After leaving Zerich’s private academy, Xueluo and Irina stepped onto the dim country path.

Night swallowed the woods. Strange bird calls pricked Xueluo’s nerves with a nameless irritation. Rotting leaves beneath their feet swallowed every footstep.

“I don’t like how this place feels at night,” Irina murmured, slipping her hand into Xueluo’s. Her voice shrank to a whisper as she pressed closer.

【Your sister seems terrible at handling creepy places like this.】

*She’s my sister!* Xueluo hissed inwardly, rubbing her face before grumbling silently.

*She really never could handle this stuff. Ghosts and ghouls… not exactly child-friendly.*

【Says the loli who sounds like a middle-aged auntie.】

*Wow. Coming from you? That’s rich.*

Xueluo edged slightly closer to Irina, offering silent comfort. They pressed deeper into the forest—until halfway through the path, Xueluo froze.

“What is it?” Irina whispered.

“Ah… probably nothing.” Xueluo’s hand drifted to the pistol at her waist.

【You felt it too, Contractor.】

*Yeah.*

*VWOOOM!*

A golden flash tore through the darkness—straight for Xueluo’s throat.

“Tch!” She twisted sideways and fired back at the light’s origin.

*SPLOOSH!*

A choked scream ripped through the trees. Blood sprayed. Irina’s face hardened. She raised her hand—and a blade of pure magic materialized: a longsword, unrefined by Yirin crystals, weaker than a true Soulblade.

*VWOOOM! VWOOOM!*

Magic flared from the shadows. Figures emerged, hefting glowing longswords. They advanced, faces hidden.

“Too cowardly to show your faces?” Xueluo leveled her pistol. “How chilling.”

*CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!*

Blades flashed. Enemies lunged.

Sparks exploded in the night air.

Blood misted. The lead attacker crumpled, a bullet hole through his forehead. Behind Xueluo, another raised his sword—

Irina intercepted. Her magic longsword cleaved him down. With a flick of her wrist, she hurled his corpse into the next assailant.

*THUD!*

*CRACK!*

Xueluo’s shot pierced both bodies.

The remaining attackers faltered, retreating. Xueluo aimed her pistol.

“Amateur Mages.” She squeezed the trigger—

*CLICK.*

The bullet hung suspended mid-air.

Xueluo’s throat seized.

*Edward’s grip.* That night’s memory flooded back.

A cold voice cut through the trees:

“Amateur Mages?”

A figure in black robes stepped forward. He waved a hand. Invisible force crushed Xueluo’s throat, lifting her into the air. Gasping, she dangled helplessly.

“I am Cisrio,” the robed man intoned, producing a silver cylinder. Green light flared from his right hand—a Soulblade. “Third-tier Magic Knight of the Hymn Guild.”

He tilted his head, the blade’s glow painting his shadowed face.

“Let’s hope I’m not one of those amateurs you mentioned.”