After dinner, Zhao Qingsnow passed around ice water while Night Frost scrubbed the pots and bowls. The ice was water’s twin, but hers cut like knives. Cold bit bone until it creaked; only after a long wash of flame did Night Frost thaw and breathe easy.

Zhao turned in early. She was the only driver in the team. Sun Xiao could handle a bit, but he’d flunked his road test, and Zhao didn’t trust a man who felt like he’d drifted in from nowhere.

Before they got in, Night Frost told Zhao to keep an eye on Sun Xiao. He could bend and stretch, but sometimes his head didn’t keep up.

Once Zhao was done resting, it was Night Frost’s turn. Night watch couldn’t go to Kaneko, nor to the untrustworthy Sun Xiao, and certainly not to the Old Woman, that elder of theirs.

Zhao drove steady as a river in winter. Night Frost pulled out a double-layer defense formation disk—one veil wrapped the car, the other locked around her like a second skin.

The Twelfth District branch had loaded Night Frost with supplies. Her bargain mentor had pressed plenty of good things into her hands before she left. For a while, she wouldn’t lack Formation materials.

He’d urged her to study the art of Formations. Her current strength wasn’t bad; learning Formations would gild the blade. More than that, her gift for Formations was real.

She hadn’t dug deep, yet she could carve a few Formations and grasp part of nesting theory with no teacher at her shoulder.

Before sleep, Night Frost studied the Element Amplification Formation. To boost power at the stage of Cantata Two, it was the proper choice. The field journal claimed it could amp about a tenth of her Mana. That was already solid.

She checked the silver cube and the materials in the Spatial Box. Everything for the Element Amplification Formation was there. She could lay it down.

The journal rated it medium difficulty, but the material list was packed tight—five or six pages, not a single page like the easy ones. Cost scaled up like a steep cliff.

So maybe her bargain mentor hadn’t left that much after all. It felt like only three or four full sets.

Before leaving, Night Frost had asked if Array Patterns could be inscribed on the flesh—making the body itself a formation disk or a Magic Tool. Her mentor shot it down. No one had tried it. He warned her not to make her body a plate.

She kept the warning in mind. But some roads you walk until your feet say stop. Inscribing Array Patterns on her skin had let her block a mechanical leg’s full-force strike. She’d bled a little, nothing serious.

On that alone, she’d keep trying. A lifesaving art.

As for practice, Night Frost knew only two generic Magic Spells for a Magic Maiden—Hawk Eye and Night Vision. Nothing else. Both were great support. If she could, she’d learn more. Ask Zhao Qingsnow?

It seemed a decent plan.

With that thought, she let her eyes fall and sank into sleep.

She hadn’t rested well in days. Since the Twelfth District was invaded again, Blade had called the Cantata Two back.

From the remaining forty-odd, Blade picked over twenty trusted hands to manage the Twelfth District. They would lock horns with Headquarters, rebuild systems, handle funds. Lujin Lushi headed the investigation team. Dawnlight and part of Aklatia formed the patrol. Chen Xiaoyin and Qianchun worked the border defense.

Because Aklatia was involved, Night Frost didn’t idle. She led Aklatia’s people through their posts, and she had to prep for District Twenty One.

If Night Frost went to District Twenty One, Aklatia’s load would fall on Qianchun’s shoulders. To ease it, Night Frost argued hard and pulled Yan Xin over from Blade.

No, that was wrong. Yan Xin was Aklatia’s own. “Pulled” wasn’t fair.

Yan Xin had worked weeks at the Twelfth District branch and knew the paperwork. Blade said her core skills were good. Night Frost handed her to Qianchun, hoping to lighten her burden.

When Night Frost left, the heavy work would sit on Qianchun. Without a Magic Stone, her strength was at most First Symphony. Without strength, it was hard to hold those mid-join cyborgs in line.

Night Frost asked Blade if a broken Magic Stone could be repaired. Blade shook her head. She’d never seen one restored. The archives had nothing on it.

That doused Night Frost like cold rain. But Blade said there were ways for someone without a Magic Stone to gain a Stone’s recognition. Some had succeeded.

