The corridor stretched ahead, dim and cold, lined with the faint hum of ghostly light from glowing rods embedded in the ceiling. The silence did not last long.
Ana spotted two men at the far end. Her breath did not hitch and her pulse did not stutter. She moved. Without slowing, she lifted the hinge piece she had wrenched from the cell door earlier and flicked her fingers. Wind surged as the spell activated.
[Windbust Array]
The straight piece of brass hissed through the air like a bullet. The impact came instantly. The first guard did not even scream as the projectile tore through his shoulder, spinning him mid-step before he slammed into the stone floor.
The second froze, eyes wide, staring at his collapsing companion and the spray of red that followed. He barely had time to react before a crackling shimmer of light erupted in front of him. Ana fired again, but the projectile clanged and dissolved against the hastily erected ward. The guard dropped the barrier immediately, wand rising as he began to cast.
Ana felt no worries for Lidya was already on the move.
She sprinted forward without hesitation, darting left and right in an erratic pattern. Her soles struck the walls as she ran, narrowly avoiding a bolt of magic that hissed past her. She launched herself forward and swung her leg wide, her heel crashing into the man’s face. The impact drove him into the ground hard enough to fracture the stone beneath his skull.
Behind them, the injured guard screamed as he raised his hand toward Lidya, blood pouring from his shattered shoulder. Another wind-hurled object cut through the air. The hinge fragment ripped through his hand in a wet burst, fingers twitching uselessly as it tore through skin and bone. His scream cut off when Lidya finished him with a sharp spin-kick to the jaw.
“Didn’t I tell you to be careful?” Lidya growled, casting Ana a sharp glance.
“You’re one to talk,” Ana muttered as she crouched and searched the fallen men.
“You are being too violent with your attacks. You must not kill any of them. Not a single one.”
“I know,” Ana replied dryly. “How many times have you repeated that since we escaped?”
Lidya retrieved two thin daggers and slid them across the floor toward Ana. “If we want to get out of here alive, we do not just need to escape. We need to make our presence forgettable. That does not happen if you leave bodies behind. From now on, legs, non-vital points, or lower velocity.”
Ana said nothing. Her gaze drifted back toward the others. Uta leaned heavily on Charmy, still weakened, while Charmy, unusually quiet, finally spoke.
“Can’t you use your memory trick now? Alter their memories. Make one of them useful. This would be the perfect time.”
Ana stiffened. She knew exactly which ability Charmy meant. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I used it as collateral earlier today.”
During the skirmish in the streets of the Holy Capital, she had been forced to make a desperate choice. To bypass the resource-draining effects of the cuffs, she had used [Hidden Spark] as collateral for forty-eight hours and sacrificed [Tethered Will] to unlock it early. Without it, she could no longer compel others. And without compulsion, [Falsify Memory] was reduced to a passive tool, effective only if the target willingly accepted it.
For the next forty-eight hours, her greatest weapon against minds was nothing more than a glorified forget-me spell, useful only on allies.
“Shame,” Lidya said simply. She stepped ahead of the group and motioned forward. “Let’s keep moving.”
The corridor remained eerily quiet as they advanced, Ana tense and ready with improvised projectiles. After a while, Charmy broke the silence.
“What is this place?”
The stone beneath their feet was too smooth, colder than polished slate and distinctly unnatural. The walls gleamed with a strange sheen, illuminated by long glowing rods set into the ceiling and walls. The light they gave off was pale and ghostly, flickering occasionally like a candle in a draft, though there was no wind.
“You have seen it yourself,” Lidya replied. “This is where those zealots bring their victims.” She glanced at Ana. “Think of it as their local cell.”
Ana seized the moment to ask what had been gnawing at her mind since the escape. “Who are these people?”
Lidya smirked. “Surprised you have not figured it out yet. Aside from nobles still loyal to the old regimes, your organization was originally created to hunt them. They have always been good at hiding.”
Ana frowned. “Who?”
