The biting wind howled as low, leaden clouds showered icy snowflakes. Thick flurries blurred the distant mountains, dressing the dark peaks in silver. Teresa trudged up the frozen stone steps, her wrists shackled by iron chains, her thin gown fluttering in the gale. The stone tower loomed over the city and palace below—this highest point in the realm was where her life would end. Gazing toward the city gates, she saw warriors clad in beast-hide armor still fighting desperately, yet unable to halt the crimson tide of the Imperial Army breaching the defenses. With each thunderous crash of the battering ram, the gates teetered on collapse.

"Keep moving, Your Highness."

The two shamans behind her spoke politely, but their faces held not a trace of respect. Teresa sighed, the vapor vanishing instantly into the storm. Her limbs were numb with cold, her arms losing all feeling. The chill had long since seeped into her bones, freezing her heart solid. Though bearing the title of princess, she’d always known only one path awaited her: becoming a sacrifice for the summoning ritual.

Now, with the Imperial expeditionary force at the gates and Frostwind Fortress on the brink, the moment to offer her life had finally come.

Tearing open the world’s boundary to summon a powerful Champion from another realm—every nation pursued this research in these war-torn times. Souls crossing the dimensional veil would descend with immense power, some even rivaling Celestials. But power demanded payment. The law of equivalent exchange was eternal. And this time, the price was Teresa’s life.

Reaching the tower’s peak, the wind lashed fiercer. Teresa’s silver hair whipped around her as she faced the altar at the center. Ten robed shamans, their faces hidden behind ram-skull masks, chanted ancient incantations in the blizzard. A colossal magic circle slowly materialized beneath them. At its heart stood King Reynard of the Northern Lands, gripping his Frostblade greatsword before the altar. Past forty, his beard frosted over, light steel armor crusted with ice.

This was her father—the tyrant Reynard. Though confined to the palace depths, Teresa had heard whispers of his cruelty. Forcing her frozen limbs to move, she knelt before the Northern King.

"Come here, my daughter." Reynard extended his right hand. "Your moment of sacrifice has arrived."

Raw terror clawed up Teresa’s throat. Her numb feet shuffled forward against her will—her father’s command was absolute, yet her human instinct to survive fought back. Reynard smiled, but it was no father’s warmth. It was a jackal’s grin before the kill. Supported by the shamans, Teresa lay upon the freezing altar, awaiting death.

"Begin the ritual!" Reynard raised his sword. "O gods of the heavens! For the Northern Lands! I offer my daughter’s life! Grant me the power to crush the Empire!"

The shamans’ chants rose. The magic circle blazed crimson, channeling all energy toward Teresa. Static crackled in the air. Reynard cast one last glance at his daughter—his eyes cold, seeing only an object. To him, she was merely a tool to trade for ultimate power. The summoning ritual included a Slave Contract; the summoned Champion would instantly become his obedient slave.

"Teresa!" He aimed the blade at her chest. "Become the cornerstone of our nation!"

The icy bite of steel piercing flesh tore through her. Teresa gasped, a dying whimper escaping her lips: "I don’t want to die... I don’t want to die..." Her cries went unheard. No one would save her. To her father, she was just a sacrifice. The shamans would never defy the Northern King.

Begging was futile.

Yet she still wanted to live.

Suddenly, the wind stilled. Crystalline snowflakes hung suspended midair. Sprays of blood froze mid-spatter. Her father’s greedy smirk remained locked in place, the shamans’ chants silenced. Teresa stared in shock at the frozen world. Within this halted time, a bewitching girl in a black evening gown approached. Barely sixteen or seventeen, she had night-dark eyes and silky black hair swaying against her slender waist. Her ample bosom threatened to spill from her neckline—a vision stirring both lust and maternal instinct, a paradox of maiden and temptress.

"Who are you?" Teresa whispered weakly.

"My name is Yao Ye." The girl smiled coyly. "Teresa Lundbell... you don’t wish to die?"

Teresa shook her head faintly.

"Then," Yao Ye said, "let’s make a deal?"

"But I... have nothing to give you."

