After the church fell silent again, Wei dusted off her hands.
“Let’s go.”
She had just turned around when something blocked the light outside the church’s main door.
A fully enclosed black armor, no faceplate, only a thin horizontal slit.
From the spine position extended a metal tube connected to a flat restraint.
The runes on the tube’s surface glowed dark red, flickering like a heartbeat.
Black mist spread at its feet.
The mist slowly diffused along the stone floor, touching the candle flames—the flames didn’t go out, but changed color.
They turned a darker red, almost like congealed blood.
Wei’s pupils contracted.
She recognized this thing—a recognition carved deep into her bones.
“Beast Eater.”
The Beast Eater didn’t respond.
Behind that thin slit, black mist slowly writhed.
Orlando stood beside Wei, still holding the short sword he had taken from the Urske soldier.
“I’ll handle this!”
Then he charged forward.
Wei reached out to grab him but caught nothing.
Orlando stopped three steps from the Beast Eater.
He raised the short sword, aiming the tip at the area below that thin slit.
The Beast Eater raised a hand.
The movement was slow, like moving through water.
But Orlando’s sword couldn’t pierce it.
The hand, clad in black armor, five fingers, clamped onto the blade.
The short sword stopped midair.
The blade was pinched between the Beast Eater’s fingers like a caught leaf.
Then the Beast Eater pushed its hand forward.
Orlando flew backward.
It was like a wall slammed into his chest.
His ribs let out a dull thud, all the air forced from his lungs before he could even make a sound.
He flew across the entire nave of the church, over the empty pews, over the flickering candles on the altar.
His back hit the wall.
The wall caved in, rubble raining down on his head, shoulders, and back.
Then the wall collapsed.
Bricks and dust buried him.
The short sword fell outside the rubble.
The blade was covered in cracks from tip to hilt.
Wei stared at the pile of rubble.
Dust still floated in the air like a gray fog.
Her red pupils reflected the pile of bricks and stones.
No sound, no movement, not even a groan.
She pulled her gaze away from the rubble and turned to the Beast Eater.
“Do you recognize him?” she said.
The Beast Eater didn’t answer.
Behind that thin slit, black mist slowly writhed.
Beneath its feet, the mist was spreading.
“A nobody.”
The voice came from within the armor.
It didn’t sound human.
Like metal grinding against metal, like ice cracking, like the winter night wind of the northern plains squeezing through rock crevices.
“Not worth remembering.”
“True enough.”
Wei reached into her pocket.
Her fingertips touched the cold surface of a metal sphere.
She grabbed that pitted bomb, the fuse wrapped around her index finger, tightening it loop by loop.
“Then do you know who I am?”
“Wei.”
The voice spoke her name.
“Blood Court. The Countess’s attendant.”
Wei’s fingers stopped on the bomb’s surface.
“Half-blood. The scum at the bottom of the Dark Night Clan.”
The Beast Eater’s voice was flat.
“Your master died a miserable death on the execution platform, charged with treason. You stood in the crowd and watched, then fled from Eternal Night City like a stray dog.”
Wei did not speak.
Her fingers moved again.
The fuse tightened loop by loop, pressing into her skin, leaving a thin white mark.
Her red pupils stared unblinkingly at that thin slit.
“You know quite a lot,” she said.
Her voice was quieter than before.
Quiet as the last second of silence before a storm.
“The Countess had evidence,” said the Beast Eater.
“Evidence of the radicals smuggling weapons. After her death, the evidence disappeared. The radicals have been searching for years.”
“In your hands.”
Wei smiled.
Not a crazy smile, nor her usual sarcastic grin when teasing Orlando.
It was another kind—like a knife, splitting from the corner of her mouth to her ear.
“Do you know why she hid the evidence?” she said.
The Beast Eater did not answer.
“Because she was too stupid.”
Wei’s voice squeezed out from her throat.
“Stupid enough to believe in justice. Stupid enough to think that if she handed over the evidence, the Blood Court would give her justice.”
She pulled the bomb out of her pocket.
The metal sphere lay in her palm, the fuse wrapped around her index finger.
“She never handed over the evidence even till her death. Because—those people didn’t deserve it.”
The Beast Eater’s armor emitted a low hum.
The restraint at its spine, the rune’s light changed from dark red to a near-black crimson, flickering faster.
“The location of the evidence. Hand it over.”
“You want it?”
Wei tilted her head.
“Fine, come and get it.”
The Beast Eater took a step forward.
The black mist at its feet surged toward Wei like a living thing.
Not very fast, but nothing could stop it—the pews touched by the mist began to blacken on the surface.
The stone floor, where the mist flowed over, darkened as if soaked from within.
The mist reached Wei’s feet and then stopped.
As if it had encountered something it couldn’t devour.
