A shriek ripped out of the spider, razor-sharp and cold as winter steel. Its pitch-black forelegs thrust like spears, and its hard mandibles looked ready to shred anything. Its body loomed like a small mountain, pressing down like a falling cliff. Its shadow spread like spilled ink, a tide ready to swallow all life.

Illusionary Mist felt her mind-skills stumble, like fingers on wet glass. Hope shifted onto the Eleventh District Magic Maiden. A clear film sheathed the maiden’s fists, and she drove them into the spider’s spear-tips, glass against iron.

Moon Owl felt caution ripple under her ribs. She watched the paths for a breath, then chose retreat. Their state was wrong for head-on clashes with Monsters. Back to base, rest, then relaunch—that was the wise current.

Clear liquid pooled on Illusionary Mist’s wounds, pure as spring water. The Ninth District Magic Maiden guided it, hardening it into shells like fresh resin, sealing the blood at Illusionary Mist’s shoulder.

The team accepted Moon Owl’s call and tried to shake the Nineteenth District Magic Maiden like sprinting past a hunting cat. But she wouldn’t let them go. She sprang high and dropped, blocking the road like a fallen gate.

Plans shattered like thin ice. Anxiety budded inside Moon Owl, a thorn pressing her heart. Illusionary Mist sensed that tremor in her spirit and tried to smooth it, a hand over ripples.

“Plan’s broken? Then make a new one,” Illusionary Mist said, steady as a mountain stream. “We’re not in great shape, but we won’t fold in a blink. Chances still roll in.”

Moon Owl drew a deep breath, cool as night air. She checked the map in her hand, then the Nineteenth District Magic Maiden before them. The Eleventh District Magic Maiden fought her blade to limb, and two fists couldn’t beat eight limbs. Cuts bloomed on the Eleventh like red petals; some were unavoidable.

The safest line was still back along this path to the black sand flats, a quiet shore where no Monsters roamed. Moon Owl guessed boldly it was a place Monsters couldn’t enter, a border of ash. If they dared, they could search for other squads. The Thunder Mountain route was another vein, but the Monsters swarmed there like locusts; survival was a coin toss.

Order Keeper headquarters had handed out plenty of signal flares, bright beacons in a storm. If two teams launched them, each would run toward the other’s light—joined forces, two streams merging—and maybe they could handle the Nineteenth District Magic Maiden.

Moon Owl parted her lips to speak, but Illusionary Mist placed a flare in her palm, warm as a blessing. She’d already thought it through; she just wanted to temper Moon Owl now, forge her in heat.

Moon Owl was a space-type Magic Maiden. If disaster struck, she could slip away like wind through cracks. Order Keeper Magic Maidens were few, and Twelfth District Magic Maidens were few. She had to molt fast, to stand on her own like a solitary pine.

Whoosh— The fuse hissed. A crimson flare burst in the sky, flowering like a red peony. Soon, other colors bloomed overhead, stars opening one by one.

They marked the positions, then fought while moving, like skaters pulling away from a storm. They kept the Nineteenth District Magic Maiden busy and sprinted toward the nearest flare, drawn like moths to a lighthouse.

A black spear-leg tore open the Eleventh District Magic Maiden’s chest, a slit of night across pale skin. The Ninth District Magic Maiden rushed in, spreading shell-like liquid over the wound, a lacquer sealing life against loss.

Thick Abyssal Aura clashed with Mana, like acid fog gnawing a silver shield. The Ninth District Magic Maiden covered exposed wounds with those hard shells, terrified the heavy Aura would erode them to bone. They could gather Mana to resist the Aura, a thin film against a storm, but it was the worst kind of last resort.

The Ninth District Magic Maiden’s outfit remained whole, a full armor against breath from the Abyss. She didn’t fear corrosion, so she poured her Mana into those who needed protection but lacked power or couldn’t spare it.

They fought and fell back, foot by foot. The Eleventh District Magic Maiden looked grim, a candle guttering in wind. She’d cast several Magic Spells; her Mana was almost gone. She held on with body alone, muscle and will like braided ropes.

Blood drenched her from neck to heel, red rain soaking cloth. Wounds covered her in a map of pain, and the Ninth’s liquid crawled over her like living glass.

The Nineteenth District Magic Maiden—half human, half spider—moved fast, a blur throwing phantom limbs. Her stamina felt bottomless, like a deep well. Her attacks hammered relentlessly, drums in a storm. Every strike carved new cuts into the Eleventh, pressing her so hard she couldn’t catch a breath.

Sword-light ripped the horizon, clean as dawn. Two Magic Maidens dropped left and right with twin western longswords—their late arrival a sudden thunder. Their blades severed spider legs like swaying grass. Ink-green and red blood spray painted the ground, a violent watercolor.

Above, a huge fireball coalesced—a small sun burning fierce, a molten heart. Flames churned over it, rolling like boiling clouds, pressing down on the spider inch by inch.

Below, the two moved with crisp grace, neat as calligraphy. Three strokes, five cuts, and the limbs were gone. The spider had nowhere to flee, staring upward as the small sun descended, judgment burning.

