Zhao Qingsnow stepped forward, and the cold bloomed like midnight frost. She withdrew the ice spike, a small thaw that soothed Qianchun. Zhao Qingsnow patted Qianchun’s shoulder.

“I’ve got a win‑win path, a bridge over this gorge. Want to hear it?”

Eye Orb felt the wind shift against them, like a sail suddenly becalmed.

“It’s simple. I lend you my Mana. You break the barrier. I’ll report that your underground cell did it, so releasing Monsters won’t stick to me. Then we cut through like dawn in fog, pull out Dawnlight and the other one. Two birds, one shot.”

Tempting like honey on the tongue, but thorns hid under that sweetness.

Soldiers and Magic Maidens swarmed like ants under torchlight. Three from Cantata Two stood here; First Symphony were beyond counting.

If Zhao Qingsnow lent Qianchun power, Qianchun could crack the barrier and free Night Frost. Then a ring of Magic Maidens would snap shut like iron ivy.

Alone, Qianchun couldn’t break that net; her hope would have to cling to Night Frost.

But Night Frost was ash‑pale and gutted, her Magic Armor likely unspooled; battle would be a mirage in heat.

Flawed, yet the only rope over the ravine. Qianchun held only First Symphony, a candle beside Zhao Qingsnow’s torch. Refuse and die; accept and gamble with dawn’s thin odds.

“Sorry… Qianchun. You just stepped into Aklatia, and a storm already beats on your door. Do you—regret it?”

Weariness welled first, a tide dragging at her bones. Leaving Zhao Qingsnow, Qianchun staggered; foreign Mana jammed her frame. Her own Mana met it like two rivers in flood, and her knees blurred.

“Maybe a little regret—like drizzle on old stone. But it won’t steer me. Joining Aklatia was my choice, so I’ll walk it. I won’t go back to my old crew. That bridge is ash; too many there thirst for my death.”

Qianchun stepped toward the sealed barrier, breath quick like sparrows. The sky‑blue Magic Stone at her waist flickered, pressed to a cracking limit like ice under spring sun.

Warmth rose with the name. “Lingchen Yao—he’s decent. I saw the shadow of someone who once sheltered me in him. He’s childish sometimes—strange for me to say, since I’m younger—but if he keeps walking, he’ll reach somewhere. So I chose to follow him.”

Cracks webbed through the Magic Stone, frost racing under glass. If she didn’t vent that force, the stone would pop like a seed in fire.

“In my heart, it’s mostly hate.”

“Hate?”

Eye Orb stalled, a clock hand stuck on the hour.

“This world tilts unjust, and rot grows like weeds. Our enemies stand like mountains; we scrape like ants. I hate the root because I hate my softness. I hate my smallness.”

Qianchun reached the barrier’s base. Nearby Magic Maidens smelled the change and drew Magic Tools or old‑era pistols, like crows settling on a fence.

It was theater more than threat. Qianchun wore a storm of Mana; these First Symphony wouldn’t pierce that squall.

The Magic Stone’s cracks deepened, spreading outward like lightning in crystal. In seconds they crawled over the entire jewel.

Qianchun drew a long breath, pressed her palm to the barrier, and loosed her Mana as wind. Cold rose in bands; her skirt flared; wind showed itself at her feet like rippling grass.

“If it’s now, I can use this.”

“O hidden wind! Let your sleeves whirl a wild gale, turn to keen Blades, and cleave the road ahead. Pray, wind, open the path! ελπίδα ανοίξει ο άνεμος!”

A great surge of air slammed out, flinging nearby First Symphony like leaves in a squall. The crystalline barrier scored with real fissures; air pressed in. The Azureblood Octopus, curled tight, tasted wind and sparked awake.

Something shattered.

The crystal barrier cracked; the sky‑blue Magic Stone burst; old shackles on Qianchun’s heart split like clay in drought.

Back to the fight.

A quake shook Lingchen Yao awake, and he tasted grit on his tongue. Hours earlier his Mana ran dry, and his Magic Armor dissolved like mist. Shards of Magic Stone still glowed like embers; he drank them in and suited up.

“I thought you were dead.”

Dawnlight bit down, her voice thin as winter reed; getting words out was climbing a hill.

