“Because your father existed, my soul was shoved into darkness, and you took the reins of this body.”

“Because you existed, I lost eighteen years of my life; I was locked in a lightless room, praying for a god to bring me dawn—I wanted to walk outside, to touch the world with my own hands.”

“I hate you. I should’ve lived like you.”

The shrill voices scraped into Night Frost’s ears like knives on glass; guilt rose first, heavy and cold. Her body had already split at the seams—the repeated carving of Array Patterns had driven her to collapse. Ink-black Blood smeared her skin as Black Flame licked and burned.

“I’m… a thief?”

She had died—the original Night Frost perished in the Black Flame—and that ice-blue Magic Cannon had taken her mother’s life with a single, merciless flash.

Night Frost’s awareness drifted back into the lab, staring at the frozen tableau like a scroll held in midair. Blurred faces peeled open one by one, secrets unwrapping like wilted petals.

The one cradling Lingchen Yao was Night Frost’s father, and beside him stood a silver-haired girl Night Frost did not know.

No—she did know. That pure-white hair streaming like banners in the wind, and the pure-white Holy Lance that fell from the sky, unstoppable as a falling star.

As the white sphere engraved with Array Patterns sank into the vessel, Night Frost’s soul flooded most of the host. In a corner no ear could reach, she heard the newborn soul wail; his every piece was being eaten, bit by bit, by an intruder.

“You thieves! Robbers!”

Now that voice rose again in Night Frost’s ears. Her body locked in place, and for a moment she didn’t know how to face the girl before her.

A larger stone chunk fell between “Night Frost” and Night Frost; dust billowed and veiled Night Frost’s eyes. When the smoke thinned, the kneeling girl was gone. A pitch-black spear tore through the dust behind Night Frost and lunged for her chest.

“So, please—return what’s mine.”

She dragged a spear from the flames and spun, but guilt clung like damp cloth and slowed her hands. She crossed the shaft before her chest and barely caught the strike, yet a black-edged cut traced her sternum.

“What’s wrong? That righteous guilt and conscience got your hands tied? Where’s that old decisiveness?”

“Night Frost” pressed her attack; each swing bled her flame thinner. As the Blood leaked, the Black Flame within dwindled, and with it her strength.

She wasn’t as strong as Night Frost now—but Night Frost had no heart to fight. Her mind rang with that soul-piercing scream, that memory she couldn’t accept—stinging like cold wind under skin.

No doubt—the real Lingchen Yao was dead.

She should’ve died; her soul should have scattered like ash on the breeze.

But she lived—at the cost of “killing” another. That other craved life with all his breath, a newborn child with clean hands.

Night Frost had never faced that.

Till now, Night Frost held to a simple rule: if none offended her, she offended none. She had slain many—every one with tainted intent and crimes coiled like vines.

This time was different. The one before her bore no stain of evil within.

She knew she hadn’t chosen to invade that body back then—but a thorn of guilt stayed lodged, no matter how she tried to pull it free.

Boom.

The ceiling above split like dry earth; the undercity finally gave way. Layers of concrete cracked and fell. Night Frost, done arguing, slipped past the rain of stone and sprinted along the elevator shaft; “Night Frost” fled another route like a shadow.

Deep floors collapsed in a chain. Night Frost climbed as far as she could, feet on broken ground, flames flicking away falling rock. She forced open a sealed passage and burst toward the main gate.

Black Flame drove “Night Frost” through the door; Night Frost followed tight. Outside, scarlet ribbons braided into a Crimson Magic Cannon, blasting every obstacle to dust. Chu Qing crumpled, kneeling with Blood at her lips.

“Night Frost” closed the gap in a blur and seized Chu Qing by the collar; Night Frost moved the exhausted Crimson aside, gentler than her storming heart.

Crimson squinted; in Night Frost’s eyes she saw confusion like fog over water. She laid a hand on Night Frost’s arm.

“I’m dumb about people and their rules. I don’t know what happened. But I can see the fog in your eyes.”

She paused, then looped a thread of scarlet Mana around Night Frost’s wrist—an actual ribbon, pretty and warm—hidden inside the sleeve of her Magic Armor.

“I’ve been lost too. I don’t know big truths, but when you’re lost, fight—maybe you’ll find the answer on the field.”

Night Frost nodded. She still didn’t understand.

She turned to the gold-and-black figure ahead.

“Night Frost” cut open Chu Qing’s chest and shoved the Earth Dragon Heart into her own body. Scattered golden flames drew together; golden scales tiled across her skin like armor.

