt forged to counter every hard-bodied race like water cracking stone; if this spread, many great houses would move in the dark like owls.

At that thought, Lilo’s eyes sharpened like blades; then they softened as they met Aphelia standing before her like a sheltered lantern, and she chased the notion away like smoke.

If anyone struck at this woman, Aphelia would likely bare that terrifying strength again, a storm uncoiling at the horizon.

Earlier, Merlin had seeded a few rumors like seeds on winter soil; many powers were reassessing Aphelia’s strength and future, and there was that plan lurking in shadow like a coiled serpent…

“My lords, night draws in; ahead lies the Black King’s territory. Shall we rest nearby?” The coachman’s call floated like a reed note at dusk.

The voice came from the front, young and tender as green bamboo, and Aphelia blinked, then looked to Lilo; Lilo gave a wry smile, murmured, “I’ll explain later,” and answered the coachman like rain on clay.

“We’ll rest here. The Black King’s lands are messy like thornbrush; we’ll skirt them at dawn.”

“As you command, my lord.” The reply bowed like grass in wind.

Once the carriage halted, they stepped down; the small figure at the front had already dismounted, unloading luggage like bricks from a kiln, and walked toward them.

Aphelia moved to help, instinct like a hand in spring, but Lilo stopped her with a gentle bar like a branch.

“That’s not a dwarf, right? I can tell—that’s just a child…” Her brow tightened like a drawn string.

Aphelia frowned, lines rippling like water; even if she needed a servant, she wouldn’t let a child serve her. At the first hint of that tender voice, she opened Aether-sight like a lantern and scanned the coachman—clear as moon on water, it was a child.

“Aphelia, hear her story later; let her handle it now, alright?” Lilo’s words settled like warm cloth.

Lilo’s insistence felt odd, a pebble in a shoe; Aphelia didn’t stop the coachman, yet she began sorting the luggage like stacked wood.

For two long-time wanderers, such chores were nothing; Violet, though weak, handled them like wind through grass for a Titleholder, and Aphelia even more so. With their help, a simple camp took shape like a ring of stones; night thickened, the bonfire leaped like a fox, and food-scent drifted like warm clouds.

“Lady Goddess! Thank you so much!” The brown-skinned girl fell to her knees like rain striking earth.

Seeing her kneel, tears streaming like broken pearls, Aphelia felt awkward; she hurried to lift her and wiped the tears from her face like dew from petals.

“Wait—what ‘Lady Goddess’? I’m not sure I deserve that…” Her protest fluttered like a sparrow.

“They’re the Abyssal Progeny you pulled from that auction block like birds from a snare… Since you went to Master Merlin and had no time, we of the Crimson Dragon Clan took care of them. Rest easy—we’ve done well, and Master Merlin allowed her to travel with us this time.”

At Lilo’s explanation, Aphelia’s doubt dissolved like mist in sun; then a wry smile curved like a crescent. Seeing those women displayed naked as wares would stir pity in any heart, winter laid over a crocus.

“It was simply what I should do—no need for this,” she said, voice quiet as falling snow.