“As long as you’re alive, Sister, I won’t step off first. But you’re low on Mana, right? Want me to lend some stones… since we’re in the same boat?”

Dawnlight held her tongue, and a pale hand—Night Frost’s—slipped from sticky tendrils, passing her a few shards. For a heartbeat, Dawnlight felt this Night Frost girl might be easy to stand beside.

Clarity returned like a cold bell. She’s the enemy; handing stones only buys a cleaner escape.

“Sister, what do you think? The octopus suddenly started thrashing.”

Night Frost dragged her arm back, the motion heavy as mud.

“Rescue must be close. If nothing twists, our chance to slip out is here. I think—”

A jolt bucked their world; Dawnlight nearly bit her tongue, the ground a tossing boat.

Then a deep pressure rolled over them, heavy as deep sea. The octopus drank their Mana faster, a leech finding a vein. Both guessed the scene outside.

“If there’s any seal that makes me feel wrong, it’s that glass cage that can hold Cantata Two Monsters. They plan to capture the octopus, ship it to a branch, hand it to other Magic Maidens. That drags on. With our Magic Stones, we won’t last.”

As an Order Keeper, Dawnlight knew the Order Keepers’ gears and their grinding pace. By that clock, Night Frost and Dawnlight wouldn’t reach the handoff.

“Feels like being abandoned. To me, the Azureblood Octopus is worse than Cantata Two.”

Night Frost tossed the stone into the well; Dawnlight ignored the splash.

“We should combine our hands. Breaking from inside is harder than biting iron. Still, together we might catch one silver thread of hope. What do you say, Magic Maiden sister?”

“Only, once we get out, I’ll probably be killed, won’t I?”

Her words fell, and the octopus’s grip slackened like wet ropes. Dawnlight felt air move, and a thin chill like a blade in mist.

“Qianchun… and that ice‑element Magic Maiden. But is Qianchun really that strong?”

Night Frost’s senses were blunt as a wooden knife; she only felt Mana stir in the wind and worry pricked her skin. She shook her head like a horse in rain. Doesn’t matter. It’s the best time.

“Move!”

Dawnlight pinched holy light in her palm; it layered her skin like gold leaves. She shaped more light into golden knives. With Mana low, the Holy Lance stayed a dream.

Truth was, Dawnlight’s gift didn’t suit an Order Keeper. Her light was warmth and mending, a lantern in fog, a priest’s blessing in a western tale.

Her aunt—Zhao Qingsnow—wanted her in the Mutual Aid Society, safe behind walls, paid as a Magic Maiden, far from the front’s thorns.

Dawnlight balked. If she didn’t join the Order Keepers, her years of grit would turn to smoke. She taught her holy light to wear steel and to fly by Mana’s throw.

She started with spheres, then knives, then swords, and at last the complex, deadliest Holy Lance.

Dawnlight signed with the Order Keepers against Zhao Qingsnow’s wishes, and a crack grew between them like ice splitting rock.

Back to the cut. The golden knife bit the Azureblood Octopus’s slick skin, a short, dense blade like a nail in oak.

She eased the density and stretched the edge, carving an opening along the octopus’s hide like a seam in canvas.

Night Frost was no surgeon with Mana. She did as always—she spat fire from the core, the Crimson swelling heat like noon in August. This time she watched her Mana like a miser, fearing a faint and a dropped Magic Armor.

Flame spread, threading gaps between tentacles, licking near Dawnlight. Luckily, Dawnlight had her shield ready; without it she’d be half‑roasted, like the octopus’s own meat.

Lu Shi had said it: the Azureblood Octopus fears lightning and fire.

Night Frost’s blaze was its nemesis. Earlier, it fled the villa district because it tasted the Black Flame coiled inside Night Frost.

Now the fire baked its tentacles; pain ran like ants under skin. It flung the two out, shaking them loose like burrs.

Night Frost didn’t feel pain; she crashed into a warm chest like falling into a quilt. Her ash‑gray hair clumped in the sticky slime, hanging heavy. Her Magic Armor, loaded with slime, sagged like wet silk.

“Let’s go back.”

Qianchun stepped, but Lu Shi slid in and barred them, his gun steady as a winter branch, enough for the injured.

“Sorry. You’ll be coming with me.”