Mystic runes rose within “Night Frost’s” eyes; under their glow, her broken body started to knit, slow as ice melting.

Abyssal Aura gathered around “Night Frost” like storm-clouds at dusk, then unfolded a new Abyss from her center. It formed in a breath, and its king hovered above—“Night Frost,” beating Earth Dragon wings with a predator’s calm.

Night Frost walked forward, standing beneath the hovering “Night Frost.” Her eyes held knots and fog, but there was nothing else to do—fight onward, or everyone here would die by that hand.

Ms Feng tended the others. Lin lay grievously wounded. Crimson couldn’t rise again. Only Night Frost could stand—and even if others could, she wouldn’t let them. This was her burden.

“I gave you a chance to run, counterfeit. Now soak in despair while I erase you. After that, I will be me.”

“Night Frost” raised her palm. Abyssal Aura coiled at her sides, and golden flames sheathed it, hardening into countless golden Spears aimed at Night Frost like a bristling field.

“No. I won’t run.”

Night Frost drew a Spear from the Crimson Gold Flame, swept aside the nearest golden Spear, and leveled her point at the hovering “Night Frost.”

“Here’s my line in the sand: I won’t give this body back. Curse me, spit on me as you want. I’ve built this life for more than ten years—I won’t let you take it easy.”

She swung and shattered the golden Spear before her. Her dark-gold eyes narrowed, locked on every twitch Night Frost made.

“You say you were weak then, so someone stole you. If this world is survival of the strong, you’re strong now—so use that strength, beat me, and take back what’s yours.”

“When that time comes, I won’t complain. Not a word.”

Her last syllable fell, and the surrounding Abyssal Aura wove itself into a dragon. The black dragon opened black-gold eyes and looked down like a night tide poised to crash.

A pitch-black phantom rose from the undercity and slid into the dragon woven of Abyssal Aura, a shadow finding a new skin.

Back in the undercity, Night Frost’s shaken heart had torn open a crack in her spirit—big enough for the Black Dragon to slip free from her soul like smoke in wind. But that wasn’t enough.

It was weak now—desperate for a new base to bear its soul. And this vast Abyssal Aura was perfect bait.

“This suits me well… only the victor earns my favor.”

“Shut up. You don’t get a say here.” x2

Night Frost flicked a glance at the Black Dragon above, then hurled the Crimson Gold Lance in a blazing arc.

“Night Frost” forced her restless hand still. She did feel gratitude toward the Black Dragon—but even so, taking Night Frost’s body meant facing that thing head-on. From Night Frost’s memories, it had dragged her up from soul-deep darkness—no kindness in that claw.

The Black Dragon swallowed the rest of its words. Weak as it was, it didn’t want to be the first target for both sides. Better to curl on the sidelines and watch—until it could steal Night Frost’s body clean.

“But, since…”

“Mm. Fair.”

Both Night Frosts turned toward the Black Dragon. If they both sensed its foul intent, then they’d deal with it first—then fight fair.

“Don’t come closer!”

The dragon of Abyssal Aura folded in on itself like a coiled snake. The two closed in, and both Spears stabbed without hesitation—but the Black Dragon blew apart into smoke, its soul slipping back into Night Frost’s core like a tide pulled home.

“Good. Back to the point.”

But “Night Frost” didn’t want to return to a stalemate, and Night Frost didn’t either. They turned. Two Spears of different colors crashed together.

Metal rang across the empty Abyss like bells in a canyon. Crimson-gold Array Patterns climbed Night Frost’s body, wrapping her entire frame and spreading across the surface of the Crimson Gold Lance.

Spears clashed, and the first to splinter was “Night Frost’s” golden Spear. Yet her aura kept rising, step by step, pressing toward the peak of Cantata Two.

Of course—Chu Qing had been one step from Cantata Three. Having inherited her heart, “Night Frost” could draw out top-tier power within Cantata Two.

With every new clash, Night Frost felt the pressure build. Her strength burned down grain by grain, while “Night Frost’s” power kept swelling. Night Frost’s spirit-flame could still scorch her—but as that power rose, the flame’s bite dulled.

Mana ties to spirit. Gain in strength raises the mind in turn. They say spirit-force differs clearly between Cantata Three and Cantata Two—because in ascent, Mana reshapes the spirit.

The “Night Frost” who took the Key and the Earth Dragon Heart was in that change. The Abyssal Aura in her body and the Key’s power were hardening her spirit.

Their spirit-force neared a level balance; Night Frost’s CrimsonGoldFlame no longer carved wounds like before.