“Damn, what rotten luck! You play a little ball and the ball nails you, you slam the railing, skin split open… Ling bro, let’s stop here. Don’t you have that agent training course later? Don’t be late. Failing would suck.”

Ren Changxiao clutched his head, blood slick as rainwater. Lingchen Yao hauled him down the street toward the hospital. The school clinic closed early every day, so they had to go to the hospital. It wasn’t far, a pale beacon under the night.

“No way. You’re my brother. It’s just one class. I can cram quietly later. Lots of people skip that course anyway.”

Lingchen Yao propped up Ren’s blood-wet weight. They stood before the city hospital’s doors. The building felt like a pond with no ripples. The usual tide of people was gone. Every other night this place boiled over, shoulder to shoulder like stormclouds.

He didn’t linger. He stepped inside. Cold air hit him like cave-breath. The moment his sole crossed the threshold, he felt a thick Abyssal Aura, heavy as damp stone. Familiar. Like an Abyssal Rift yawning open.

Lingchen froze, heart striking his ribs. He spun to retreat. The doors behind him were gone like mist wiped clean.

The way back had vanished.

“Ren bro, odds are we’re trapped. After weeks of agent training, I’m sure an Abyssal Rift opened here. Don’t panic. We stay put. The Order Keepers will come fast.”

He steadied Ren first, voice gentle as a hand on warm tea. Then he whispered with the Eye Orb. After that, he dialed Qianchun. The signal crawled, broken like rain through reeds.

The Eye Orb lifted its long-shut lid, iris gleaming like a wet moon. It scanned the gloom. It saw black blade scars baked into the floor and bullet holes stained with Mana. It saw a cratered patch of ground not far off. It knew Order Keepers had been here, and old acquaintances at that. It spoke low, like a drum under silk.

“There are at least two Cantata Two Monsters here. One can erect a barrier… The other I don’t know. But it’s thorny.”

“I know a barrier-maker’s here. How do you know there are at least two?”

Lingchen’s gaze throbbed with impatience, mind like a bowstring too taut to rest.

“Oh? Old friends. Lujin Lushi.”

The Eye Orb felt no immediate threat. It began explaining, voice a lantern in fog.

“Right, those two from last time. They almost cut me off my steed. But blade marks and rounds—how can you tell? Is it the Mana scarring on the ground?”

The Eye Orb nodded, then continued, words clicking like beads.

“Exactly. See the blade gouges? The dark power clinging there could corrode a Monster’s hide. And the bullet holes… Lujin Lushi run blade-and-gun. It’s plain as winter reeds.”

“Two distinct threads of Mana also say there are two Magic Maidens here. Anything that can hold off two Maidens won’t be ordinary.”

“Barrier Monsters usually lack attack. Their defense is iron. Yet the floor shows deep pits. A pure barrier type can’t do that. So, there’s definitely another Cantata Two here.”

It made sense. Lingchen felt his rush of temper again, his edges overlapping with his transformed self. That overlap was a bad omen, a river running toward the same sea too fast.

He forced calm, breathing like he folded paper. He couldn’t use magic before Ren. Unless… He glanced at Ren’s nape. An odd, bold thought cracked through—knock him out?

He swatted the thought away like a fly. He looked at a nearby emergency exit, then at Ren behind him. He couldn’t abandon him. Not tonight.

He raided a cabinet, pulled materials and a Magic Stone. He carved a simple array on the floor, chalk scratching like dry leaves. It would hold against a First Symphony type. He pressed a Magic Stone into Ren’s palm, made him feel its cool pulse.

“Keep it gripped. Don’t step out of the circle. Don’t wander. If someone asks about the array, say an old man passed by and drew on the floor. Don’t tell anyone. Don’t leave the circle. Hold the stone.”

He’d explain the array later, when time wasn’t a sharpened blade.

“Ling bro, where’re you going? Agents don’t fight. It’s dangerous. Stay with me.”

“I’m grabbing meds for you. Relax. I’m an agent. I know Monsters’ habits like tracks in fresh snow. They won’t touch me. And remember—don’t tell anyone about the array.”

Ren saw he couldn’t stop him. He obeyed, fingers tight on the Magic Stone. He crouched in a corner, phone a dim hearth in his hands.

Lingchen drew a breath that felt like cold water. His hoodie slid off like shed skin. Night Frost unfurled, black and crimson gown flowing like a storm-tide. She moved with grace, swift as a shadow, through the dim emergency corridor, a ghost between walls.

On the third stairwell, she peered down through a window. The angle should show Ren. It showed nothing but warped air, like glass melted around a candle.

“Kid, I think I know that Cantata Two. Not a barrier. A space lock.”

