At first light, Night Frost slipped out before the camp woke, like mist leaving a valley. Unease pricked first; then she moved. Chen Xiaoyin and the others stayed to parley with the border leader they’d met last night. Chen said they had no fire-wielding Magic Maiden. The broad-shouldered man didn’t buy it.

He shoved his way into their tent, a storm in boots, and found no trace of Night Frost. The two sides parted with smoke still in their lungs.

Earlier, Night Frost had seen the border crew stirring like ants under a stone. A chill rose first; then she broke from Chen Xiaoyin’s group and tucked herself into a nearby ruin, a crow in shattered eaves, where she could watch them.

Only after the leader led his underlings away did she ghost back toward camp, every footfall a leaf on water, afraid a net already shadowed her steps.

He had to be suspecting she was tied to the Order Keeper. No proof yet—only a seed of doubt.

They must also have received word that the Twelfth District’s Order Keeper wanted to delay talks. Paired with Night Frost’s probes last night, they’d suspect she was the hidden hand trying to free Kaneko. The Order Keeper was stalling for time.

Even so, even knowing the Twelfth’s branch meant to drag things out, they had no move to flip the board. Fear of the Twelfth’s Magic Maidens weighed like winter, and greed for the Twelfth District glittered like ice.

They craved a haul of resources, even a slice of land. So they’d only stack more guards around Kaneko, making sure she wouldn’t be snatched mid-meeting. She was their fattest bargaining chip.

They hated delay, but Blade had paid too much. Blade even promised to front the goods before the talks.

For outfits who ramble the borderlands, supplies are a thirst that never ends. The Twelfth’s offer could feed them for half a year. Three days of waiting made for a sweet deal.

And if talks failed in three days, they could hand Kaneko and the others to partners from other Districts. Then the tale of Twelfth District Magic Maidens oppressing civilians would be a verdict set in stone. No “explanation” could wash it away.

Their contracts said that if they took the Twelfth District, they’d get a slice of land. No more life in the wasteland’s bitter wind. They’d become little emperors on local soil.

The big man didn’t know why the Twelfth had turned into a target for all arrows. But if they pulled it off, the contract promised a meteoric rise.

Autumn held the sky, the day neither long nor short. Night Frost pined for sunset the way dry earth pines for rain. When the waning moon climbed the night’s center like a hooked sickle, she would begin.

Night slid down. Ruins and broken walls drowned in shadow. A breeze combed the ash. Night Frost rose like a reed and strode toward Kaneko’s tent.

She didn’t bother hiding her shape, yet it still took a bear’s worth of effort to get only part of the guards to notice. A sly warmth sparked in her chest: even with more guards, if the big man’s eyes weren’t on her, she could still slip into Kaneko’s tent.

Kaneko wasn’t her true target. But for them to believe she was, she had to drag a comet tail of guards straight toward Kaneko.

On the way she lobbed clots of fire into nearby tents. Little gifts wrapped in heat. She hoped they’d accept them with both hands.

A fifty-odd-man camp turned to chaos in a heartbeat. Flames clawed at the sky. Some members bolted like startled deer. Others obeyed the broad-shouldered man and moved to seize Night Frost.

She wasn’t prey for small fry. Ignoring the snapping teeth behind her, she kept angling toward Kaneko’s tent, a fox hugging shadowed fences.

She was fast, wind over reeds. In moments she reached the tent. Six guards stood outside, up from the earlier two, their presence like stones in a stream.

No wonder the outer ring felt like spoiled oil and sour sauce. The leader had stacked his stronger pieces here.

He was certain she’d come again to save Kaneko. He’d paid heavily to make sure.

All six had undergone mechanical augmentation. Parts of their bodies glinted with machine. Only partial work, though. If you had to grade them, they were about on the level of the First Symphony.

At the First Symphony, aside from freaks like Night Frost, no one could even touch Cantata Two.

They were well trained. The instant she neared, all six fixed on her. One stepped forward. Gears in his palm meshed with a hungry click.

Two red-and-blue rubber leads ran down his arm, clipped to his middle and index fingers. The fingers touched. Sparks spat, white and stinging.

Awe first—then calculation. Night Frost marveled at what tech could do: let ordinary people who’d never tasted magic stand toe-to-toe with it. Pay with flesh and money, and you could beat a First Symphony Magic Maiden.

