“Who are you?” Ethan asked again.

Yenoa’s face remained expressionless as she regarded them with lifeless, dead-fish eyes.

Ethan and Buwei exchanged a puzzled glance. “Are you with Rock Mountain or Blood Spider?” Ethan pressed.

“Tell your boss: if he wishes to keep living, leave. Now.” Yenoa’s cold tone carried undeniable authority—the quiet aura of a head maid.

Buwei’s every hair stood on end. Panicked, he summoned his magic. A high-level fire spell erupted in the narrow alley.

Flames surged. Firelight blazed skyward.

Heat washed over Buwei. He sighed in relief—sure his surprise attack had obliterated her.

Then, bone-chilling cold pierced his spine from behind. Goosebumps erupted across his skin.

He spun around, eyes wide. Yenoa stood silently behind him, her dead-fish eyes locked onto his.

A sharp impact slammed his skull. Darkness swallowed his vision. As he collapsed, his last sight was Ethan already fallen—and Yenoa’s icy whisper:

“I’ll find him myself…”

…

Wofu waited with Gray Wolves members. Ethan had only left minutes ago—no need to worry.

Suddenly, a breathless member sprinted over. “B-b-boss! Rock Mountain and Blood Spider… they’ve all withdrawn!”

“What?” Wofu frowned. Those sly old foxes wouldn’t abandon a chance to strike. A trap?

“And… brothers found Lost Hand members in the eastern alley…” The man trembled. “All… all dead!”

“Impossible!” Wofu scoffed. Lost Hand thugs were ruthless—but fiercely loyal. They’d never abandon comrades. Not even corpses.

“B-b-boss! Disaster!” Another member yelled, face pale, words stumbling. “Rock Mountain and Blood Spider… bodies hidden in alleys!”

A chill shot up Wofu’s spine. He connected the dots.

Lost Hand. Rock Mountain. Blood Spider. All targeted the couple—like Gray Wolves. Now three factions retreated in disarray, members dead…

That couple wasn’t powerless. Someone powerful guarded them.

Lost Hand warned off first. Then Rock Mountain. Blood Spider. Next…

Cold sweat soaked Wofu’s shirt. “Retreat! Intel was wrong—they’re backed by forces beyond us!”

As Gray Wolves scrambled to flee, a maid appeared without warning.

Blood-stained uniform. Cold, hollow expression. An indescribable dread clung to her.

Invisible pressure crushed the air. Breathing turned labored—as if unseen hands choked their throats.

Her dead-fish eyes swept the thugs, freezing even the cruelest criminals. Her gaze settled on Wofu.

He felt plunged into ice. *This maid… she’s the one who slaughtered the three gangs.*

He wanted to strangle the informant. “Just lucky nobodies”? Lies!

One maid subdued four gangs. One glance made him shake.

Swallowing fear, Wofu rasped: “We offended the wrong people. We’ll leave. Please… spare us.”

Yenoa watched him, impassive. He’d chosen wisely—saving her a bloody cleanup.

“Take heed.”

She vanished into the alley.

Pressure lifted. Gray Wolves gasped in relief.

Wofu panted twice, then barked orders: “Evacuate the district! And remember—see that couple? Run. Give them the widest berth possible.”

…

Inside the upscale boutique, Silva paused mid-step while shopping with Roland.

Earlier, she’d forged a mental link with Yenoa via spirit magic—allowing silent communication. Moments ago, Yenoa had reported the incident.

*“Trivial. Ensure the plan proceeds undisturbed.”* Silva’s thought drifted calmly.

*“Understood.”*

Silva turned to Roland, still browsing racks, and offered a sweet smile.

“Roland… shall we look at wedding dresses?”