Morning light pierced the clouds after the rain, shining upon the Amber Corridor on the second day after the battle.
The light was a ghastly white, falling upon the sodden ruins where even the shadows carried a damp chill.
Succubi moved through the rubble.
Their once-exquisite faces were now covered in soot and dust, and the poison gas bombs and crossbow bolts in their hands had been replaced by brooms and stretchers.
An elderly succubus paused slightly as she passed Xue Yin.
She opened her mouth as if to speak but ultimately just lowered her head and continued carrying the orc corpse covered in white cloth.
Xue Yin sat silently in front of the collapsed Moonlight and Fire alchemy shop.
The dark circles under her eyes revealed her sleepless night as her hands mechanically wiped the Waxwood Wand, which had been broken into two pieces.
Her silver hair was somewhat disheveled.
Though her gaze was vacant, she remained constantly aware of every breath Jin took behind her.
However, she did not dare to look back — she feared that once she looked, she wouldn’t be able to turn away for an entire day, and she feared even more that seeing his hollow eyes would cause her to completely break down from guilt.
Behind her, Jin’s gaze was locked firmly onto Xue Yin’s back, as if she would vanish into the wind the moment he looked away.
Whenever a succubus passed by, Jin’s fingers would unconsciously curl, his knuckles letting out a crisp *crack*.
This was the lingering aftermath of a killing instinct etched into his very bones, a shadow that had not yet receded.
He was like a soulbound statue whose only command was “protect Xue Yin.”
At that moment, Ryan Marces walked over slowly with Ailia.
Ryan looked exhausted to the limit, every step appearing as though he were dragging a thousand-pound burden.
Ailia walked by his side without a word, one hand firmly supporting his arm as she used her shoulder to share the weight of his body.
Her movements were filled with silent heartache and consideration.
Ryan’s crimson eyes, which usually flickered with a sharp edge, were now a desolate, ashy gray.
He looked at the devastated land with bitterness in his eyes, but when his gaze swept over Ailia, that ashiness revealed a hint of inseparable tenderness.
A purple-black rune that only Ryan could see manifested on his retina — [Demon Council · Central Mandate, Marces Bloodline Authentication].
This was the highest-level encrypted transmission for a Demon Realm lord; even Ailia’s symbiotic sensing could not intercept it.
Ryan raised his hand, a faint magical glow flickering at his fingertips as he projected the purple-black mandate onto the ruins in front of the four of them.
The cold text hovered in mid-air.
“In this battle, Amber Corridor Lord Ryan Marces led his troops to crush 800 soldiers of the Royal Court’s Redemption Legion and three forbidden machines of the Magic Association, as well as slaying the Moon-glow Fortress Archbishop, manifesting the prestige of our race.”
Ryan read the rhetoric on the mandate with self-mockery, the corners of his mouth hooking into an extremely bitter curve.
“Ryan is promoted to Lord of the Fifth Ring · Slag Highlands. From this day forth, he shall lead the remnants and civilians of the Seventh Ring · Amber Corridor to relocate and rebuild.”
“Slag Highlands…”
Ryan repeated the name in a low voice, as if chewing on a bitter fruit.
“That is a barren wasteland, not a good place at all. It is called a promotion, but it is actually an exile. They want to throw us troublemakers with low-born bloodlines into the trash heap, out of sight and out of mind.”
Ryan’s voice was deep and suppressed.
“You are too young to see through this facade, but I know it all too well. There is no such thing as a ‘just war’ in this world, only an never-ending assembly line of flesh and blood.”
“The Demon Realm’s ‘Border Raid Teams’ cross the border year-round to raid the bottom-tier villages of the Human Realm, burning granaries, seizing the strong, and abducting women and children. The wars between both sides produce refugees, and these refugees become commodities in the eyes of the Human Realm and Demon Realm elites — labeled with prices and used as slaves, gladiators, or even magic experimental subjects.”
“And what of the Human Realm? The Church uses the name of ‘purifying heresy’ to monopolize spiritual control, establishing the Sin Purge Court to strip the Demon Roses from magical girls while they are still alive, like butchers, to create holy artifacts. The Royal Court uses the ‘Border Protection Order’ to whitewash the peace, while in reality, they built Moon-glow Fortress as a strategic consumption base. The Magic Association secretly studies valuable experimental subjects to create all sorts of forbidden objects.”
Ryan took a deep breath, his voice low and solemn, as if he were telling a forbidden secret.
“War is not for victory; it is to maintain this assembly line of flesh and blood to ensure the interests of the elites on both sides. But as long as you are still here, you are handing a knife to the pro-war factions of both sides — ‘Look, the Demon Realm is harboring wanted traitors!’.”
Ryan’s gaze finally landed on Xue Yin’s face, his expression so complex it was heartbreaking.
“It seems you need to lay low for a while.”
Ryan’s voice softened, carrying an unquestionable plea.
“The Central Council wants me to take the people of the Amber Corridor to the Slag Highlands to rebuild. It is a harsh place, but I will do everything in my power to protect my subjects. If you stay, it is a dead end, and you will implicate everyone who trusts me.”
He turned to Ailia.
She was standing quietly in the shadow of the ruins, her flaxen-gold hair covered in dust and the rose mark on the side of her neck dim and lusterless.
Ryan reached out, using the pad of his thumb to very movements graze the rose mark on Ailia’s neck as if confirming her warmth.
“I leave Ailia to you. Take good care of her for me. Xue Yin, I hope — no, I beg of you — protect Ailia.”
Xue Yin looked at Ryan and nodded solemnly.