The small sun swallowed the Nineteenth District Magic Maiden whole. In the fire, the black in her eyes slowly faded, like ink washed by rain. Humanity surfaced like a buried spring—then died with the flames.

“Thank you…” That was her last whisper, soft as ash. Past memories poured back like a river breaking a dam. Since the pact, she was herself and not herself. Only death could return her to the first truth.

“Are you okay?” The two swordswomen offered their hands, lifting the Eleventh District Magic Maiden from the ground, light catching on steel. They looked at Illusionary Mist and the others—hard to imagine the storm that had stripped several Cantata Two of any chance to hit back.

“We ran into a silver wolf with brutal mind-force, and a werewolf,” Illusionary Mist said, voice flat as slate. “The werewolf did something that turned one of our own into that.”

The charred ground was all that remained of their companion, a shadow burned into earth. The expedition had barely begun, yet losses had already come, heavy as stones—one Cantata Two dead. Two barely able to keep fighting. One with Mana almost gone.

“You probably met this region’s wolf king,” one swordswoman said, a rueful wind in her tone. “Rotten luck. We’ll get you to the edge of the sand flats. Then head back and regroup. There’s still time, but not much.”

Expedition time was neither long nor short, a thread between fingers. Since it had just started, they still had chances to finish the tasks headquarters had set.

The other team escorted Illusionary Mist’s group to the margin of the sand flats, a pale coast against the green. Once they stepped onto the sand, their hearts eased like cooled iron. Compared to the grassland, this side felt safer, a quiet shore after waves.

After Mana recovered a little, they trudged back into the expedition ship, a steel whale humming low. The doctors and nurses didn’t dare relax; they whisked the wounded to the medical bay, white lights bright as winter sun.

Moon Owl and the Ninth District Magic Maiden weren’t badly hurt. The Ninth’s Mana had bottomed out and needed rest, so the report fell onto Moon Owl’s shoulders like a weighty cloak.

Moon Owl reported everything she saw and knew, each detail a bead on a string. The superiors recorded it all, then sent her back to her room to rest, a door closing on the day.

On the way back, worry gnawed Moon Owl like a cold mouth. She had glimpsed a streak of anger on the deputy commander’s face, a red thread. Their squad might have set a record for the fastest losses. Moon Owl’s mood dipped, stone sinking through water.

Recent expeditions had no losses, a gentle season. Moon Owl had thought the journey easier, with many Cantata Two helping one another, a web of hands. Dangerous, yes, but not mortal; the danger in the books felt like a past without systems, old storms tamed.

She was wrong. The expedition’s danger still towered like black waves. Past or present, with tech or without, a mass of Monsters was a flood no wall could fully hold. Even united Magic Maidens struggled.

Like today’s silver giant wolf—one beast against several, a storm in a single body. If not for Illusionary Mist’s mind-power, honed and heavy, and the Nineteenth District Magic Maiden’s immunity to it holding the werewolf at bay, the outcome would’ve been written by other hands.

But the price was cruel. The main force was almost entirely wounded, the tally red. They’d lost a powerful Cantata Two. For the next exploration, Moon Owl found little confidence in her chest, a hollow ringing.

“When did I get so bleak?” she muttered, a breath fogging glass. “Moon Owl, pick up your spirit.”

She pushed open her door and stepped inside, the room a quiet lake. She drew on the ship’s Mana, a silver current filling her veins, and sank into meditation. Sighing here was a cold waste; better to sharpen the blade. Maybe she could still be of use to the team.

“She plans to improve,” a voice noted, thin as smoke.

“A space-type Magic Maiden,” the deputy commander said, regret flicking like a moth. “What a pity she grew in the Twelfth District, that sorrowful region. If we could poach her, perfect. Pity—she’s already stepped into Cantata Two.”

The deputy commander paced, her steps etching circles. The clerk reported Moon Owl’s movements, each note a drop. The deputy’s brows knotted, then slowly loosened, a rope slackening.

“I recall another from the Twelfth District—Illusionary Mist, right?”

“Yes.”

New Faction stood opposite the Twelfth District like winter against spring. Reducing the Old Faction’s numbers was the deputy commander’s line of duty. The Nineteenth’s death reminded her of a harsh truth: if Twelfth District Magic Maidens died mid-expedition, no one would chase blame. A crooked thought curled.

“There’s a new area out there,” she said, voice smooth as oil. “Give them that map and have them explore it. They’ll surely find something. Oh, and don’t say it was my call.”

She pulled out the map, her finger tapping an uncharted region deep in the Unabyss Domain, a pale wound in the unknown. The clerk nodded and carried the map to Illusionary Mist, who was still resting, bandages white as snow.

“This is your new task,” the clerk said, face dry as paper. “Because you returned early, and the last two expeditions didn’t explore their maps, headquarters canceled your previous assignment and gave you this one. Hope you do well.”

Illusionary Mist took the papers, and her expression shifted, shadow under light. “Is this an unexplored area?”

The clerk nodded, steady as a nail.

“Your task is to chart it,” he said. “No need to carry extras. Just record the route. Shouldn’t be hard for you, right?”

Illusionary Mist stayed silent, like a lake holding its surface. Orders were orders. She tucked the map away, cold unease settling in like night frost.