Dawnlight slipped out of the Abyssal Rift like a blade of sun cutting torn cloud.

“Will you team up with us? Moon Owl’s tracked the space monster. She needs your hands.” Her voice fell cool as dew on winter stone.

Dawnlight passed the news to the two. Their nods came after a heartbeat, like reeds bending under a cautious breeze.

When Dawnlight invites them, they don’t refuse; courtesy and need move like twin currents. They gripe about Moon Owl, but right now alliance is the wiser road.

“There are plenty of those liquid Monsters. Their cores are insects, crawling like grains in a hive. We’ve got salt crystals mixed with Mana crystals—take some. Also, we found traces of that Magic Maiden.”

After they briefed Dawnlight, Lu Jin and Lu Shi moved toward the Rift, shadows threading into a rent in the world.

“I’ll go after Night Frost and handle those Monsters. You two take the space rhinoceros; break horn with hammer, break charge with wall.”

“Be careful.” The words hung like a lantern cupped against wind.

The two stepped into the spatial tear, vanishing like fish into a dark stream.

Dawnlight turned and rushed the way Night Frost had gone, a beam running along ridge and eave.

Night Frost and Hao Wenqian had reached the hospital’s heart; now they’d stepped beyond its doors, the city air cold as pond water at dusk.

“Why did you come here?” Night Frost asked, her voice a lowered blade.

“My grandma got sick. I brought her to be seen, but suddenly we couldn’t leave. Corridors looped like a maze, one moment a hallway, the next a utility room. I was terrified—afraid she’d be hurt. I searched and searched, but found nothing.” Her words trembled like a sparrow under rain.

Night Frost’s heart clenched like a fist around ice. She looked toward the hospital, her thoughts turning like a millstone—go back or hold fast?

Go back, and danger waits like thorns. Don’t go back… impossible. Grandma raised her, a root holding soil; how could she not return?

“Stay here. Hold this tight; it’ll shield you like a shell. And don’t run—stand inside this circle.” Her tone was stern as frost on iron.

Night Frost pressed a Magic Stone into Hao Wenqian’s hands, the same quality as the one she’d given Ren Changxiao. She carved a warding array on the ground, a ring of ash like a quiet moon.

Night Frost dove into the chaos, a swallow into storm, and surfaced in the hospital’s basement dispensing room, air steeped in alcohol and iodine.

As she sought the next path, a Blade of light flickered in the dark, a comet stripe across night. It kissed her cheek, leaving a thin line of Blood.

“Found you.” Dawnlight raised her staff, Mana coiling like mist around a pine.

“You’re the one from before… How did you find me?” Night Frost threw a fireball. It burst at Dawnlight’s feet, a flower of flame that she hoped would end this clash.

“Easy. I followed your shadow. Kind of kind of you, drawing that defense circle for the little one. But I’m not letting you walk.” Her smile was clear water with a cold stone beneath.

Dawnlight had tracked them in secret, waiting to face Night Frost alone. Why Night Frost left a hostage and ran back to the hospital didn’t matter; purpose was a blade, not a net.

“Why? I haven’t done anything monstrous.” Night Frost’s voice was tight as wire.

“Think you haven’t? Then hear this. You carry a heavy Abyssal Aura. When it piles up, Rifts bloom around you like blighted flowers.”

It matched what the Eye Orb had said, truth like a chill.

“Then why kill me?” Her question rose like smoke before rain.

“If you truly don’t know, I’ll spell it out. A Magic Maiden can purge her own Abyssal Aura. You can’t. If you purge it, you die. You get two doors: exile or death. And clearly, you don’t want to go back to the Abyss.”

“No surprise—the Abyssal Rift in Jiujiong opened because of you, right? No more talk.” Her words fell like stones.

Holy light came down like rain, turning to spears, each shaft a sunbeam hardened.

Night Frost dodged through that storm, barely. The spears stripped her Magic Armor, carving blood lines along her skin, red threads on pale silk. With no window to strike, she dove back into chaos.

Dawnlight wouldn’t let her vanish. She cut into the swirl and stepped out again, eyes sweeping like hawks. A light orb flew from her hand and slammed toward Night Frost, who crouched in a corner to recover Mana.

Night Frost grabbed a heavy carton from the shelf and hurled it, a clumsy shield against a falling star.

Orb met box. The box burst; the light died. Disinfectant powder drifted down like a slow snowfall, the air sharp as winter clinic.

Night Frost chose to gamble. Flame ran up her body like a burning cloak. She charged, hoping to break Dawnlight like last time.

Just as she closed, a faint gold shield unfolded across Dawnlight’s skin, a pond of light with runes like swimming fish.

“Radiance! Flickering scripts, holy force. Blades fall blunt; nothing comes near.” Her chant rang like temple bells.

Night Frost’s pupils quaked. The light curtain pushed her back, a wave tossing a moth. She steadied midair with a twist and threw a knot of fire. It hit the veil and guttered, a candle in wind.

Dawnlight laughed, soft as silk. She lifted her staff for the final stroke, the way a headsman lifts a moon-bright blade.

The earth shuddered. A rhinoceros with a bleeding hole in its belly burst from below, smashing the wall like rotted wood and planting itself between the girl and Dawnlight. Blood streamed down its gut, painting the floor crimson.

Dawnlight’s attack hammered the space rhinoceros, light spears biting hide like hail. Night Frost slipped the snare, gathering her last strength and sprinting out of the hospital, a black flame under moon.

Dawnlight moved to chase, but she spotted Lu Shi, unarmored and collapsing. She ran to her like a rush to a fallen sparrow.

She draped a white coat over Lu Shi, a patch of cloud on bare shoulders, and scanned the hall. No sign of Lu Jin or Moon Owl—only the echo of retreat.

