The Blood Clan prince didn’t chase the few who fled. He turned toward the Abyss, like a wolf scenting a ravine.

Caris was still a short distance from the Abyss, caught in the seam between reality and the deep. Someone was dragging her, inch by inch, into a deeper layer. The prince felt his gut tighten; he couldn’t relax for a breath. The warden of that border was stronger than he’d guessed.

His fingertip scored empty air, as if carving glass. Blood gathered like a stormcloud and hardened into a scarlet spear. His presence rose like heat off asphalt, with a hint it could rip nearby buildings up by the roots.

The blood-spear punched through the void and stabbed the narrow rift. A muffled groan thudded inside the crack. The Moon Owl staggered back several steps under the shock. She peered through the slit, eyes like night, toward where the prince stood.

She flicked a glance at the space behind her, compressed into a ball. Caris, reduced to blood-mist, was trapped inside that sphere like a fly in amber. She couldn’t finish a blood-mist, so she did the next best thing—crush that clotted fog to the limit and let the pocket and Caris vanish together.

But this needed time. And the Blood Clan prince came killing through the gap, his spear roaring with power, no weaker than the Crimson Scythe Caris had swung moments ago.

“I am Antica Nofele, prince of the Nofele line,” he said, voice like cold iron. “Human, I have to commend you. You’re impressive.”

He was surprised she had eaten that sudden strike head-on. But from that blow, he gauged her baseline. The Moon Owl’s body was mid-to-low tier; it was her eerie space that made her hard to handle. Body to body, he would win.

These Magic Maidens had a knack for spiking. In some windows their power doubled like a flash flood. He’d paid for that once at the hands of two Magic Maidens. Even so, his priority now was cracking space.

His pressure climbed, a tide that made even the Moon Owl’s brow crease. The source of that weight came from the prince who ripped open space and strode closer, a storm shouldering the world.

That one understood space as well, at least in part. Every "Chapter Three" she’d met could tear the fabric of the world.

The giant worm. The Blood Clan prince before her. Caris trapped in her hand. And that black-robed woman. As "Chapter Three," all of them were strong enough to break space by force.

"Chapter Two" and "Chapter Three" were a watershed. As power rose, every path seemed to converge toward the same horizon. Space was no exception.

From "Chapter Three" onward, you could rip space, sense space. If a "Chapter Three" knew space well, and the Moon Owl met them head-on, her edge would evaporate.

Of course, the Moon Owl was a space-type Magic Maiden. She’d been feeling space since she was a teenager, years layered like rings in a tree. Time and talent weren’t easy to bridge.

The prince had lived hundreds, maybe a thousand years. He’d grasped space as well. That blood-scarlet spear had targeted a thin spot; otherwise, after crossing layer on layer, it would have bled most of its force.

“So this is a Blood Clan prince…”

She breathed deep and slid the spherical pocket into another fold, like tucking a pearl between waves. Both hands lifted daggers forged from space, and her night-black eyes locked on every twitch of the prince.

He didn’t move. But the sense of crisis leapt first, like a spark across dry straw. Her pupils tightened. In the blind corner of her vision, the stink of blood surged like a tide.

The prince across from her collapsed into a puddle, as if flesh turned to rainwater. The real prince appeared behind her, and a knight’s sword of blood slammed down like lightning.

She felt the pressure clawing her back. Her dagger ripped a seam, and she slipped inside without a pause, a swallow diving into reeds. But that blood-forged blade outran her forecast. It chased the path her dagger had drawn, tore open the half-healed seam, and its sharp tip skimmed her Magic Armor, carving a red line across her back.

“If the Blood Chalice were in my hand, you’d already be dead,” he murmured, voice like frost. “Pour your blood in, and I’ll own your ability, your insight. Your space will be nothing before me.”

The longsword in his palm reshaped into a spear, a red reed stiffening. His other hand lifted slightly, and every drop of blood around them answered like a flock to a whistle.

Her wound wouldn’t knit. Blood flooded her eyes, rolled in her nose, pressed under her skin like a boiling sea. She locked her Mana to stabilize the pressure, cut another crack, and slipped deeper into the folds.

She pulled air into her lungs, and the raging blood stilled like a pond at dawn. The Blood Clan prince was far stronger than she’d guessed. He stood at the upper tier of "Chapter Three," likely on the same rung as that black-robed woman from that day.

The space-sphere in her hand needed more time to finish compressing. She would use the lull to recover breath and wounds. Her task was to stall "Chapter Three." If the forces below won, their help would make dealing with the prince far easier.

But reality cut that hope short. A Crimson Scythe scratched a thin notch across the space in front of her, a cat’s claw on silk. The notch widened stroke by stroke. Through the slit, she saw the prince’s gaunt cheek and a face bleached and pieced together like porcelain.

