“Why are you telling me this?”

Blade’s gaze locked onto Yin Tianchen on the screen. He stood high, knew much—while the Twelfth District remained utterly in the dark. Only his arrival had woven fragmented clues into truth.

Suspicion flared instinctively in Blade. Since adulthood, she’d navigated countless dealings. In her view, someone holding all the cards like Yin Tianchen wouldn’t casually offer clues and favors without ulterior motives—enticement or threat. Ordinary people simply didn’t play that way. Throwing away all leverage only weakened one’s position. To her, Yin Tianchen’s cooperation reeked of hidden intent.

“Call it gratitude,” Yin Tianchen said softly. “For saving my daughter and me. I’ll never forget her kindness. Without her… I’d be dead.”

Blade’s brow furrowed deeper. A third party had entered the equation. This mysterious savior’s deed was why Yin Tianchen sought the Twelfth District.

“Who is she?”

Blade urgently needed the name. If Yin Tianchen came to cooperate, this person must be tied to the district—perhaps even from it. But he was in the Second District. Who from Twelfth District had gone there recently?

Wait—one person!

Zhao Qingsnow mentioned Night Frost was missing…

“Was it Night Frost?”

Blade couldn’t fathom how she vanished or reached the Second District—but only Night Frost fit.

“Correct. Without her sacrifice, Rouge Rabbit would have fallen. She hailed from your district. Now you face what we once endured. I offer cooperation to lend what aid I can.”

Blade’s brow tightened again.

“Wait… *sacrifice*?”

A trace of grief flickered across Yin Tianchen’s face. The memory remained vivid: hiding in rubble, helpless as Crimson was seized by the Order Keeper headquarters, while Night Frost was slammed into a spatial rift by the Black Dragon’s phantom.

Not an Abyssal Rift—a fixed passage. A true spatial rift. Even with perfect supplies and armor, survival against the void’s chaotic currents was near impossible. Let alone for Night Frost—mana-depleted, alone.

“So… Night Frost sacrificed herself?” Blade murmured.

Yet one thing was clear: Yin Tianchen’s intent was genuine. Shared suffering. Shared goal.

“Cooperation agreed.”

Blade’s expression remained grim, but she forced a smile—pale, strained, utterly hollow.

“Cooperation agreed. Files coming shortly… My condolences.”

Blade shook her head. She wasn’t fragile. Magic Maiden was a high-risk calling. A sister laughing beside you today might be gone tomorrow.

She’d known this since childhood.

The first old District Keeper died in a hospital, body scarred with monster bites—she’d held the tide alone. Moon Owl’s mother. Dawnlight’s parents. Countless Magic Maidens of the First Symphony, fallen in the Beast tide. Then the Insect tide. Then former District Keeper Yuan Dai, sacrificing herself against the Blood Clan. And now… Night Frost.

Blade ended the call, shut the screen. Hard to believe Night Frost—so many close calls—had finally slipped.

*She deserves a monument. She gave much to the district.*

Blade stood, drafting a tombstone procurement request.

Then—a file arrived. Rouge Rabbit’s mobilization list. Two hundred seasoned personnel deploying immediately to aid the Twelfth District. First wave only; more to follow.

With this support, district troubles would fade. Attention could shift fully to the Seekers and Order Keepers.

Knowing the enemy’s aim changed everything. Twelfth District in the light, foes in shadow—a disadvantage. But what if the district slipped into shadow? Let unease fester among them.

Since the targets weren’t the two new districts, Blade could safely redeploy Cantata Two forces.

*Truly fortunate to have Moon Owl.* Markers set, spatial rifts torn open at will within her range—redeployment time slashed.

“Pull Lu Shi and Qiu Sheng. Their strength fits my two nails perfectly. Others maintain duties.”

…

Outside the Twelfth District, in a modest abandoned warehouse, a delicate-faced man with mechanical prosthetic arms sat in a wide rosewood chair. Connoisseurs would spot the limbs: latest model, steep price.

Face twisted in fury, he berated rows of lean, rugged yet haggard men—ordinary souls who joined mercenary forces beyond the district just to survive.

“You useless lot! I spent fortunes training you—*nothing*? Then keep searching! Until you find it!”

He slammed fists down. Cement cracked like spiderwebs. The warehouse shuddered, near collapse.

Men lowered heads, fists clenched, swallowing rage. Resentment burned—but he was their new boss.

He’d given nothing, promised nothing. Only his elder brother’s sudden death placed him here. Yet they obeyed. Survival demanded it. Money ruled this world. And some had chips in their skulls—forced obedience.

“This client has no patience. One week… You know the consequences.”

His face darkened. The power behind the client? Untouchable. Success meant ascent. Failure—end of the organization.

“Oh dear~ My lord, anger harms the body…”

He frowned, swung a fist backward. A shockwave pierced a young woman’s abdomen—a gaping wound, yet no crimson blood flowed.

She traced the hole with a fingertip. Dissolved into silvery liquid. Left only an empty skin. Then the mercury pooled, coalesced, reshaped.

“Ah… ah—”

She tested her voice—grating, broken. A drawback of her power.

“The mission remains incomplete.”

Everyone longed to cover their ears. None dared. This eerie woman could slaughter them all.

Metal-manipulating Magic Maidens were cyborgs’ bane. But *she*? Mercury clad her form. Even his Obsidian Stone-infused prosthetics meant death if mercury breached them.

“Next time—we *will* succeed!” he stammered, legs trembling. Memory flashed: Magic Maidens storming headquarters. Their leader holding his brother’s token… and a blood-soaked face skin. *His brother’s.*

They’d installed him to control the group. He’d submitted—overpowered. Then… sitting in that chair felt *exhilarating*.

Orders given. Money flowed. Not mercenaries—a local tyrant’s throne.

Only the Magic Maidens’ tasks haunted him. Fail? His head would roll.

Secretly, he’d modified himself. With stronger upgrades, more men… maybe victory. But for now—bide time. Wait.

“*Next time?* You said it. Fail again? Others here *eagerly* await your seat…”

A chill shot down his spine. Cold mercury had brushed his skin—unnoticed.

Below, eyes held anger, envy, fear. Some *wanted* him dead.

He’d move himself. This mission allowed no failure.

Mercury strands flowed into the men. The woman’s form shrank; silvery armor bloomed on their bodies.

He strode to the corner, yanked open a heavy door. The mercenary HQ—modest tech, but functional.

Here, his final modification awaited.

Then… he’d personally greet the Twelfth District’s Magic Maidens.