Dense forests blanketed the land. Coniferous and broadleaf trees claimed different elevations. As the mountains flattened, broadleaf forests dominated. Spring had arrived unnoticed. Trees regained their green, new buds glistening with life’s renewal. Above this vibrant forest, a small reconnaissance drone in low-visibility gray paint glided silently. Its optical pod scanned the ground relentlessly—and quickly spotted an anomaly.

A wooden carriage lay wrecked by the riverbank. Its left wheel was shattered, the broken axle telling a tale of violent impact. Cracks spiderwebbed across the intact cabin. Blood seeped from these fissures, painting the wreckage crimson. Two-meter-long demon wolves feasted beside it, chewing on what had once been human. The coachman’s upper half floated in the river, his blood staining the clear water. A wolf tore flesh from his back, swallowing chunks whole. A noblewoman in a lavish gown lay gutted, her organs devoured as appetizers. A beautiful young girl lay dead on the shore, two wolves gnawing at her thighs and shoulders. Death showed no mercy to rich or poor, high or low.

The strongest demon wolf stood atop the carriage cabin, vigilantly watching the forest across the river. As the pack’s alpha, it bore the heaviest duty. Suddenly, it sniffed the air—and growled low in alarm. It smelled death. Thick, suffocating death.

Two wolves abandoned their prey and dashed to the riverbank. Others grabbed corpses to retreat. Just then, bushes rustled. A traveler emerged, leading a homely gray mare. The alpha wolf studied its foe: a frail-looking girl radiating an unnatural aura of death. Beast instincts were sharper than human senses. The alpha sensed danger but refused to abandon most of its kill. It made the mistake predators often do—it growled, ready to hunt.

The river spanned ten meters but ran shallow. For demon wolves, crossing took a heartbeat. Two lunged across like lightning. A deafening gunshot cracked—one wolf’s head exploded, collapsing into the water. The other crossed but was impaled mid-leap by a Force Field Sword.

“Demons… truly plentiful in this world.”

Mio glanced at the corpses, Force Field Sword in hand. Her gray mare yawned behind her, utterly bored—as if utterly confident in its master. The alpha howled in rage. Its miscalculation had cost its pack. Regret and fury drove its beastly instincts. Yet this was an ancient, powerful demon. It knew this girl was an enemy it could never defeat.

The pack retreated. The alpha gave one last threatening growl before vanishing into the forest.

Only when their scent faded completely did Mio exhale, sheathing her sword. Early spring still held traces of barrenness, but new buds sprouted on trees, withered shrubs regaining green. Life thrived. Yet beside this vibrant riverbank lay six mutilated corpses—a bloody slaughterhouse. Leading her mare across, Mio tied its reins to the carriage wreckage. The horse snorted impatiently, stretching to nibble fresh shrub buds—failing.

The corpses were unrecognizable. The wolves had taken the choicest parts during retreat, leaving only gnawed bones and scraps. But a carriage here made no sense. The riverbank wasn’t a road. If this were just a leisure trip gone wrong, why so much luggage? Mio searched the bodies for clues. Destruction was too severe. Personal items had been devoured by ravenous wolves—especially the coachman’s and steward’s remains, nearly stripped clean.

Finally, she stopped before the young girl by the river. Her age matched Mio’s. Half her face was torn away, yet still beautiful. Even as wolves shredded her body, she’d clutched a jewel tightly. Mio took it. Gem-encrusted, it glowed crimson. A treasure. Mio pocketed it, then stood before the corpse. Solemnly, she traced a cross over her chest—the mourning ritual from her birth world.

The gray mare snorted, stomping pebbles impatiently. Mio shot it a glare. The horse instantly looked away, docile. Her travel-stained clothes felt heavy. Spring’s warmth grew daily. Continuing in fur-lined garb would hinder movement. She pried open the carriage’s heavy chests with a guard’s broken sword.

The first chest held silverware—plates, candlesticks, all gleaming. Useless. She moved to the next. Similar contents. Mio sighed in disappointment. *Fleeing with this much silver?* She forced open the cargo hold, pulling out small, leather-bound chests reinforced with metal corners. Inside one, white dresses spilled out. *This* was what she needed.

Most were women’s clothes in two sizes—likely the noblewoman’s and girl’s luggage. Mio chose a plain long dress and sturdy deerskin boots. At the riverbank, she washed. Her reflection stared back: delicate features, porcelain skin, crimson eyes, a slender frame on the cusp of womanhood. Undeniably a stunning beauty. Yet a horrific scar marred her chest—twisted flesh held by crude stitches. Mio touched the wound, sighing deeply. Though most memories were gone, one truth remained clear: she was a 45-year-old man. A bio-engineered warrior, Level 6 enhancement, once of the global defense force "Night Watch."

*A 45-year-old man turned silver-haired, golden-eyed girl? What kind of joke is this?*

Gritting her teeth against the discomfort, Mio forced on the dress. *Thank goodness I raised a daughter. Learned a thing or two.* Now, she couldn’t even recall her daughter’s face. Fallen God Yaoye had scoured her soul. She’d lost everything.