Wei looked down at the black mist at her feet, then looked up.
“You… just love using power that doesn’t belong to you?”
The Beast Eater didn’t answer.
It raised a hand.
The five fingers clad in black armor spread open.
Black mist surged from the palm, coalesced, lengthened, becoming a shapeless weapon—like a sword, like a spear, its edges constantly writhing and shifting.
Wei bit the bomb in her mouth.
The fuse dangled from the corner of her lips, swaying.
She freed both hands and drew two throwing knives from her waist, their blades gleaming coldly in the dim church light.
Then she charged forward.
The Beast Eater didn’t dodge.
The throwing knives struck the armor with two clear clinks.
They bounced off.
The armor’s surface didn’t even have a scratch.
“Do you know the cost of constantly using demonic power?”
“I don’t care…”
The Beast Eater turned around.
Its movements were unhurried.
As the most elite warrior of Urske, it paid no heed to such pricking attacks.
Then it stopped.
Black mist surged from the slit, enveloping the blade.
The metal began to blacken, spreading from the tip to the hilt at incredible speed.
Wei released the hilt and leaped backward.
The throwing knife was completely swallowed by the black mist, fell to the ground, already a piece of rusted iron.
The Beast Eater’s mist blade came down vertically.
Wei sidestepped.
The mist blade grazed her shoulder.
The sleeve of her tactical jacket was cut open, the edges of the fabric blackened.
Luckily, it didn’t cut her skin.
She leaped back, creating distance.
The Beast Eater didn’t pursue.
It stood there, the black mist under its feet reforming.
Wei looked down at the tear in her sleeve.
The edges were still blackening, like fire burning the edge of paper, slowly spreading.
She grabbed the sleeve and tore it off with a yank.
The entire sleeve came off and she threw it on the ground.
The fabric was swallowed by the black mist, curling up.
“The Countess left it to you,” he said.
Wei didn’t answer.
She took the bomb from her mouth, unwound the fuse from her index finger.
Her red pupils fixed on the Beast Eater.
“You talk too much.”
The Beast Eater took a step forward.
“The evidence.”
His voice was flat.
“Hand it over.”
Wei tightened her grip on the bomb.
The metal sphere pressed into her palm, cold.
She took a deep breath.
Then the Beast Eater appeared before her.
As if the black mist itself folded space, it stepped out of the mist and stood directly in front of her.
So close she could see, deep within the churning black mist inside that thin slit, something seemed to be looking out.
One hand clamped onto her shoulder.
The pressure was not heavy.
But that hand was condensed black mist.
The mist spread from her shoulder, like icy water seeping into soil, into her skin.
Cold—a deeper kind of cold.
Like the eternal night deep in the northern permafrost, like the wind that blew across the execution platform of the Blood Court.
Wei’s body froze.
Not that she couldn’t move, but it refused to obey.
The black mist spread from her shoulder down, over her arm, over the back of her hand, over the fingers gripping the bomb.
Her red pupils widened.
Her lips moved, wanting to say something, but her throat couldn’t produce a sound.
The black mist flowed over her neck.
The last thing she saw was the churning darkness behind the Beast Eater’s thin slit.
And the fuse of the bomb in her hand, slowly going out.
Then she closed her eyes.
The Beast Eater released its grip.
Wei’s body fell to the ground with a dull thud.
Her tactical jacket hung open, revealing the row of bombs inside, their fuses all extinguished.
Her short white hair spread out on the stone floor, the dark red tips starkly vivid against the black mist.
Her breathing was steady, as if she were asleep.
The Beast Eater looked down at her for a moment.
Then it turned around, its helmet facing the pile of rubble where Orlando was buried.
The rubble shifted.
The topmost piece of rubble rolled off, hit the stone floor, and bounced twice.
Silver-white hair emerged from the dust.
Like melted moonlight spilling out from the gaps in the rubble, spreading over the ruins.
Dust and debris clung to the strands, but the silver itself was not dimmed; instead, it emitted a faint cold glow in the dim church light.
Dust fell, landed on the silver hair, then slid off.
Olivia crawled out of the rubble.
Her oversized shirt was torn in several places by the rubble.
The collar slid down to her shoulders, revealing half a pale shoulder and collarbone.
The shirt hem barely covered mid-thigh.
Her bare legs were covered in dust and small scratches.
Barefoot, her toes pressing into rubble and bricks, leaving faint red marks.
She kept her head down, silver hair falling to cover her face.
Hands braced on her knees, body slightly hunched, breathing heavily like someone who had just crawled ashore.
The Beast Eater’s helmet turned toward her.
Behind that thin slit, the black mist stopped churning.
The black mist spreading from the armor’s feet stopped three steps away from her.
“Dragon race?”