One was resonance inheritance. It split into two paths. First, inheritance from the mother—blood and Mana attributes aligned, so even a daughter with thin Mana could become a Magic Maiden. Lu Jin was one such case.

Second, resonance by attribute—your Mana matched a Stone’s nature. That chance was one in ten thousand, and the Stone could tint your temperament.

Qianchun fit neither. Night Frost shelved the idea of finding her a proper Magic Stone. Qianchun said she didn’t mind. But how could she truly not mind?

So Night Frost left her a portion of Formations. Learn them, and she could guard herself. Barely trade two moves with Cantata Two.

Night Frost slept sweet and deep—until the car slammed to a stop. A hard brake bumped her head against the seat. Good thing her Magic Layer was thick. It didn’t hurt. The sleep was done.

She was ready to curse. Zhao Qingsnow’s face was grave. The Old Woman had slipped into the trunk and become a handful of soil. That set Night Frost’s instincts ringing.

Her red-gold eyes opened, slow and heavy. Through the glass, by the beam of the headlights, she took in the scene—an outpost ahead, but not one of the Twelfth District.

Soldiers stood watch, with First Symphony Magic Maidens beside them. Guns at their waists bore carved Array Patterns.

The lead soldier held his credentials, one hand on his grip, and signaled Zhao Qingsnow to present documents and step out for a check.

Night Frost narrowed her eyes, a sigh caught in her chest. If every outpost did this, they’d crawl along the road.

Zhao frowned. Last time she crossed districts, no one blocked her and no one asked for papers. Since when did every outpost have the right to check IDs?

“Sorry. We’ve got a suspect on the loose,” the man in uniform said, steady and sincere. “We’re investigating. Please cooperate.”

The First Symphony Magic Maiden behind him offered no courtesy. Even in low light, disdain pinched her brow.

It read like: Don’t stare. Show it. Don’t waste our time.

“Suspect” was the cover. They were hunting the Key. Cantata Two raided deep inside the Twelfth District. First Symphony sat the outposts, screened mail, and reported anything off.

The Old Woman’s swift dodge told the whole story. Night Frost didn’t need more thought to grasp their real aim.

She palmed the silver cube and fished the papers from the Spatial Box.

Zhao Qingsnow passed them over. The soldier read, snapped to attention, and returned them with a bow.

The First Symphony behind him was baffled. He should search everyone in the car, and miss no clue to the Key. She’d drilled that into him.

She wasn’t ugly—clear features, nothing striking. Passable.

She stepped to the window to order Zhao out. The soldier blocked her. He opened his mouth, and she shoved him aside.

She had no intention of giving the car any face. She told Zhao to get out. Zhao didn’t plan to waste a second. Her ice-blue eyes fixed on the clueless First Symphony.

Zhao’s Cantata Two Mana fell like midwinter. The chill made the First Symphony twitch.

Now she understood the soldier’s respect. This driver was a Cantata Two. She had urgent business.

She still wouldn’t let them pass. Her superior was also Cantata Two. What if the thing they sought sat right in Zhao’s hands?

She dialed her superior. A weak voice drifted through.

“Purple Lightning, boss. We stopped a car. They might have the Key. There’s a Cantata Two on board…”

On the other end, a blonde girl lay in a mountain-top pit, her cloak torn and charred. Lightning scars marred her abdomen. Strands of hair were burnt. Ice crusted her left arm.

“Put me through to them.”

Purple Lightning judged this wasn’t the time to clash with Cantata Two. She’d talk.

Zhao Qingsnow took the call and spoke. From the back seat, one complaint from Night Frost slid into the comm, faint but crisp.

“Why isn’t this done yet…”

Purple Lightning knew that voice too well.

A jeep. Night Frost speaking. The driver’s cold cadence. Coming from the Twelfth District. It had to be Night Frost’s crew.

Then the Old Woman was likely in their car.

“Check if there’s an old woman in the car. If not, let them pass. Do not provoke them. The one in back is also Cantata Two.”