"Iduchi! Let's fight!"

Aimee drew the longsword at her waist, flashing a fearless grin as she braced for battle. But Mio yanked her aside, aiming her flamethrower squarely at Iduchi before pulling the trigger without hesitation. *Whoosh!* A dragon of flame engulfed Iduchi’s bandages. Napalm roared to life, swallowing his figure whole.

"Waaah! Waaah!" Iduchi’s agonized shrieks tore through the fire. "It’s burning! So hot! Princess! Where are you? Your Majesty! Where are you?"

Watching Iduchi dance wildly in the flames, Mio bit her lip. Since their first clash, she’d suspected the bandages hid severe burns—his entire body charred beyond recognition. But she never imagined the scars ran so deep into his mind. The fire had ripped open old wounds, blurring reality and nightmare.

"Run!" She grabbed Aimee’s hand. "Taking down a Death Servant with twenty liters of napalm is too cheap a price. Even if napalm’s hard to extinguish, the sewers will run out of oxygen soon. No oxygen, no fire. We don’t have much time."

"Got it." Aimee nodded, sprinting after Mio.

Nearby, Lucius’s squad trudged through the muck. They’d lost two slaves and one soldier—the wounded man now limped at the rear, leaning heavily on Lucius.

"Sir!" the soldier groaned. "I’m done for… Those worms… They’re burrowing into my skull… Leave me! Save yourselves!"

"Barrod, what nonsense!" Lucius snapped. "I *will* save you."

He turned to his suffering comrade—only to see the whites of the man’s eyes bleed into black. A chill shot down Lucius’s spine. He tried to shove the soldier away, but it was too late. The newly turned Undead clamped a hand around his throat, jaws gaping to reveal writhing black corpse-worms.

*Let go…* The faces of his two sons flashed in Lucius’s mind. For them, he couldn’t die here. He drew his sword and plunged it into the Undead’s neck—but the blade did nothing. The fleeing soldiers ahead hadn’t noticed the horror behind them, each scrambling for survival.

***Bang!***

A Holy Silver Bullet exploded the corpse’s head. Its remains ignited instantly, crumbling to ash.

"Decurion Lucius," a voice lifted him up. "Are you unharmed?"

Lucius shook his head, straightening his helmet. The silver-haired, crimson-eyed girl pulled him to his feet. From the darkness behind them came a guttural wail.

"Mio," Aimee emerged from the shadows. "Iduchi’s catching up."

"What a nuisance!"

Mio focused, drawing two M65 Claymore mines from the darkness within her soul. She crouched, swiftly arming the electronic triggers. Lucius watched, bewildered.

"It’s… a magic tool," Mio brushed him off. "Move!"

They sprinted around a torch-lit corner. ***Thud! Thud!*** Two muffled blasts echoed, followed by a furious roar shaking the sewers.

***"DIE—!"***

A scimitar slashed from behind. Aimee spun, parrying the blow—but the force sent her stumbling back. Steel flashed again. She barely dodged the second strike; a lock of golden hair fluttered to the ground. Trapped on a narrow ledge barely a meter wide, her longsword was useless. Iduchi, meanwhile, strode across the filthy water as if on solid ground.

*Tch!* Aimee gritted her teeth, turning to face him—just as searing flames erupted from her right, engulfing Iduchi once more. His bandages ignited instantly.

"You little brat!" Iduchi thrashed in the fire, trying to plunge into the water. But napalm clung stubbornly. He writhed between flame and flood.

"This works wonders!" Mio yelled. "Aimee, run!"

"Thanks, Mio!"

Aimee bolted past her. Mio lobbed a grenade at the flailing Iduchi and fled. Seconds later, a deafening explosion filled the tunnel with smoke.

Gasping, Lucius stumbled out of the sewer exit into blinding sunlight. His surviving men already lined the moat’s embankment, suiting up in armor and grabbing spears from wagons. Standing knee-deep in murky water, Lucius turned anxiously toward the exit—just as Mio and Aimee burst out, one after the other.

A swarm of black Death Servants surged after them, but the moment sunlight touched the beetles, they stiffened and fell lifeless. The rest retreated into the sewer’s darkness, hissing. *Sunlight kills them*, Lucius realized. That explained why the worms from the slave’s corpse had died so quickly. Then—a wave of killing intent flooded the exit. Bandaged from head to toe, Iduchi stood in the shadows, lidless eyes locked on Mio.

