A hush of pressure draped over a corner of District Twenty One like a burial shroud. A beam of annihilation lanced from a silver-white spear, blooming outward from Kaneko.
Everything within sight was scythed to ruin, the beam carving a deep ravine through street and stone. Dust wreathed the sky with the smell of char, while that silver-white silhouette hovered in midair, calmly surveying her “masterpiece.”
The wicked lay executed; Kaneko’s halo thinned like fading dawn. She drifted to the ground, drained of mana, eyelids too heavy to lift.
From the intact buildings afar, a streak of Purple Lightning skimmed out, circling like a wary hawk. After confirming no survivors, she dropped beside Kaneko, drew a dagger at her waist, and hesitated.
Revulsion first, duty second—she was here only because the Seeker had tracked Kaneko. She’d come to assist them, yet wanted no part of it. Her drive to fight Night Frost and the others was born of hate.
Kaneko had never joined in killing her sister. She wouldn’t help the Seeker target Kaneko; in her bones she despised their methods. Whatever they were after, they even struck at children.
In her eyes, Kaneko was a real girl in her early teens. Zhao Qingsnow stood as a warning ahead—crow’s feet betray the years; a Magic Maiden, no matter how strong, is no god, and even gods age.
Thinking that, she felt the Seeker’s conduct grow colder and wrong. So she refused them, chose to watch from afar. When Kaneko failed, Purple Lightning would step in and pull her out.
But the world pulled hard left. Just as she moved, Kaneko became a white figure planted on earth. She raised a hand, and the pressure crushed breath from lungs. Survival screamed; Purple Lightning yanked back her foot and bolted, lightning flashing like a startled deer.
Luck cut a path. Kaneko’s attack covered a wide ring, not quite vast, not quite small. With sheer speed, Purple Lightning barely slipped past a strike that could have ended her.
Old wounds from Night Frost and Zhao Qingsnow split again, pain blooming like frost cracking bark. Her body faltered, but it didn’t stop her legs.
When the smoke thinned, she parted the dusty air and approached Kaneko. If Kaneko were ordinary, she would have carried her away. But the scene carved a killing intent into her heart.
Could an ordinary girl unleash mana like a storm? Strong enough to erase a street, leaving almost no one alive?
She remembered the Twelfth District. Night Frost’s monster incursion. A black dragon met a silver radiance. They collided like two comets and fell together.
Now white light gleamed here in District Twenty One, alongside Night Frost’s people. The Twelfth District’s aim needed fresh calculus.
Kaneko stood as an aware weapon, a blade with its own will. Terrifyingly strong, yet flawed—something held back her full force.
Even with defects unhealed, her power ranked among the era’s hardest hitters. She carried the dread capacity of Chapter Three. Purple Lightning knew the upper brass of District Twenty One—both Order Keeper and Seeker—had a track record that stank. If they learned Kaneko’s nature, they’d do anything to get their hands on her.
Hesitation tangled like vines. Kill Kaneko here, and the whole mess would never have happened. At most, the city would log an explosion or terror attack. The Seeker would chalk up three First Symphony casualties.
Kaneko’s actions—intentional or not—earned the gallows. Executing her on site fit the law.
Kaneko kept her eyes shut, trembling like a fawn. Her face was pale, drained of color, fists tight enough to hurt.
Conflict first, judgment later. Purple Lightning weighed it all: take Kaneko back to face District Twenty One’s trial, free her from pain here and now, or simply let her go. No—that wasn’t possible. Too many lives from District Twenty One weighed on her hand.
Resolve hardened like ice. She raised the dagger. Violet light condensed along the blade. She thrust for Kaneko’s chest.
In that instant, lingering radiance wrapped Kaneko like a thin shell. It pinged the dagger away. Judging the shield’s strength, Purple Lightning knew only a Magic Spell would pierce it.
Yet fate leaned in Kaneko’s favor. Purple Lightning felt people approaching. If she moved now, those credit-hungry hounds would report everything, and a fresh bloodstorm would follow.
She didn’t want to watch more people die. She and her sister were only tools for the high seat’s ambitions.