Scarlet eyes pressed to the seam, studying the Moon Owl wrapped in space, a hawk watching a hare.

“I found you—”

She flicked a shard of space, a black petal, toward the prince’s eye. He burst into blood-mist, flowed through the crack, and stood before her again, a crimson fog coalescing into a man.

The pressure returned, along with the feeling of her blood trying to peel away from her flesh. Mana in her blood almost stopped turning. Almost all of it now held her blood in place like nails in a door.

The Blood Clan prince looked calm, eyes cold. He bowed his head and stared down at her with contempt, like a statue above a square.

“Life or death,” he said, voice ancient and flat, “is not yours to decide.”

Even though the Moon Owl had culled most of the Blood Clan, Blade couldn’t reach her. Blade guessed the Moon Owl had been tangled by the Blood Clan’s "Chapter Three." Without strong space support, a number of Blood Clan slipped into the Twelfth District branch through other routes.

It was strange. Originally only one announced passage had been torn open. Then suddenly, almost every passage ripped wide. The flood of Blood Clan turned the branch into a churning dyke.

Frontline reports came in. Lu Jin and Lu Shi’s team had rescued Qiu Sheng, waves parting at the last second. Qiu Sheng was wounded and in the infirmary. Lu Jin, Lu Shi, and Dawnlight had emptied their Mana and were trying to recover.

Only one "Cantata Two" remained to guard the passages—Chen Xiaoyin. But the Blood Clan’s numbers were high. Almost every route poured in bloodspawn.

Blade was struggling, her usual fatigue erupting in the racket of a battlefield office. She couldn’t rest. Cup after cup of coffee steadied her hands. She kept directing the reserves and the First Symphony to hold bloodspawn at the channel mouths.

Qianchun had some command in her bones. She stepped out from the shelter and sat at the desk behind Blade, helping with support work to bleed off Blade’s pressure.

Their fingers flew over keyboards like rain on tin. The branch’s defense ticked forward, steady as a heartbeat. Under Blade and Qianchun’s orders, bloodspawn at three passages were cleared. No route had fallen yet.

“South, about thirty bloodspawn,” Qianchun called, voice tight. “First Symphony team, block them. Chen Xiaoyin, I’m counting on you there too. Those things hit hard.”

Chen Xiaoyin panted, breath ragged. She crushed a treated Magic Stone, drinking its power. Her dim blue shield flared bright again, a sapphire flame. Mana pooled under her feet. She followed Qianchun’s map and sprinted to the south passage.

The Blood Clan there had already been cut down in heaps. The bloodspawn that hadn’t liquefied lay stacked like a small hill.

It was the Twelfth District branch’s first time facing this race. They still didn’t know why bloodspawn turned into blood on death. The pools seemed harmless so far. For now, the best guess was simple—they were made of blood.

“I’m on-site,” Chen Xiaoyin said, voice a little hoarse. “First Symphony has cleared more than half.”

“Thanks, Xiaoyin,” came the reply, like a hand on her shoulder.

She flung open a cobalt screen and launched like a shell, slamming into a knot of bloodspawn below. Her boot-tip touched down on the blood like a dragonfly. Light at her wrist smashed the nearest bloodspawn to slurry.

She landed in a patch free of blood, steady as a tree trunk, gasping for air. Truth was, she was out of Mana. Running between a dozen passages had drained her mind and bones. Without Magic Stones from Monsters holding her up, she would have fallen already.

“Area cleared. No injuries among the team.”

A spark lit Qianchun’s eyes. A few points remained. Once those were clean, they would throw everything to the Moon Owl. Victory would be theirs.

Blade sipped her coffee, bitter as night. She pointed at a screen and asked Qianchun, a chill in her tone.

“Doesn’t this feel wrong? The Chapter Three left. So who’s tearing open closed routes?”

Qianchun stared, a beat of silence like a dropped pin. Blade was right. If Chapter Three had gone, and there weren’t strong enemies among the Blood Clan… then what trick was ripping shut passages back open?

“You mean…”

If that was true, their foe was stronger than they’d thought. The war wasn’t over.

Chen Xiaoyin stood on the dry patch at the center of the blood pool, ready to catch her breath. She planned to restore a bit of Mana and hold the mouth against any stragglers, just in case.

Splash—

The calm blood stood up like a wave. Scarlet liquid gathered into human shapes, silhouettes rising like ghosts in fog. Chen Xiaoyin snapped her eyes open. Her short blade cut through the clots, splitting them clean in two.

It was like the knife didn’t hurt them. Chen Xiaoyin shouted for the squad behind her to fall back. She felt it in her bones—these things were not weak.

“Rise!!”

The ancient voice pierced time like a bell and fell onto the land of the Twelfth District.