Seeing the monster manager had no intention of keeping Night Frost, she moved to slip away like a shadow. Then the thought hit like cold rain: she still needed the Modification Center’s road to reach the Seeker. Her lifted foot drew back like a tide.
But the Modification Center had learned she was undercover, a lantern lit in fog. That road would turn thorny. She chose to leave, like a bird fleeing a snare; this wasn’t a place to linger.
She could still find a way into the Seeker, like water seeking a seam in rock. But life came only once. If she didn’t bolt now, four or five of Cantata Two would circle like dusk wolves, and surviving would be a coin toss.
The Modification Center was strangely tolerant, like a cavern sheltering strays. In this lightless underground, most had done lightless work, yet here they’d found a harbor.
The Modification Center didn’t want to touch Night Frost, like a cat ignoring a passerby. She hadn’t taken anything vital. She had tried to reach below the ninth floor and failed, a stone sinking without a ripple. Most managers found it funny, like watching a rookie spy trip; was this really her first time undercover?
The fish‑monster trudged back to the shore, teeth clamping a few slick fish corpses like a seal with its catch. Beside him, a woman stared at her phone, watching Night Frost hunt for an exit on the feeds; a dreamy glaze slid across her eyes, and a Mana Blade sprang from her wrist like a silver fin.
As she pictured turning Night Frost into art, the stench off the fish‑monster yanked her back like swamp air. She pinched her nose and bolted, eager to be as far as the wind could carry her.
A fully modified man nearby didn’t mind, dull as iron to scent. His sense of smell had been removed like a bolt from a machine. He asked if the Mud King that had seeped into the Modification Center had been dealt with.
Hearing a firm yes, he left like a shadow sliding off a wall.
These past days, managers in every district were mired in the Mud King’s mess, like ants repairing a flooded nest. As vice boss, the man buried himself in internal affairs—losses, rebuilding plans, ripple effects Night Frost might cause—files piled like fallen leaves, all needing his stamp.
The woman found it all dull, like ash after a fire. With the Mud King handled, she chose to rest. She looked at her phone; Night Frost had reached the exit. With playful fingers she flipped cameras, waiting to see what kind of theater would bloom like night flowers.
Night Frost reached the doorway. She had walked that long, narrow throat four or five times, yet never with such unease, like ice forming under skin. Where did it come from—the Modification Center, or something else drifting like storm smell?
Outside, the sky burned with sunset, and the lake lay crimson, like a bowl of cooled metal. Such beauty wasn’t friendly to fresh footsteps. Night Frost had barely stepped out when the unease burst like a snare tightening.
Two figures sprang from the grass ahead like hares, and one dropped behind her like a blade of night. The one in front was a Magic Maiden she knew, deft with the mind’s invisible hand. The one behind gripped a Tang blade three feet three inches long, its edge reddened by the dying sun like steel soaked in blood.
“Didn’t expect that harmless face to be the enemy,” the front one said, voice like a smiling knife. “My gut that day was right. Pre‑fight intros, then—you can call me Jiang Xiu.”
Jiang Xiu narrowed her eyes; pink irises glowed like peach blooms. Hundreds of Spirit Threads unfurled in the air, like a nest of silken snakes. Night Frost ignored them one by one, and the truth clicked coldly—the dread came from Senior Wang.
Senior Wang belonged to the Order Keeper, a lighthouse hidden in fog. She had guessed Night Frost’s identity and passed word to the Order Keeper. Night Frost’s group had smuggled in with the Key, a glowing lure; of course hunters watched.
At first they weren’t sure Night Frost’s group had reached District Twenty One, doubt like mist over water. But when the Old Woman retrieved Night Frost’s father’s notebook, ripples spread.
They half‑guessed the group had landed in District Twenty One, and with Senior Wang’s intel, the last smuggler’s face surfaced like a carp—Night Frost.
Their target was the Key, a star in a closed fist. They didn’t know who held it, so they planned to test them one by one, net one, then pry out where the Key lay.
Night Frost’s thoughts fanned out like startled birds. She recalled the spirit Formation in the notes; the way the Array Pattern was carved matched the mark on dead Yun Ling’s head. Yun Ling was Seeker. They’d barely met, but those strokes and chisel scars—Night Frost was sure—they came from the same hand.
A wry smile tugged at her, bitter as night wind. So her father’s notebook first fell into Seeker hands, and someone gifted with arrays tinkered a spirit Formation from it. They joined with the Order Keeper to fish out her father’s helper like baiting a deep river.
On the matter of the Key, the Order Keeper and the Seeker in District Twenty One stood oddly aligned, like two cliffs facing the same sea. Because of Night Frost’s group, they had linked arms for a while.
“You already know, don’t you? Otherwise why come for me.” Her voice was cool as frost on stone. Their presence here meant her mask had been peeled long ago.