"Oh dear." Yao Ye feigned distress. "Beyond your soul and life, you truly own nothing. But..." She leaned down, locking eyes with Teresa. "Such a beautiful child. To let your radiance rot into decay would be such a waste."

Teresa’s eyes flickered uncertainly. But Yao Ye straightened, surveying the magic circle beneath her feet. After a pause, she tapped her chin, delicate brows furrowing.

"How malicious," she murmured to herself. "They’ve woven a Slave Contract into this. Summoning rituals are unstable enough—yet these foolish humans tamper recklessly. Practically begging for disaster. Still... since you tore a hole in the dimensions for me, I’ll borrow it. I’ve had a rather delightful idea. Hee hee."

Though confused, Teresa sensed danger. Her father’s sword still pierced her chest; her heart must have stopped. Instinct screamed that this beautiful girl was a monster wearing human skin—a very dangerous one.

"Teresa," Yao Ye turned to the altar with a smile, "I’ve thought of something wonderful. Ohohoho. Simply put... may I have your body?"

"My body?" Teresa stared blankly.

"Your life is already over. Step out of this frozen space, and you’ll die instantly." Yao Ye’s voice softened. "But with my divine authority, I can transmigrate your soul to another world. It has dangers too, yet basic human rights are guaranteed. Its technology and civilization far surpass yours—you’d likely live happily. Of course, I’ll grant a small blessing: rebirth into a good family. Consider it compensation from this slothful goddess."

"How?" Teresa asked.

Yao Ye pointed upward. Teresa looked up—a black rift in spacetime yawned above the altar, the gateway her life had torn open.

"I accept," Teresa nodded. "Goddess... let me be reborn in another world."

"Contract sealed." Yao Ye kissed Teresa’s forehead, her smile radiating maternal grace. "Bless you, my child. May you find happiness in your new life."

As her words faded, Teresa’s pupils lost focus. A silvery soul crystal detached from her body, sucked into the rift. Watching its light vanish into the abyss, Yao Ye’s smile turned icy. From between her breasts, she drew another soul crystal—but this one was sealed within layered magical rings. Darkness churned within, straining to break free.

"Officer," Yao Ye purred, tracing the crystal with a finger, "did you think death was the end? I won’t let you go. Never. I’ll strip you of your name, erase your memories—leaving only despair and utter madness. In return, I’ll grant you new power. What will you become? How thrilling. Time’s up. You’ll keep amusing me in my world."

She embedded the black crystal into Teresa’s corpse and vanished from the tower.

Time surged back. Warm blood soaked Teresa’s thin gown. Reynard waited coldly for the ritual’s completion—once the otherworldly Champion appeared, the Imperial Army would be nothing. But in the next instant, the magic circle shattered, dissolving into glittering particles in the storm.

"What happened?" he roared. "Where is the Champion?"

"Your Majesty," a shaman bowed hastily, "the ritual itself succeeded, but at the final moment, the Slave Contract disrupted the mana flow. So..."

"It failed?"

"Regrettably... yes."

A flash of steel, and the shaman’s head tumbled off the tower.

"Useless!" Reynard swung his blade, slaughtering the remaining shamans. "Fools! You wasted my fifteen-year sacrifice!"

The shamans scattered. One tripped on his robes; Reynard drove his sword through his back. Others fleeing toward the stairs collided with charging Imperial soldiers—spears impaled them instantly. Reynard flicked blood from his blade as Imperial troops raised shields in formation.

"I am King of the Northern Lands!" Reynard bellowed, raising Frostblade. "All of you—die!"

He charged the Imperial ranks. His heavy sword shattered a soldier’s shield, yet the shield wall held firm. Shoulder to shoulder, the soldiers rotated under the crushing blows. Reynard was indeed the Northern King—a peerless swordsman—but against Imperial group tactics, he couldn’t land killing strikes. His stamina drained rapidly.

Finally exhausted, Reynard was overwhelmed. Imperial blades hacked him apart.

A squad captain severed Reynard’s head, hoisting it on a spear atop the tower. Below, the palace had fallen. White-armored Northern soldiers made their last stand. Flames consumed the elegant halls, turning them into hellscapes piled with corpses. No one noticed the girl on the altar—supposedly dead—suddenly open crimson eyes and sit up slowly. Black sludge oozed from her chest wound, spreading across the stone floor.