Adjusting the unfamiliar, fluttering skirt, she buckled the sword belt taken from a guard’s corpse. A wolf’s bite marks marred the left clasp, but it held. She threaded her silver hair out from the collar. Sunlight turned the near-colorless strands into liquid platinum. *Such beautiful hair… a shame to cut it.* But exploring this world, hunting the one responsible—long hair was a liability. It could snag in combat, be grabbed by enemies. Steeling herself, Mio drew her Force Field Sword and severed her hair at the nape.

Silver strands scattered into the river, vanishing instantly. Mio sighed with regret. *This hair must have meant everything to the original owner.* As she stood to leave, something strange happened. Her cropped hair began growing rapidly—reaching its original length within seconds.

“What…?” Mio touched the regrown hair. Identical to before. *It reset itself.*

She cut it again. It regrew. The severed strands disappeared.

*A curse?*

Mio knew her own beauty. If possible, she’d prefer men’s clothing for travel. A young, beautiful girl alone invited trouble. She could handle most threats, but avoiding unnecessary risks was wise.

As she fretted, a young man in spotless black robes stepped from the forest. No luggage. No mud on his shoes. Utterly unlike a traveler. That alone put Mio on edge. Their eyes met—he flinched, trying to slip from her gaze. But Mio’s crimson eyes held him.

“Hello,” he waved weakly. “Can you… see me?”

Mio drew her pistol in a flash. A shot rang out, narrowly missing his foot. The man yelped, collapsing onto his rear.

“Just a trick of the light…” Mio holstered her gun. This man radiated an aura that unsettled her. In her old world, she’d fought things with that same stench. But he was too weak. No Celestial or minor god. Their apostles were far deadlier—sometimes requiring tactical nukes to eliminate.

“P-please don’t kill me…” he trembled, curled into a ball.

Guilt pricked Mio. *Bullying the weak.*

“My apologies,” she bowed slightly. “I fired without confirming the target. Frightened you. Truly sorry. Can you understand me?”

“Imperial tongue? Perfectly.” He shivered. “You won’t hurt me?”

“A man of honor keeps his word.”

“But you’re clearly a girl!”

“Want another bullet?”

“Eeek!”

He made an embarrassingly undignified sound. *Zero threat.* Mio sighed, untying her mare to leave the corpse-strewn shore. Suddenly, a holographic window popped into her vision. Her scout drone transmitted footage: a cavalry unit approached rapidly. Poor visibility had hidden them until they entered the river flats.

Armored riders burst from the river bend within seconds. Sturdy warhorses. Lances and swords gleaming. Uniform, elegant armor—but not Imperial Army issue. They split into two columns, encircling Mio. They ignored the man across the river entirely.

*In league?*

Mio frowned. Her gray mare snorted aggressively at the warhorses, who glared back. The lead rider lifted his visor, revealing a face split by a jagged scar.

“Who are you?” he demanded. “What happened here?”

“Unclear. Likely a wolf pack attack.” Mio showed her freeman’s insignia. “I’m a newly arrived freeman, traveling toward Seralni.”

“A freeman…” The captain smirked coldly. “Then killing you won’t matter.”

“Let us have fun first, Captain,” a rider leered, opening his visor. “Such fine goods… a waste to kill.”

“We have a critical mission!” the captain snapped. “Confirm the deaths of the Adimias family and the Royal Candidate. Eliminate all witnesses.”

Grumbles rose, but no one disobeyed.

“My apologies,” the captain thrust his lance. “Die here.”

The lance pierced Mio’s chest. No blood flowed. The captain yanked it back, stunned. Mio’s wound sealed before his eyes.

"I'm sorry," Mio forced a bitter smile. "I'm cursed. I can't even die if I want to."

"This monster!"

The captain raised his gun again, but Mio shot first. The dum-dum bullet exploded inside his skull, sending his blood-and-brain-splattered helmet flying.

"Magic device!" an old veteran cried.

The cavalry swiftly drew weapons. Before they could form an attack line, Mio took a deep breath. She carefully shielded her mind, then touched the darkness deep in her soul. Black sludge surged from her hands, shaping a steel gun barrel. As it receded, six cold, gleaming barrels emerged—a Gatling gun. The sludge could forge anything she'd seen or understood.

The cavalry had never seen a multi-barrel machine gun. They didn't know its power; they just stared in awe. Mio planted her right foot back to brace for recoil. Gritting her teeth, she pulled the trigger. The motor whirred, spinning the barrels as they spat 5.56mm bullets at 3,000 rounds per minute. The fiery stream swept over the bewildered cavalry like a scorching whip, mowing them down like grass. In seconds, the entire unit lay dead by the riverbank, riddled with holes. Mio lowered the smoking Gatling gun and wiped sweat from her brow. Though Guardians had strict mental training to resist corruption, each touch of that darkness burdened her mind terribly. It wasn't hers by birth—Yao Ye had forced it into her.

Mio still didn't know what that darkness truly was. But she could wield it carefully, or the corruption would turn her bloodthirsty again.

She wouldn't turn any city into another Frostwind Fortress.

The young man in the black robe crouched on the ground, trembling. Mio had aimed high to sweep the cavalry, sparing his life. Killing innocents went against her values. Without glancing at him, she led the gray horse straight into the forest.