Pay more flesh and more coin, and you reached Cantata Two. Pay enough, and you grazed the gate of Cantata Three.

Night Frost was an exception, a broke outlier blessed with ridiculous luck.

Their augmentations weren’t top-tier, but she wasn’t about to brawl blind. They were six; she was one. Two fists can’t beat four hands, let alone twelve.

If she missed one angle and took a zap, she couldn’t guarantee the leader wouldn’t crash through and hammer her the instant she locked up.

Last night she tangled with him for a few minutes. She hadn’t gone all out, but she felt the force coiled in his fists. With steam driving his frame, he could likely shatter her defensive Formation in a single breath.

So she played smart. She veered off, pinched a flame, and sprinted toward an unlit cluster of tents. Two more fires bloomed like poppies in straw.

The six hounded her, sticky as taffy, needling her patience.

They felt it too—she was a nimble rat in the rafters, always one flick beyond reach.

In the main tent behind her, the leader finally lost his patience. If this kept up, their promised goods would arrive only to meet ashes.

He moved. Mechanisms under his boots pistoned, heaving that heavy body up more than ten meters as if he were a dandelion seed. Metal arms spat out a pair of pistols. He caught both grips in steel palms.

He flowed like a leopard, muscles snapping in moonlight, skimming over flaming tents, leaving silver afterimages in the heat’s wavering air.

Dread pricked first; then Night Frost pushed faster. Fire whooshed underfoot and lifted her like a tide. She whipped around. A Crimson Gold Spear shot from her breastbone like a comet.

The big man jolted. His hands clapped together, and he caught the spear mid-flight.

Just as she’d wanted. She snapped her fingers. Boom—The spear erupted. Crimson Gold Flame surged into a wall, a burning curtain that blinded the leader and his pack.

Using the fire wall’s cover, Night Frost slipped away like smoke and came back near Chen Xiaoyin’s tent.

Seeing her escape again, the leader bit down on his rage. He barked for men to put out the fires and tighten the cordon.

He’d catch mockery from peers in the morning. Still, they’d lend him hands. Interests braid like vines.

If his camp couldn’t hold this treasure mountain, then better to invite two other camps to sip some soup. As long as they landed the prize, the take would be unbelievable. No one refused a gift like that.

“Are you hurt?”

Chen Xiaoyin stared at the crimson blaze punching the sky, then back at Night Frost. Worry pooled in her eyes. Slipping into an enemy camp was a knife dance. Was Night Frost wounded?

Night Frost pinched her skirt and spun twice. Not even her Magic Armor had a scuff. How could she be hurt?

She harried them several more times that night, and every time the effect was sharp as a bell.

Everything went as she’d predicted. After today, the other two camps would receive alliance feelers. For a hefty cut, the next time Night Frost showed, they’d send men to support the big man.

Sure enough, at first light the broad-shouldered man split his organization three ways: one to guard Kaneko and the captives, one to hunt Night Frost’s trail, and one to persuade the other two border groups to join in.

One agreed to send manpower, and to add more if things turned dire. The other refused, saying they were only staying a while in the Twelfth District and wouldn’t wade into this muddy river.

Good news for Night Frost. Chen Xiaoyin’s team wouldn’t have to split for two raids. One target would do.

Another bright thread: Blade told her that if she failed, she’d put Lu Jin and Lu Shi on the supply helicopter. They’d snatch Kaneko and the others mid-air, and cut down the rumor-mongers.

Not all threads were bright. The big man had found some kind of fireproof coating. Next round, her edge would dull.

And other Districts had started to move. Several registered Magic Maidens had gone missing. Blade guessed they were heading for the Twelfth.

They might not arrive in the next few days. Still, better to tread soft. Those Magic Maidens weren’t weak. If they crossed paths, don’t clash head-on.

Night Frost tucked all of it into memory. The wastes stayed empty as an old well. She hoped the stray gusts wouldn’t topple her plan.

“What does the Twelfth District hold that calls to them so hard? Hard enough to level it to dust?”

Her thoughts stretched thin and far. It couldn’t just be a Formation. Formations were precious, but not enough to raise an army.

Unless…

She remembered it then. In the [Human] Abyss, in that bottomless black, a fresh, pulsing pancreas.