When Night Frost stopped talking, Jiang Xiu struck first. Spirit Threads twined and writhed like vicious vipers, drilling into Night Frost’s mind to corrode her spirit like acid rain.
With a sharp whoosh, Crimson Gold Flame burst from Night Frost’s skin like a sunrise. A black dress trimmed with gold unfurled from the fire, and her ash‑white hair danced in the blood‑red light. A Spear molded from Crimson Gold Flame sliced the suspended Spirit Threads like a scythe through reeds.
“Your flame can burn through my Spirit Threads,” Jiang Xiu laughed, voice like bells in a storm. “No wonder I couldn’t get answers then. I’m starting to like you—though better without that blaze.”
When control failed, the Tang blade girl behind Night Frost moved, swift as a swallow. The hilt lifted from a hair’s breadth above the ground, and in her hands the blade danced light as rain. The edge, soaked in sunset, drew afterimages; invisible blade‑qi tore the air and chopped for Night Frost’s head.
Night Frost was ready for her, calm as ice on a river. With intel from Zhao Qingsnow and the Old Woman, she’d sketched the Tang blade girl. Another Magic Maiden of lightning and another of darkness hadn’t shown yet.
The lightning one—Purple Lightning—was likely too hurt to come, thunder buried in cloud. But the one of darkness…
Night Frost swept the area with her eyes. The woods’ shadows stretched long like spilled ink. The round sun hung dim in the vault, huge yet fading. Soon it would sink, and darkness would cover the land like a tide.
Choosing this time meant the darkness‑wielder was nearby, waiting like a panther. It just wasn’t her cue yet.
Night Frost was alone, a lone lamp in wind. She couldn’t wait or drag this out. Zhao Qingsnow had lost ground even three‑on‑one and was half‑killed, saved only by the Old Woman. Night Frost’s flame could ignore mind tricks and push back some darkness, but her Mana was a shallow well.
If she wanted to break free, she’d face three of Cantata Two at once, a near‑impossible hunt.
Defending and thinking in the same breath, she glanced at the Modification Center’s ground‑floor doors, then at the two hemming her in. They were herding her away from the doors, gentle as sheepdogs. She understood.
Even if the Modification Center had ties to the Order Keeper and the Seeker, they wouldn’t let those two walk in openly like sunlight. They sent Senior Wang undercover because they weren’t one body, not truly.
The Order Keeper and the Seeker had funded the Modification Center’s start, like patrons of a theater. But later the Center dug deeper levels and hid more secrets, a labyrinth under a well, and refused to speak. So the Order Keeper planted an agent—Senior Wang.
So if Night Frost got back inside, these three wouldn’t dare hunt her through that door, like wolves balking at temple steps. But inside she’d face those Cantata Two. Still, better than falling into the new faction’s hands.
The Tang blade mirrored Night Frost’s face, a moon on cold steel. Crimson Gold Flame surged at the blade girl like a stormfront. Whether she ran back to the Center or broke through, that blade girl was the knot she had to cut.
Her strength wasn’t dazzling, but every part was balanced, like a well‑made bow. She clung like taffy, always stuck to Night Frost, smearing every chance to act.
Spear met Tang blade, and heat flared like sparks off an anvil. Flame licked the blade, but chill and blade‑qi shook it apart like wind stripping leaves.
Jiang Xiu wasn’t a pushover either; she was a Magic Maiden, after all. Most of her mind tricks slid off Night Frost, but her basic Magic Spells and battle craft were sharp as needles.
More than that, her Magic Stone spell could lock Night Frost at a key instant, like frost on a river. She wasn’t sure for how long—Night Frost’s mind was the strongest Cantata Two she’d seen, aside from a Seeker with an imprint.
Something else lurked in Night Frost’s spirit, like a beast under ice, pressed down by her will. It was a terrifying mental body, and it nourished her, making her spirit tough and strong as tempered glass.
Even so, a strong mind and soul have seams, and finding them was easy as spotting cracks in dry clay; only, it might backfire.
Spear and blade clashed; sparks flew and died on the dim ground like fireflies. The sun was about to fall. A last, pale smear of light washed Night Frost. She swept the Tang blade girl aside with her Spear, then stamped the earth, and a wall of fire sprang up like a sudden cliff.
As the blade girl’s rhythm broke, Night Frost sprinted for the Modification Center’s doors, feet like arrows.
They couldn’t let her succeed; failure would turn the mission to ash. Night Frost’s aim was obvious—the doors—and the blade‑qi alone couldn’t stop her. Jiang Xiu moved, and the Magic Stone on her thigh bloomed white like a winter flower.
She chanted under her breath, words like moths, and flicked her jade‑pale hand. Her mental force rolled at Night Frost like a grinding tide.
In that instant, Night Frost’s spirit felt fear, cold and sudden, and went still like a pond in frost. Her body hitched, almost pitching to the ground.
Behind her, the Tang blade split the fire curtain and thrust for Night Frost’s chest like a comet.
