When the morning light pierced through the sand fog again, Xue Yin opened her eyes.
It was not a sudden jolt awake, but rather like a shipwreck slowly surfacing from the deep sea—consciousness returned before her body did.
She felt her throat as dry and cracked as sandpaper, but what she noticed most clearly was her own hand tightly clutching someone’s sleeve.
She let go abruptly.
“Awake?” Jin’s voice came from beside her, raspy but steady.
“If Master slept any longer, I was going to bury you in the sand as bait.”
Xue Yin did not answer.
Her gaze swept over the blood-stained cloth bandaging his left shoulder and the new scorpion venom scratches, finally landing on his bluish lips and blackened fingertips.
“You’ve been poisoned,” she said, her voice weak but carrying an indisputable sharpness.
“A minor injury.”
He tried to stand, but staggered.
“Back in the mercenary group, no one cared about wounds much worse than this. You just endure for a few days and it passes.”
“Don’t move.”
She helped him lie down.
Looking at his bluish lips, she felt a slight pang in her heart.
‘What kind of life did Jin live before to call poisoning a “minor injury”?’ She said nothing more, her voice softening slightly.
“I will clear the rest of the toxin.”
She looked around: the sand was dry, and there were no traces of monsters—a suitable place for an array.
She took the few remaining source crystal shards from her leather pouch; they were her last possessions.
She had already used most of them to set up the isolation array earlier.
Now, only five remained—not enough for a complete array, but barely enough to sustain a simplified version.
Xue Yin embedded the five source crystals into the ground.
Her fingertips trembled from magical exhaustion, and she had to pause for breath after placing each one.
The array was formed, and a faint light flashed before vanishing.
It was crude, but it would suffice.
“Lie down.”
She helped him lie flat and placed both hands over his heart.
“Endure it. It will hurt.”
She chanted the incantation in a low murmur.
A pink-gold light glowed, much dimmer than before, yet it stubbornly surged into his body, stripping away the residual toxins bit by bit.
Jin’s entire body jerked violently, but he gritted his teeth and remained silent.
Sweat beaded on Xue Yin’s forehead, and her face grew increasingly pale.
Her magic was already depleted, and forcing a spell now was like drawing the last drop of water from a parched riverbed.
When the purification was complete, Jin’s breathing became steady, and the toxins were entirely gone.
Xue Yin tumbled forward, but he caught her.
“Master!” He panicked.
“Are you alright?”
She leaned against his shoulder, gasping for air for a moment before she could speak.
“Stop being so formal with me; it feels too distant. Since you’ve followed me, those bitter days of the past are over—from now on, there aren’t so many rules by my side. You can just call me ‘Master.’ You being so respectful makes me uncomfortable.”
Jin froze for a moment, then the corners of his mouth slowly curled up until he actually let out a laugh, as if he had received some incredible windfall.
Xue Yin glanced at him sideways, grumbling inwardly.
‘Is he really that happy? What an absolute fool.’
However, she didn’t say it, and her own lips unconsciously curved into a smile as well.
—
Night fell, and the campfire was lit.
Jin was roasting a desert rabbit, sprinkling on the last bit of rock salt.
Xue Yin leaned against the rock wall, wrapped in his outer coat.
Her silver hair fell loosely, and her eyes were half-closed, weak but lucid.
“Master,” he suddenly spoke, his voice very soft.
“Why did you take me as an apprentice?”
The flames crackled.
Xue Yin remained silent for a long time, watching the sparks fly toward the starry sky.
“Because I wanted someone to talk to, because of your request at the time… maybe there weren’t that many reasons,” she finally said.
“It was simply because being alone is too lonely.”
Jin’s hand holding the roasted meat paused.
He remembered what his mother used to say when he was a child—fate is fleeting, vanishing in the blink of an eye.
He looked down and smiled, handing her the roasted meat.
“Then let this meal serve as my apprenticeship gift.”
“Then I shall have a proper taste.”
She took it and bit down.
The next morning, the two of them inventoried their bags.
“Only half a canteen of water left, and only one day’s worth of dry rations,” Jin frowned.
“If we don’t resupply, we won’t make it to the next stop.”
Xue Yin raised her hand and lightly touched her ear—it was no longer just “slightly pointed,” but had the clear, sharp profile of an elf.
As the morning light brushed past her neck, her skin actually emitted a very faint silver glow, like the shimmering surface of a lake under the moon.