“The tiger and the rhinoceros are dead,” Lu Shi whispered, breath thin as smoke. “Moon Owl tore space and fled with Lu Jin. Those bugs… there are a lot. Be careful. Carry extra Mana-crystal salt.” Her words were wilted petals, but sharp.

Dawnlight could only watch the girl in a black-and-crimson dress recede under the moon, a ripple in silk night. She couldn’t leave Lu Shi alone, and the wounded lay everywhere like fallen leaves, so she held the line.

She called the Twelfth District branch, voice crisp as a bell, and asked for a team to handle the mess. Until they came, she managed the scene like a dam against flood.

Night Frost slipped into a corner alley. She dropped her Magic Armor and changed, fabric whispering like reeds. She crushed several Magic Stones, letting Mana wash her Abyssal Aura, a river scouring dark silt. Wasteful, yes—but fast as lightning.

“You’re burning through it.” The Eye Orb muttered, voice a pebble rattling in a gourd.

“You said a Magic Maiden’s concealment charm can’t block Abyssal Aura. It only mutes Mana, and badly. Countering with Mana is the quickest way.” Her tone was flint.

Lingchen Yao sprinted toward the hospital, urgency beating like hooves.

“True. But… my heart aches,” the Eye Orb sighed, staring at the carpet of Magic Stone powder like frost on soil.

“Oh, that gold-clad Magic Maiden said the Order Keeper has a way to scrub Abyssal Aura. She also said if I clear it, I’ll die.”

“I don’t know about that. In theory, you’d be forced out of Magic Armor and be unable to transform for a while. Your state is special—Mana and Abyssal Aura co-exist like fire and oil. Lose either, you can’t transform. Lose one, you still live.” His words were measured, like a physician’s pulse count.

The Eye Orb glanced toward Lingchen Yao’s path. An Abyssal Rift was budding there, quiet as mold behind wallpaper.

He’d just burned too many Magic Stones. This much Abyssal Aura would tear something only a little bigger than last time. Cantata Two won’t get through. At most, four or five First Symphony will spill out.

Lingchen Yao slipped into the hospital during the chaos, moving like a cat in reeds, and hid in a corner. A half hour later, the search team found him, pale as paper.

“Uh… is the Monster handled?” he stammered, fear painted like mud on his face. “I’m too young. I thought I could fix it.”

He leaned into terror, a student under thunder. Two team members laughed, friendly as warm tea.

“It’s done. The Order Keeper stepped in. We ordinary folks shouldn’t try to tackle these Monsters. We don’t have that kind of strength.”

“I have a friend… near a small grove, I think…”

“Oh, the one surnamed Ren? Don’t worry. He’s fine—jumping like a grasshopper.”

They brought Lingchen Yao to the temporary survivor camp. There he spotted Ren Changxiao, begging staff to search for him, his voice tight as a drum skin.

“Yo, Ren-ge.” Lingchen Yao forced a grin, a dawn line cutting fog.

Ren Changxiao punched Lingchen Yao’s chest, a brother’s hammer, then hugged him tight, warmth like a quilt in winter.

“I thought you weren’t coming back.” His breath hitched like a cracked reed.

Lingchen Yao set alcohol and bandages on a bench, resignation in his tone, gentle as twilight smoke. “I was getting you medicine to make do. No need to worry that hard. I’m back, right? Though… looks like we won’t need these.”

“You two are pretty close.” A black-haired woman in a white coat strode up, steps sharp as chalk on tile. “From your info, you’re students at Jiujiong, right? Lingchen Yao. Ren Changxiao.”

“You’re agent trainees? That’s reckless. You knew it was dangerous and still went in. Not afraid of losing your lives?” Her words snapped like dry bamboo. “I’ll notify your teacher and issue a warning. If you do this again, forget the agent curriculum.”

Her tone was strict as a school bell. Lingchen Yao nodded again and again, like pecking sparrows. “I… I understand.”

She led the two into a small tent. The light there was soft, cotton through paper.

“Next, we’ll do a simple ‘disinfection’—we’ll clear the Abyssal Aura from your bodies.”

Lingchen Yao had already talked with the Eye Orb; clearing Abyssal Aura wouldn’t harm him. The process was easy—stand inside for ten minutes like standing in warm rain.

They came out, and logistics staff hauled away two small sealed boxes, clicking shut like shells.

After registering, the two were released, names inked like lines on a ledger.

“This is really convenient. Stand there and the Aura’s gone, like washing hands. And cheap…” Lingchen Yao breathed, eyes bright as sparks.

“Don’t even dream about getting your hands on it,” the Eye Orb said. “Unless you can storm the Twelfth District Order Keeper branch.” His sarcasm was a cold wind.

“Fair enough.” Lingchen Yao exhaled, the thought fading like smoke.

“You’re saying the Magic Maiden turned back the moment you said you were searching for your grandma?” The question came after the Twelfth District branch arrived, boots thumping like drums.

Hao Wenqian stepped out of the defense circle and told the truth, voice small as dew.

“Uh… may I ask about my grandma?” Worry sat on her face like shadowed cloud. She loved her grandma more than her parents; a child raised by a steady hand clings like ivy.

“Miss Hao, we don’t know what’s happening inside. But your grandma should be fine.” The reassurance was a woven mat, not a shield.

Hao Wenqian prayed, fingers knit like folded wings, begging the sky for mercy.

Far away, layer upon layer of light curtains blanketed the sky above the hospital, stacked like rice paper against rain.

Moon Owl wore rare worry, a pale wing shadowing her brow. She carried Lu Jin back to the Twelfth District branch and faced a mature woman whose calm was stone in a stream.

“Did Dawnlight report?”

“She did. But as for the bugs, we’re struggling to find a way to seal them.” The answer fell like an autumn leaf—quiet, inevitable.