The words tugged at something buried deep in her memory, but the connection remained just out of reach.
“They call themselves the Children of Grace. Within your order, though, they may be known by another name. Back when your order first became aware of them, little was known about who they truly were. You might recognize them by what they were called then… the Followers of the Massiach.”
Ana’s eyes widened.
Of course she knew that name.
It was recorded in the foundational texts of the Inquisitorum Regiae, the very institution King Dorian had formed with two explicit purposes. One was to root out the nobles still loyal to Emperor Cleon. The other was to hunt the Followers of the Massiach.
That second mission had always felt closer to myth than reality. The texts spoke only in vague rumors. Corpse-thieves. Perhaps necromancers. Queen Arianna herself had allegedly declared them a scourge to be eradicated. And yet, no one had ever truly found them. There was no solid evidence. Only a trail of missing corpses, important ones, powerful ones, vanishing without explanation. A suggestion, nothing more, that someone had taken them for a purpose too dark to name.
For years, even decades, the Inquisitorum searched. Nothing came of it. The mission faded, quietly excised from training and doctrine alike, until it was lost to time.
And now they were here.
Ana turned slowly toward Lidya. Their eyes met.
There was something in Lidya’s expression, a tightness she was not voicing. Ana felt it like an itch crawling at the base of her skull.
“Out with it,” Ana snapped. “You have something to say. What is it?”
“Hm, not sure if I should tell you…”
Lidya’s face twitched midsentence. Just for an instant. As if triggered by something an instantaneous stimuli. Next, the corridor rumbled. A tremor rolled beneath their feet. The walls groaned as dust sifted down from fresh cracks in the ceiling.
“What’s happening now?” Charmy whimpered.
Ana looked to Lidya. Her face had gone taut, but her stance was ready.
“It’s here,” Lidya murmured.
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“What is?”
Ana did not get an answer.
Three figures stepped into view at the far end of the corridor. They were young. Admittedly so. None of them looked older than Ana herself.
“Ah, crap. Here we go again,” Lidya sighed. She tore a pipe from the wall with a sharp wrench of metal, steam hissing violently as it came free. “Back off.”
“Please,” Ana said quickly to Uta and Charmy. “Stay behind me.” They did not argue.
“Appraisal,” Lidya said calmly.
“Left to right,” Ana answered at once. “Knight, level four. Warrior, level three. Warrior, level six.”
“Good,” Lidya replied. “I will handle close quarters. Support me.”
Ana nodded, agreeing to the strategy the girl suggested. By now, Lidya’s existence itself had become an anomaly she had accepted. She accepted that the girl was abnormally strong.
“Careful not to—”
“I know,” Lidya cut in. “Non-lethal.”
The three advanced. The knight and one of the warriors raised weapons improvised from pipes and metal rods. The third reached to his belt and drew something else entirely.
It was not a wand.
“Is that a fucking gu—”
Ana did not recognize it at first, but she recognized danger instantly. There was a flash. A spark.
Then BANG.
BANG.
BANG.
“Shit!” Lidya roared as she slammed into Ana, shoving her aside. The shots struck Lidya instead. Blood sprayed.
Ana’s mind lagged behind the moment, but her body did not freeze.
She moved.
Wind erupted.
[Windbust Array]
The dagger and the spell fused into a violent burst. The weapon screamed through the air, struck the shooter squarely, and sent him sprawling across the stone floor.
Ana followed with a charge. More improvised bolts followed, hurled on twisting gusts that sent them zigzagging unpredictably. The remaining two warriors tried to react, but their low levels showed. Confusion slowed them. Fear finished the rest.
She closed the distance.
Dagger in hand, Ana flowed with practiced precision. Inquisitor training guided every motion. Her blade struck joints. Projectiles shattered knees and elbows. Within seconds, both were on the ground, writhing or unconscious.
Silence returned.
Ana stood over the fallen captors, chest rising and falling, blood drying along her cheek. Then the moment caught up with her.