An Imperial soldier heard a sound. Turning, he saw the silver-haired girl rising. The soul inhabiting Teresa’s corpse was restless. Her blood-red eyes stared emptily. From her chest wound, inky sludge gushed forth, defying all physical laws, endless and thick.

"What is this?" "That girl looks wrong." "Alert the captain!" Panic rippled through the soldiers.

"Form ranks!" the squad leader barked. "Shield wall—advance!"

Disciplined troops locked shields before the altar. Yet the girl made no move. She gazed blankly at the soldiers, black sludge bubbling from her chest wound.

"Gaius! Marcus!" the captain ordered. "Take her down!"

Two veterans broke formation, flanking Teresa. They thrust short swords at her snow-white neck—but instead of blood, black sludge erupted.

"What’s happening?" Gaius dropped his melting blade.

"Ahhh! My hand! It’s melting!" Marcus screamed.

The girl silently pulled the corroded sword from her neck. She looked at the soldiers. The sludge beneath their feet surged, wrapping around their bodies. Their forms twisted into black silhouettes, thrashing in agony before dissolving completely into the ooze.

"It hurts..." the girl murmured in a clear voice. "Who... are you people..."

Witnessing everything unfold, the Imperial Army squad captain had gone deathly pale. His voice trembled as he barked orders: "Archers, advance! Fire!"

Five arrows flew toward the girl. Gripped by fear, only three found their mark. One pierced her left eye, its black tip emerging from the back of her skull. A certain death blow—for any human. As soldiers exhaled in relief, the girl grasped the arrow embedded in her head. Slowly, she pulled it out. She dropped the mud-caked shaft onto the ground. Her eye regenerated at an impossible speed. Cold wind lifted her long hair, brushing her bare shoulders, painting an ethereally beautiful scene. Yet every Imperial soldier—officer and grunt alike—knew: this girl was a monster through and through.

"Summon the mages!" the squad captain ordered with his last shred of sanity. "Report to General Julius! We’ve encountered an unexpected enemy. Requesting urgent reinforcements!"

The messenger stumbled down the tower.

Seated on the altar, the girl lifted her face to the snow-filled sky. Two arrows jutted from her body. She looked pained. Her beautiful crimson eyes reflected the monochrome mountains, utterly ignoring the elite Imperial soldiers before her. Suddenly, she lowered her head, closing her eyes in thought. The soldiers tensed, raising their shields.

"My head... it aches. What’s happening to me?" she whispered. "Night Watch Unit 064 calling Control Center. No response from support systems? Internal chip damaged? Damn it—I’ve lost contact with Command!" Her gaze dropped. "Yao Ye... what have you done to me? This regret... this rage... What is this? My name... my name... Why can’t I remember?"

Just then, several mages in crimson robes rushed onto the tower roof, wands raised. Four formed a line, chanting in perfect unison. Glowing runes wove through the air, forming a circular magic array before them.

"Blazing Flame!" they incanted, sealing the spell.

Roaring fire engulfed the dazed girl. Her flesh charred and peeled away; her silver hair turned to ash in an instant. The stench of burning meat mingled with the snow. Imperial soldiers watched the flames consume her, their expressions twisted—somewhere between smiles and tears. When the fire cleared, only a blackened skeleton remained in the center of the dark mud pool.

"We did it!" "The witch is dead!" "Glory to the Empire! Glory to the Legion!"

Amid the cheers, the charred skeleton lifted its head. Its bony jaw clacked open and shut. Flesh regenerated instantly, filling the skeletal frame. Within seconds, a pure white maiden stood where the skeleton had been. Silver hair fluttered in the wind. All filth seemed purified by the flames, leaving only pristine beauty.

"Hostile action confirmed," the girl stated coldly. "Per Rule of Engagement No. 6, I designate all of you as enemies."

Before her words faded, black mud surged beneath her feet. Soldiers in black armored combat suits rose from the sludge, their full-face helmets molded into grotesque ghost masks. They formed ranks before the girl, electromagnetic assault rifles leveled at the stunned Imperial troops.