The Eye Orb went quiet, then Night Frost spoke, her voice a blade against paper.

“Space Rhinoceros. Long-lived. A Monster of the Beast domain. The horn on its forehead cracks space like ice. Their kind often misstep, fall out of the Abyss, so they’re few. Its hide is tough. Knives, guns, even bullets won’t bite. Watch its horn. It only gets one true strike, enough to turn the surroundings to void.”

“Could be others, but this seems most likely.”

Night Frost knew the cruelty of space types. Moon Owl without full power could tear a pocket of space like silk. Even if the rhino sat a tier below Moon Owl, it wouldn’t be much lower. That horn could shatter space like a wineglass under a hammer.

“The rhino likes to stay in one place for years, weathering like a boulder. It twists nearby space so hunters can’t approach. This warped maze proves it.”

The Eye Orb felt its tutor role slipping. After a dozen chapters of coaching, it hadn’t expected her to sprint this far. Are you cheating?

(Night Frost: I’m not. Don’t spout nonsense. How can a protagonist count as cheating?)

“Still, its horn is fragile. Get close. When it winds up for the final strike, cut the horn. End it.”

She locked the plan in place like a pin in a map. Night Frost went hunting for the rhino, steps soft as snowfall.

Half an hour later.

Night Frost stood by a window, eyes fixed on the floors below. Frustration pounded in her chest like a trapped bird. Impatience sizzled in her gaze.

“Damn… What has this thing stitched the paths into? One minute it’s a restroom ahead. Next it’s an electrical room. No pattern. I half expect to leap from a high platform next time and land in a broom closet. I haven’t even seen the rhino’s shadow. I feel useless.”

She slid down to sit, back to the wall, staring at the flickering lamp. The light stung, a moth-broken candle.

“Damn this busted lamp. Stop flashing and blinding me. Are we stuck here? I’m getting hungry. Tsk. I skipped dinner, thought I’d grab something on the way back. Then this mess.”

She brushed her ash-gray hair back, the motion like smoke curling. Her dark-gold eyes glimmered in the dark. She could read night like a page. Now she saw only chaos, a fog of warped glass, except for a square of clear floor under her feet.

“Where do I even go…”

A wild thought rose, thrilling and cold. She pushed open the window. She looked down at the twisted space below, excitement pricking her skin like frost. Her gold eyes brightened, then she shook her head and drew back like tide from rocks.

“No. Too risky.”

The Eye Orb flinched, iris tightening.

“What were you about to do?”

“Just wondered if I’d die if I jumped. A test, you know. I held it in. It’s fine.”

The Eye Orb added a line to its lab notes, pen scratching like a rat in straw.

Experiment Log n: Overly lively. Exhibits self-destructive tendencies. Suggest removing limbs and pinning to a board… ropes may not hold.

They fell silent after the joke, both watching the light flicker like a heartbeat.

Then the Eye Orb spoke, voice counting beats.

“Look at the lamp. It flashes in rhythm. About every three seconds it flickers. Then it stays bright for around ten seconds. When it’s dark, our path leads to the electrical room. When it’s bright, it leads to the restroom. We should test it.”

The logic rang true, steady as a drum. Night Frost chose to try. No better path lay ahead, only fog.

She dove into the chaos, body cutting the air like a fin through water. She timed her step with the lamp’s glow. In the next second she stood inside a ward. It was quiet as snowfall. All the patients slept, faces pale moons. No one seemed to notice the world had bent.

“Uh. Third scene unlocked, then.”

Her words barely ended when whispers rolled in, low as river-murmur.

“Save me. I don’t want to die…”

“I want a few more days…”

“Let me see my daughter…”

The patients opened their eyes. Under twisted moonlight, their pupils shone dull black, like tar. They slowly climbed from their beds, joints creaking like old wood, and shuffled toward Night Frost one step at a time.

Goosebumps raced her arms like ants. She turned, pushed the door, and slipped out. A breath. She was back at the start. The lamp still winked, a sly star.

“What the hell is going on with these people. Scared me half to death.”

“I recorded it. Want to watch?”

Night Frost nodded. The Eye Orb threw a blue light-screen onto the wall, a pond of glass.

It showed Night Frost and the Eye Orb in the ward’s center. The people’s eyes snapped open. The low moan followed like a shadow. They rose together, a tide lifting. Night Frost sensed the wrongness, the place too eerie, and left before the water could close.

“Here. Pause. Their bodies look off. Feels like something extra on their backs. Can we get a clearer frame…”

“You can go again. Kill a couple. You’ll know soon enough.”

The Eye Orb teased, voice dry as old parchment.

“No. I can’t raise a hand against them. Otherwise, what’s the difference between me and you?”

“I think I saw it! Right there. Rewind!”