“Lidya!”
She rushed back. Lidya lay slumped against the wall, blood pooling beneath her, breaths shallow and uneven. Ana dropped to her knees, hands reaching for the girl, only to be met by a slap.
“I’m fine,” Lydia said with a weak but ultimately stubborn voice.
“Fine,” Ana frowned. “How could you be fine, you’re—”
Lidya let out a primal groan, as she propped herself up, revealing her injuries. “I said I’m fine.”
“You’re bleeding—”
The injuries Lydia sustained were clean perforations, finger-sized holes punched straight through her flesh, and they were… changing. Ana leaned in, blinking hard as the visible muscle beneath Lydia’s skin squirmed unnaturally, as though something alive writhed beneath the surface. Then it spat. Metal glinted as metallic, pellet-sized projectiles were expelled from the wounds, clinking faintly as they struck the floor. A moment later, the muscle constricted, knitting together and closing over the damage as if it had never been there.
This was not magic. Not healing as Ana understood it.
And Ana understood healing. She was a Highbreed, or at least she was meant to be. She had spent years preparing for the abilities that were supposed to awaken alongside her highbreed heritage, powers that never came. Still, she had devoted herself to the healing arts with a discipline born of stubborn hope. She knew the established mediums well. Magic-circle healing relied on carefully constructed symbols to channel power. Spell-type healing demanded the right skills and incantations, offering speed at the cost of flexibility. Then there was self-restoration magic, a passive process where the body mended itself without conscious effort, as though the magic lived in the flesh itself.
This was none of that.
Ana appraised Lydia again, and the results made her stomach tighten. Lydia’s HP and SP were not just dropping. Her maximum HP and maximum MP were decreasing as well. Something vital was being permanently consumed to fuel this grotesque regeneration. Despite the outlandish way Lydia had managed to overpower several Highbreeds, her stats told a different story. No skills. No class. Aside from an abnormally high pool of HP and SP, she was a peon. Stat-wise, painfully ordinary. A regular human.
Except she clearly was not.
In that prison cell, Lydia had done something to Uta, something Ana still could not even begin to comprehend. Since then, Lydia’s base HP and SP had risen sharply, closer to a level three or four warrior than a peon. She had also gained more of those strange silver hair Ana now noticed were regressing.
“Pfiou. That was close,” Lydia muttered as she stood, exhaling heavily. Her gaze drifted toward the man who had fired the projectile, now lying motionless on the ground. “Whose cursed idea was it to bring guns into this fucking world…” she whined, advancing toward him with a clenched jaw. Halfway there, she stopped.
The man was not moving. The reason? Ana’s dagger buried into his chest.
Lydia’s head snapped toward her, brow furrowing in clear exasperation. “Didn’t I tell you to avoid the damn vital organs? You’re going to get us all killed.”
Ana could not find a word other than, “sorry…”
Lydia closed the remaining distance and knelt beside the man. For a heartbeat, Ana thought she might finish him off, judging by the way she paused, as if weighing her next move.
Lydia drew in a slow breath, then ripped the dagger free. Blood burst from the wound as the man writhed and screamed in pain. But what followed made Ana realize she had been wrong. Lydia was not ending his misery. If anything, she was prolonging it.
Without hesitation, Lydia dragged the dagger across her own palm, slicing it open. She then pressed her bleeding hand against the man’s chest.
He screamed louder.
Understanding dawned on Ana as she watched the silver regressing some more again from Lydia’s hair. Lydia was healing him. The same unnatural process unfolded again. Lydia’s flesh writhed as thin crimson threads crawled across her skin, sinking into the man’s body, carrying something vital with them. His breathing slowly steadied. The bleeding lessened. The wound closed, not fully, but enough to keep him alive.
Ana appraised Lydia once more. Her maximum HP dropped again.
She was sacrificing herself to keep him alive.