"Ghostface Army—eliminate the enemy!" At her command, a hail of bullets shredded through shields, turning soldiers behind them into pincushions.

The elite Ghostface troops fired without mercy, swiftly eradicating the enemy.

Meanwhile, more black mud gushed from the pool beneath the girl. Like a flood, it poured down the tower, swallowing mountains of corpses in the palace courtyard, drowning fleeing soldiers. The dead lost even their souls; the living dissolved in agony before joining them.

The ruined palace gates collapsed. A squad of Imperial soldiers marched through the main entrance. Their captain ordered shields raised against the black tide—but the entire formation vanished without a trace. From the palace heart, the mud surged through streets and homes, devouring everything.

General Julius of the Imperial Army’s 19th Legion marched down a street with his honor guard. The young conqueror swelled with pride. He’d seized the northern capital, executed every royal. This wild land was now leaderless—destined to become Imperial territory. As visions of history books chronicling his glory filled his head, black mudslide smashed through buildings on his right. Before Julius could react, the sludge swallowed him whole.

With their commander gone, surviving soldiers scrambled onto stone rooftops. They watched comrades sink into the black water. One man thrashed, swimming desperately—until only a skeletal arm, stripped to the bone, broke the surface. Mud thick with bones and Rotten Corpses surged through streets like a black avalanche, consuming all.

"What... is this?" A middle-aged soldier stared blankly as the mud filled the streets. He tore off his helmet, grabbed his hair, and collapsed to his knees on the roof.

"Snap out of it!" His comrade yanked him up. "Kynos—you don’t want to see your wife and kids again? This spot’s safe for now. We’ll survive."

"Gaius..." The older soldier looked up—just as warm blood splattered his face. His friend’s body, half its head gone, swayed once before vanishing into the black sludge.

"Gods... redeem me..." The soldier tried to pray, but heard no divine voice. Ghostface soldiers in black armor had silently surrounded him.

Their captain drew a pistol, aimed at the praying man, and fired without hesitation. Blood sprayed. He kicked the corpse off the roof, watching it sink into the mud. A hand signal sent his troops onward.

Eliminate all enemy forces.

Their commander had ordered it. The special forces began their slaughter.

The silver-haired girl sat on the altar, wind lifting her hair. Four Ghostface Special Forces soldiers stood guard around her, assault rifles ready, unmoved by the snow. She couldn’t recall her name. Couldn’t recall anything about herself. Her mind was blank—only knowledge and common sense remained. She raised her arm, studying her slender wrist. This delicate, fragile body—beautiful as glass art—wasn’t hers. To fight the Celestials and gods invading from the Boundary, her original body had undergone Level 6 bio-enhancement.

Bones replaced with alloy. Muscles swapped for synthetic fibers. Nerves wrapped in nanofilaments. A digitized brain processing at a thousand times human speed. Satellite network access without terminals. That body was humanity’s pinnacle—yet still insufficient. Night Watch casualty rates hit 75% in the first year. Necessary sacrifices. Angels and gods were all humanity’s enemies.

Now, her soul was trapped in this girl’s form—stripped of name and memory. She watched black mud seep from her body, absorbing the memories of the living and dead it consumed.

*A soldier longing for his wife.*

*A mother shielding her child.*

*An old man accepting death peacefully.*

...

Countless memories flooded her mind. With them came skills: swordsmanship, marksmanship, hand-to-hand combat—even woodcutting, hunting, foraging. She shook her head, banishing the dead voices. Their regrets stained her murky soul through the black mud, then faded.

"What’s happening to me..." she whispered. "What... has happened?"

The silver-haired girl stood. Mud coiled around her pure form, hardening into a dark gray combat suit—the standard Night Watch uniform. A major’s insignia gleamed on her shoulder. In the holster at her waist, the Punisher—a massive revolver—was loaded. At her hip, a Force Field Sword glinted coldly. The Simulated Holy Sword: Night Watch gear for fighting demons and angels. Only enhanced humans could wield it.