Then, her gaze swept over the hollow youth behind her, and she asked with concern, “Jin’s bloodline curse has already swallowed his sanity. Is there any way to suppress it?”
“There is. I once spoke with Jin about this topic.”
Ryan’s voice was as heavy as lead.
“Deep within the Eternal Silence Swamp. There lies a ruin called the ‘Crying Bone Church.’ It was once a secret altar for the Fallen Angel royalty, later razed to the ground due to a bloodline rampage.”
“Within the church, it is said that the ‘Heart-binding Chain’ is buried.”
Ryan’s gaze became profound, as if he were recalling some ancient legend.
“It is a chain forged from the spine of the first Fallen Angel. One must use their own blood as a medium to wrap it around their heart’s vessels, and it can forcibly suppress berserk power. However…”
“However what?” Xue Yin pressed.
“The price is pain.”
Ryan’s gaze sharpened, looking directly into Xue Yin’s eyes.
“It is a shackle etched onto the soul. Fighting while wearing it will feel as if every inch of bone is burning in lava. Furthermore, it requires the user to have an extremely strong willpower; otherwise, not only will it fail to suppress the power, but the chain will crush the heart instead.”
Xue Yin turned to look at Jin.
Jin seemed to sense her gaze and looked up blankly, like a marionette waiting for instructions.
Xue Yin held the bone comb in her hand up before Jin.
His hollow eyes instantly focused on the bone comb, and his body leaned forward slightly, as if this were the only thing he recognized.
“As long as it can bring him back,” Xue Yin gripped the bone comb tightly, “I’ll walk however long the road is.”
Ryan took off his cherished Glass Monocle from the bridge of his nose.
The eyes behind the lens had shed their disguised majesty, leaving only the most primitive fragility and reluctance.
He grabbed Ailia’s hand, forced the monocle into her palm, and closed her fingers tightly over it.
His thumb lingered on the back of her hand for a moment, as if transferring his final bit of strength.
“Come back alive, my follower.”
Ryan whispered softly.
These words seemed meant for Ailia, yet also for this land he was about to bid farewell to.
“Keep it with you, keep it close. At least let me still ‘see’ your heartbeat.”
Ailia’s fingers tightened abruptly, pressing the monocle into her palm until the metal edge of the frame dug painfully into her flesh.
She suddenly took a half-step forward, ignoring the presence of Xue Yin and Jin, and threw her arms around Ryan’s waist.
Without a moment’s hesitation, she stood on her tiptoes and, with a near-tragic resolution, kissed Ryan’s lips.
It was not a gentle kiss; it was filled with the anxiety of parting and the fear of an unknown future.
Her teeth even bumped against Ryan’s lips because of her trembling, and a warm, bloody taste spread between them.
Ryan was stunned at first, but he quickly took the initiative, deepening the kiss with force as if he wanted to suck her soul into his own chest and brand her warmth into the deepest part of his heart.
After a long time, their lips parted.
The two of them rested their foreheads together, breathing heavily with their noses touching.
Ailia’s flaxen-gold hair was messily stuck to her sweat-dampened temples.
Her eyes, usually clear, were now shimmering with moisture, looking like they were submerged in a cold pool of late autumn, brimming with the sorrow of parting.
Ryan’s crimson pupils also contracted slightly, his breath carrying an undetectable tremor, as if that kiss just now had drained all his strength, leaving only a heart full of tenderness.
Just then, the sound of a gathering horn echoed from the distance.
It was the Horned Demon heavy cavalry urging the residents to begin the migration.
Ryan took one last look at Ailia, a look that seemed meant to carve her into his soul.
His Adam’s apple bobbed, and a thousand words were blocked in his chest, finally turning into only five: “I’ll wait at our new home.”
He suppressed the reluctance in his heart and abruptly turned, blending into the tide of refugees who were dismantling tents and preparing to embark on the path of exile.
His figure soon disappeared into the rolling dust and smoke.
Ailia stood in place, gazing in the direction where Ryan had vanished.
A single tear slid down her dust-covered cheek.
She did not open her palm, for she was afraid that little bit of warmth would dissipate.
“Don’t cry.”
Xue Yin’s voice was flat, yet it carried an undetectable trace of comfort.
“Save the tears you want to give him for when you meet again.”
Ailia took a deep breath and pressed her hand against her heart, as if she had tucked away Ryan’s heartbeat.
She turned to look at Xue Yin, the light of determination reigniting in her eyes.
“Let’s go.”
Ailia’s voice carried a hint of a sob, yet it was exceptionally clear.
The sound of the wind in the ruins, the distant horns, and Ailia’s soft sobbing all seemed to recede at this moment.
In Xue Yin’s world, only the hollow-eyed youth before her remained.
“Listen, Jin.” Xue Yin’s voice carried an unshakeable determination.
“I want you to live. I want you to return to my side conscious, not as this empty shell that only knows how to kill. Ryan said there is a way, so we will go find that damn chain.”
She paused, the hands cupping his cheeks tightening slightly.
Her nails almost dug into his skin, as if by doing so, she could pull him back from the edge of oblivion.
“If you dare to turn into a monster halfway, or die in that gods-forsaken church…”
Xue Yin’s lips quivered, and a layer of mist clouded her eyes, though she stubbornly refused to let it fall.
“So, you must live.”
Her voice suddenly softened, like an undercurrent surging beneath ice.
“You must stand before me conscious and call me ‘Master’ to my face.”
Jin still did not respond, but in his hollow eyes, Xue Yin saw an extremely faint tremor.
That was a response belonging to “Jin.”