“This should be enough for him to survive a while,” Lydia said flatly as she withdrew her hand and stood, only to sway a moment later.
“Lydia!” Ana caught her just in time.
“I’m good,” Lydia mumbled, trying to shrug her off. “Used too much essence. I’m fine now.”
“You sure? Because your stats say otherwise.”
“I’m sure. And stop appraising me. It’s uncomfortable.”
Ana reluctantly let go of the girl. Lydia dropped to her knees where she began rummaging through the fallen man’s belongings, then those of his unconscious comrade. First, she retrieved the strange artifact that had injured her, turning it over with practiced familiarity. Then she checked his pockets, finding nothing of interest.
“No more bullets,” she muttered. “Only three shots left.” With a sigh, she stood and kicked the man hard in the face. “You’re lucky I can’t let you die,” she spat, before turning toward the corridor. “Let’s keep moving.”
Ana had questions. Too many to count. But she knew this was not the moment to ask them. So she followed.
They reached another room, dim but steadier, illuminated by clearer light sources that revealed the space ahead. At the far end stood someone Ana recognized instantly.
“Good lord,” Lydia muttered. “Whose negative Luck attribute points am I paying for?”
“And where exactly do you girls think you’re going?” the man asked.
It was Fynn. The monk. The bastard who had knocked Ana unconscious and interrogated her.
“Out of here,” Ana answered without hesitation.
Fynn chuckled softly. “Were you the one behind all that commotion?”
Ana opened her mouth, uncertain. The tremors earlier had not been her doing, not directly at least, but Lydia cut in before she could speak.
“Yes. She is.”
Ana suppressed a frown that would have betrayed the bluff. Instead, she put on an expression that supported Lydia’s lie. Why she had lied, Ana did not know. But the way Lydia shifted her stance, pipe clenched in her hand and body tensing for another fight, made one thing clear. This was not the moment to question it.
She lied in their best interest.
Ana stepped forward and set a firm hand on Lydia’s shoulder. “I’ll handle this,” she said, her voice steady. “Get Uta and Charmy out of here.”
“I’m staying,” Lydia snapped back, refusing to move.
“You’re not in any shape to fight,” Ana replied, more forcefully this time. She grabbed Lydia and began dragging her toward the others. Then she turned her gaze back to Fynn. “Let me handle this. That asshole owes me a beating.” She shot Lydia a wink. “Don’t worry. I won’t kill him.”
Lydia still looked unconvinced, but after a moment she relented. “You’re sure about this?”
“Yes.”
“Fine. I’m leaving him to you, then. Not that I could help much like this anyway,” Lydia muttered, letting the pipe fall from her hand.
Together, Lydia, Charmy, and Uta circled around Fynn. To Ana’s mild surprise, he made no attempt to stop them. He simply watched as they disappeared from view.
“Not going to ask why I let your friends walk away?” Fynn asked, smiling faintly.
Ana did not answer. She did not need to. Uta was valuable to them. She understood that much. So that should explain why.
Without hesitation, Ana summoned her [Scales of Accord] and [Binding Ledger].
She was not someone who made the same mistake twice if she could help it. She had lost to him once, and she refused to allow that to happen again.
“I’ll exchange access to [Fireball] for twelve months,” she said evenly, “in return for as much MP as I can get.”
The scales glowed. Her MP rose as the Fireball skill locked itself away. She glanced at the increase and let out a quiet sigh. The gain was small, but that was to be expected. Fireball was not a skill she relied on often.
She did not dwell on it.
“For the next trade,” she whispered, “I offer access to [Lightning Magic] and [Falsify Memory], both locked for 1 day, in exchange for forbidding him the use of Level Five [Windstride] in my vicinity for 10 minutes.”
It, in its mighty grace, acknowledged the terms. Her access to the skill and ability vanished, and so did his access to Windstride.
It was a guarantee that she would not be taken down the same way again. She was still three levels beneath him, but now, at least, she quarantined a problematic aspect of him.