Tactical network connected. Her vision overlaid with a familiar interface. Ghostface units engaged Imperial troops across the city. Tactical layouts and troop deployments were crystal clear. Unexpectedly, this unmodified body could interface directly with the network. She focused. The central image zoomed in—footage from Ghostface helmet cams. The special forces slaughtered Imperial soldiers with brutal efficiency. Officers and grunts alike received equal death.

The battle progressed smoothly. Yet deep in her consciousness, something felt wrong.

Who were the real enemies?

"Everything seems in order. You’re adapting well to this body, (corrupted data) Major."

"Who’s there?"

She spun, Punisher raised. Ominous black mist coalesced into a bewitching girl in dark robes. Yao Ye smiled, arms outstretched—but the girl fired without mercy, shooting her through the head. Yao Ye’s body jerked backward but didn’t fall. She straightened slowly, adjusting her broken neck.

"My, my. Such a warm welcome," she purred. "Though perhaps a bit too warm?"

"You... Yao Ye!" the girl roared. "What have you done to me?"

"(corrupted data), isn’t this fascinating?" Yao Ye’s smile turned coy. "I could’ve given you a body matching your mental age. But a forty-five-year-old man felt... too dull. This youthful vessel suits you better. Enjoy your second life, (corrupted data), in my world."

"(corrupted data)—my name," the girl gasped. "Why... why have I become (corrupted data)?"

"Because I erased your very existence," Yao Ye stepped closer. "Your original name is now an unknowable concept. In your mind, it manifests as (corrupted data)—unrecognizable, incomprehensible, unutterable. You own nothing now. But I’ll grant you a new name."

"What do you want?"

"(corrupted data)." Yao Ye’s eyes glowed with enchantment. "From this day forth, your name is Mio."

Her words carried power, rewriting reality itself.

"My name... Mio." The silver-haired girl rasped the name. "Impossible! This isn’t my name. I am..." She strained to remember—but her true name had vanished without a trace. Her existence had been overwritten.

"Soldiers!" Mio commanded sharply. "Kill her!"

The four special forces raised their rifles. Mio stood behind them, Punisher ready. Ghostface troops were the Night Watch’s shields—expendable cannon fodder of ordinary humans.

"Dolls dare raise blades against me?" Yao Ye pouted, flicking her wrist. An energy wave shredded the soldiers’ bodies. Black mud splattered everywhere.

Mio recoiled. Her troops dissolved, melting back into the sludge.

"Yao Ye!" Mio fired again. The Punisher’s rune-engraved bullets—deadly to low-tier angels—halted inches from Yao Ye’s face.

"Still angry with me?"

"Major. With a body like this—of a peerless beauty—you have nothing to complain about, do you?" She stepped forward. "More importantly, every time you look at yourself, you'll remember her. Remember your daughter."

"Shut up!" Mio drew her Force Field Sword. "You! Only you are forbidden from speaking that name!"

The liquid metal instantly solidified into a gleaming blade. The force field generator activated, wrapping the edge in a terrifying Destructive Force Field—a field that disintegrated any matter it touched into molecules.

Mio swung the sword and pierced Yao Ye's chest, yet she still wore a smile.

"Enough greetings," Yao Ye said, stepping back and pulling the blade from her body. "Use the power I granted you well. Please me thoroughly—I'm eagerly anticipating it."

With that, her body dissolved into black miasma and vanished in the snowstorm, leaving only Mio gasping for breath.

"I won't let you have your way!" Mio shouted from the tower's peak. "No matter what I become, no matter how many years pass, Yao Ye—I will kill you! I will personally shatter your Divine Core!"

Kill! Kill! Kill! Fierce killing intent surged, resonating with the darkness deep in her soul. Mio lost herself in its vortex. The Ghostface Special Forces, influenced by her, saw their visor-covered eyes ignite with savage red light. They swiftly turned intent into action, launching an indiscriminate slaughter of all living beings in Frostwind Fortress—remnants of the Imperial Army, city residents—every last one massacred without mercy.

The snowstorm swallowed the towering spire in the city. That day, Frostwind Fortress became a ghost town. Not a single soul survived.