She quickly pulled up her collar, but she knew—this light could no longer be hidden.
“The Sand Wolf Tent Market opens today,” she said.
“It is the nearest supply point.”
“The risk is too high.”
“But we have no choice.”
She tightened her cloak, her voice cold.
“You go buy water, and I will buy rations. We meet within half an hour. No haggling, no small talk. Buy and leave.”
“Understood,” Jin nodded.
“Staying alive is more important than saving money.”
The clamor of the market hit them like a wave.
Animal-hide tents stretched out like ripples.
The air was a mixture of roasted meat, sour rot from cheap wine, the metallic tang of rust, and the smell of sweat.
Gamblers threw bone dice, caravan bells chimed, and mercenaries with scimitars at their waists watched with hawk-like eyes.
Xue Yin lowered her hood, revealing only her cold, star-like eyes.
Jin followed closely behind, his hand resting on his dagger.
Along both sides of the street, cages stood in rows.
A fox-eared girl curled up in the corner of an iron cage, the chain on her tail having worn bloody marks into her skin.
Her ears were pressed flat against her head, not daring to look up.
A succubus girl wore a collar engraved with the words “Untamed, Purchase with Caution,” her gaze as empty as shattered glass.
A human girl had the mark of a red scorpion’s tail branded on her wrist; she wept silently, the tear tracks drying on her face like cracks in the earth.
Xue Yin’s pace slowed, her nails digging into her palms.
What she detested was never the pain, but the way people were priced as mere commodities.
“Don’t stop,” Jin whispered.
“The third stall to the east has fresh water; I’ll go buy it. Master, go buy the rations. Hurry.”
She nodded and moved quickly through the crowd.
At the food stall, Xue Yin bought a few pieces of rye bread and a bag of dried meat strips.
The stall owner was a taciturn, one-eyed orc, but he kept scrutinizing her.
Xue Yin stuffed the rations into her bag and turned toward the rendezvous point.
After walking three steps, she could still feel that gaze sticking to her back.
She did not look back, but sidestepped a porter carrying goods, ducking into the gap between stalls and making two turns through the crowd.
Only after confirming no one was following did she head for the market exit.
Jin was already waiting there.
“Everything’s ready,” he said softly, his eyes scanning the area behind her.
“Anyone following?”
“No.”
She pulled her hood tighter.
“Let’s go.”
Xue Yin cast one last glance at those cages, the coldness in her eyes like ice.
But she said nothing and was the first to step back into the desert.
At the end of the market, a wooden sign hung crookedly:
**Moon-glow Fortress · 200 Miles Ahead**
**(Welcome Magical Girls to fight for the country! You are the Empire’s light of hope, the heroes who drive away the darkness!)**
**”Glory belongs to the Chosen, Victory belongs to the Empire.”**
**”The home of heroes, where glory lasts forever.”**
Xue Yin stared at those lines of text.
Her fingertips unconsciously brushed her ear, where the sharp profile could no longer be concealed.
“Does Master really intend to go?” Jin’s voice was low.
“I’ve asked around. The walls of Moon-glow Fortress aren’t carved with names, but with casualty numbers. Everyone knows that hellish place—the Royal Court treats the Magical Girls there like weapons of war. Those who go in alive might not come out alive.”
“I know.”
She pulled her hood down, covering half her face.
“But I can’t hide anymore. If this continues, I won’t even need to use magic—just walking down the street, someone will recognize me as a High Elf.”
The morning wind lifted a strand of her silver hair, and the silver glow at her neck flickered in the sunlight—it wasn’t magic, nor was it decoration; it was the brand of her bloodline itself.
She paused.
“I need disguise potions and a fake identity—and Moon-glow Fortress is the only place that might have those things.”
“Even if the price is signing a life-contract?”
“I won’t sign it.”
A sharp glint flashed in her eyes.
“I’m just borrowing a path through.”
Jin looked at her and suddenly laughed.
“Then I’ll have to sharpen my dagger. When Master is ‘borrowing’ things, someone has to keep watch.”
Behind them, the market clamor boiled; ahead, the Red Desert was as vast and mysterious as an enigma.
In the distance, a city of white stone stood silently.
She walked toward it, not because she believed in hope, but because when your very existence is a sin, the most dangerous place is the only cage that can temporarily hide that sin.