She had joined the Order Keeper to earn some money, keep family fed, protect her sister, help when she could. Now it felt like she could do none of it.
No money came. Her sister was dead. The funeral had been thin and hurried, smoke without warmth. They used Purple Lightning like a gun, and she agreed, as long as the barrel pointed toward revenge.
Three goals had lost two. Emptiness pressed in, grief pressed down. Two aims remained: kill Zhao Qingsnow, and do something that actually helped society. That meant Kaneko could not fall into District Twenty One’s scheming hands.
She had seen Kaneko’s power with her own eyes.
She couldn’t kill Kaneko now, and people were closing in. She needed to hide Kaneko, or the fallout would be catastrophic.
A rubble pile offered a decent haven. With lightning quickness, she stacked heavy stones into a sturdy triangle, then lifted them gently with mana. She shaped a hidden shelter, close and hard to spot.
“Who are you? IDs, please.”
She didn’t need to guess. Hoods and blue tracery gave them away—the Seeker.
She flashed her credentials. They showed theirs. Few among them were truly strong, but their lead wore the grade of a Cantata Two.
“This is the incident scene,” she said, voice steadier than her pulse. “It will be taken over by the Order Keeper, Seeker or not.”
The Seeker lead answered at once, calm like rain on slate. “Several of our companions were nearby. They were likely caught in the blast. Can you make an exception?”
By their tone, they were the companions of the ones from before, or a quick-response oversight team. No surprise—the earlier spectacle had probably been witnessed by a Seeker Cantata Two.
“If you want entry, submit your paperwork to District Twenty One’s Order Keeper,” Purple Lightning said. “I’m on routine duty. I can’t relax the rules.”
She laid out the Order Keeper’s policy. Other departments needed upper approval to step into Order Keeper zones. Otherwise it was a breach of law, and she could intervene.
Seeing her shift into an attack stance, the lead understood—she wouldn’t let them in. As the lead readied to strike, Purple Lightning added a lifeline.
“I saw a few of them near here. Try searching this strip. Other affected areas are still off-limits to you.”
She left them a retreat. A straight fight would be rough in her state. Better to ease things and keep tempers low.
The Seeker lead narrowed her eyes, reading the line between words. Purple Lightning was offering a “large” concession without asking for a fee. The lead didn’t have to pay a thing.
They both knew their actions danced on the wrong side of the law. They both understood the other’s intent. A silent pact settled; neither would name the other’s game.
The Seeker lead sent her team moving. They cleared debris and scrubbed traces from the ground, swift as a tide turning. Purple Lightning blinked, caught off guard.
The Seeker’s field work felt almost too competent. The Order Keeper branch she belonged to often lagged a beat or two, though they could move fast when pushed.
The team finished and left without looking back. Purple Lightning sent a report to the upper echelons. Support was approved—Magic Maidens were on their way.
She used the breathing space to shift Kaneko to a safer place.
She lifted Kaneko gently. Somewhere inside a dream, the girl flinched and curled into Purple Lightning’s arms, a sparrow seeking warmth.
A quiet sigh slipped out. She had wanted to kill Kaneko; her fragility kept striking chords. Kaneko carried sin, and disaster walked in her wake.
Kaneko had to disappear from this world—any way it could be done. At least for a time, she couldn’t be allowed to be found by the high seats.
The blast carried far, sound threading through lake water into the deepest vaults of the Modification Center. It reached Night Frost’s ears, trapped within a transparent gel.
“Ah—loud enough,” she murmured. “I can hear it.”
The fish-like manager didn’t slow. In the distance stood a container full of strange liquid. Drop the catalyst in, and it would react, hardening into a near-unbreakable material.
Not equal to Obsidian Stone, but superior in certain traits. Even with sky-splitting talent, Night Frost couldn’t tear free.
The stuff was viscous, thick as sap, likely mixed with anesthetics. Dizziness blurred her edges. She felt her Magic Layer being gnawed away, slow as acid rain. Soon it would start eating her skin.
But this cage wasn’t beyond breaking—for a Magic Maiden like Night Frost, whose art was flame.