"I’ll kill you!" he snarled. "I *will* kill you!"

Mio smirked, raising her flamethrower. A dragon of flame roared into the tunnel. Napalm, propelled by compressed air, devoured the entrance. Stray corpse-worms turned to ash. Iduchi vanished in the inferno. Only when the fuel tank emptied did Mio lower the nozzle. Flames raged, turning the sewer into a hellscape.

"Mio," Aimee asked, "is Iduchi gone?"

"Probably."

"Death Servants weaken in sunlight. He wouldn’t fight us at a disadvantage." Aimee beamed. "Anyway, saved by good ol’ Mr. Sun! Thanks, Mr. Sun!"

Mio glanced up at the blazing sun and allowed herself a faint smile.

Lucius decided to report the sewer situation to General Fisher immediately. Mio and Aimee headed back to the inn—their clothes reeked of battle, and baths couldn’t wait.

Mio rushed into the inn’s ground-floor bathhouse. Roman opulence gleamed in the tiled, mosaic-lined space. Steam rose from a large central pool beneath a skylight, where a marble statue of a half-nude woman poured water from an urn. After rinsing off at the taps, Mio washed her silver hair with shampoo made of black mud, coiled it atop her head—*hot water damages hair*—and sank into the pool. Where had that memory come from? No matter how hard she tried, her past remained erased, name and all, by Yao Ye.

As warmth seeped into her limbs, a dull ache pulsed in her chest. Her fingers traced the jagged scar there—raw flesh held together by thick sutures, refusing to heal. The wound King Reynard of the Northlands had given his daughter Teresa, sacrificing her heart to summon the Champion. Teresa’s despair flooded Mio’s chest, though it wasn’t her memory. The pain felt real.

"*Sigh*…"

She sank deeper, letting the water cradle her. Nothing beat a good soak. Steam curled toward the skylight, blurring the statue. Just as drowsiness crept in—*splash!*—a figure slipped into the pool opposite her.

"Aimee?" Mio stood. "Seriously, wash *before* getting in!"

She rounded the statue—and froze. Moura sat slowly in the water. Sunlight from the skylight gilded his sculpted muscles, evoking Michelangelo’s David. Battle scars across his shoulders and chest spoke of hard-won strength. He met Mio’s gaze unflinchingly, smiling.

"Afternoon, Mio. Water to your liking?"

Mio ducked underwater with a yelp. "A—a pervert!"

"Pervert?"

"This is the *women’s* bath!" Her face burned. "What are you doing here?!"

"Women’s bath? Ah." Moura pointed to a door. "Imperial Capital bathhouses are mostly mixed. That door leads to the men’s changing room."

"W-what?!"

Only then did Mio notice the second entrance, hidden by steam. *Miscalculation!* Though this body belonged to Teresa, baring herself before a grown man felt utterly indecent. She turned to flee—but Moura caught her wrist.

"Won’t you sit with me?" His smile faded. "Ah… forgive my rudeness. The Northlands don’t have mixed baths. I overstepped."

"No, it’s my fault. I didn’t know." Mio bowed slightly. When she looked up, Moura’s eyes were fixed on her chest—on the terrible scar.

"Who did this to you?" His voice turned icy.

"My father," Mio said flatly. "King Reynard of the Northlands."

"Why?! You’re his *daughter*!"

"A sacrifice." She looked away. "Since birth, that’s all I’ve been."

Moura exhaled slowly, sinking back into the water. Mio settled a few feet away, shoulders submerged. Steam veiled them both. The distance felt safe.

"MIO! I’M HERE!"

Aimee’s shout shattered the quiet. Talasha trailed behind, flustered. Amber splashed in happily, paddling until Mio scooped her up before she drowned.

"Talasha, restrain Aimee!" Mio ordered. "Don’t let her near the pool until she’s scrubbed clean! I’ve got Amber!"

"Eh?! Y-yes, Lady Mio!"

"Hey!" Aimee protested. "Why can’t *I* soak?!"

"Lady Esmeralda," Talasha soothed, "you reek of sewers. Let me wash you and rub on scented oil. You’ll smell lovely."

"Oh. Okay then."

"As you wish."

Peace returned. Mio carried Amber to the taps, washing her hair with practiced ease—no memories of childcare, yet the skill remained. Soon, all four sat in the pool, melting into the warmth.

Moura watched them, chin resting on his hand, lost in thought.