Demonic Kitsune (Old Version)

Somewhere before Ventamonte, a group of Arrancars sped across the plains, their feet barely touching the ground as they melded with the wind. Dressed in black, high-collared shirts over midriff-exposing flak jackets and light grey pants, they kicked up only faint clouds of dust. Their full appearance was hard to catch—just glimpses of tattered, light brown ponchos flapping over their strange attire. Bandages were wrapped around their ankles, and blue sashes were tied around their heads as they moved. To the attention of any ordinary people or anyone with heightened senses, they might have looked like flashes of barbaric figures, with a hint of demon blood.

But these were Arrancars. Led by the half-breed Nin, they were heading towards their destination with relentless purpose. When they encountered an impassable route, they didn’t hesitate. Quickly, they adjusted, taking alternate paths. Today marked eight days since the Soaring Heaven Equal Unit had left their Clan. Through relentless effort, they had cut down the time needed to reach Ventamonte via the West-South path. The challenges had been brutal: harsh weather, swarms of mother worms and their earthworms, and massive green scorpions that stalked the desert plains. But they overcame them. Every obstacle fell to quick slashes, graceful evasions, and strikes infused with demonic energy. Never pausing. Never stopping. Sleepless days and nights blurred together as they pushed forward.

But they couldn’t run forever.

When Clare, their leader, sent a signal, the unit halted as one. Their now-tainted bandage-covered feet pressed tightly into the earth. Before them lay a series of thin, shallow creeks, winding across the land like veins. The water stretched out in all directions, connecting and branching through a canyon filled with villages, fortresses, trees, and vegetation. It was beautiful—and serene.

This was the Canyon of Vintell.

Clare and her unit, stood atop a peak, surveying the land below. “From here, we’ll move on foot,” she ordered.

The Canyon of Vintell marked the boundary of Ventamonte. If twenty or so Arrancars, disguised as barbarians, were seen dashing through, they would draw attention. Too much attention. Clare’s unit, though weary, obeyed without question. They had been running for days without rest. But now, they would need to lie low.

A firework shot into the sky, exploding in a burst of green sparks. Moments later, Arrancars from a nearby clan base appeared, bringing food and intel. Rice cakes, meatballs, and updates on the situation in Ventamonte. They didn’t linger. After a brief exchange, the base Arrancars departed.

Clare’s group ate in silence. Some meditated to restore their demonic energy. Others trained, swinging their weapons in smooth, controlled arcs. A few drank from the nearby stream, while others took the time to relax, savoring a moment of calm before the storm. Clare herself stood apart, deep in thought, the mission ahead weighing on her mind.

An hour later, the Soaring Heaven Equal Unit regrouped. They were ready.

“Let’s go,” Clare commanded.

At her order, the Soaring Heaven Equal Unit leaped from the peak and began their trek through the Canyon of Vintell, a vast stretch spanning more than four thousand kilometers (2,485 miles). Once known as a haven of peace and tranquility, far removed from the chaos of Venton State and the center of Ventamonte, the canyon was where those seeking serenity came to live.

Their goal lay in Ventamonte, beyond Venton. To reach it, they would need to pass through the "Venton State," the territory that bordered the end of the Canyon of Vintell. It was crucial for them to remain inconspicuous as they crossed this land.

In Venton State lay the Venton Clan, one of the Four Great Continental Royal Clans. However, it was rare for outsiders to encounter them, even when passing through the region. The Venton Clan followed an intense and diverse philosophical and religious tradition, emphasizing harmony with life, mind, and nature—forces they believed formed the enigmatic process that underlies reality. Their culture prioritized inner strength more than any other group.

They were distinct from the Ice Elves Clans and the Hidden Chu Clan, which, while similar, were far more secular.

She doesn't have a deep grudge against them, Clare thought, walking through the valley of peaks… since they weren’t there that day.

She recalled that day. The day she was attacked. The twilight moment when she died. She forgot nothing. Yet, strangely, the Venton Clan hadn’t shown up that day. They weren’t the only ones absent; neither the Xing Chen Kingdom nor the other influential kingdoms had made an appearance. But those who did attend—those who played a part—were condemned to lives shrouded in darkness after inflicting unimaginable damage on her.

It had been for trivial reasons—power struggles and the refusal to relinquish authority over others. Yet, it was still the execution of the Heavenly Saintess, a hero to humanity, the Glimmer of Hope, the Light that purged the darkness. And despite this, the acting Archbishop of the Central Holy Church couldn’t move the Xing Chen Kingdom, the other kingdoms, or the Venton Clan.

No matter how much Clare thought about it, something didn’t add up. A crucial piece of the puzzle was missing. Until she found it, she couldn’t guess the truth behind the betrayal.

“Wenceslas... what on earth were you thinking?” she murmured, her eyes darkening as she chewed on the memory.

Clare, walking through the Canyon of Vintell, eventually spotted the border of Venton State after over half a month of travel with the Soaring Heaven Equal Unit.

"I can see the border," she said to the others, her bushy tails swerving slightly in the air, betraying her tension. It hadn’t been difficult to reach their destination once they left the canyon. However, they couldn’t afford to move carelessly now.

It was time to set up their operation.

The information they had acquired over a little over half a month ago from the Clan’s base in Canyon of Vintell was likely outdated. Much has changed since then. What they needed now, more than ever, was fresh intel.

The Nin glanced back and called out to an Arrancar named NETH, a female member of the First Young Arrancar Group, skilled in covert operations. “Julie Tao-Yao!”

Julie Tao-Yao stepped forward, falling into step beside her leader. “Yes, Leader.”

Even on the uneven, tiled road leading to the distant border, her footsteps were as light and silent as a shadow. She moved with the grace of someone who had mastered “Presence Manipulation,” and excelled in covert tasks.

Clare nodded thoughtfully. “How many of our members have mastered 'Presence Manipulation'?”

“To what degree do you mean?” Julie Tao-Yao asked.

Clare twirled a lock of hair between her fingers. “Enough to hide themselves in a single breath, to become one with the shadows. And enough to walk on uneven, unfavorable terrain without making a sound.”

Julie Tao-Yao considered this for a moment. She knew she was the best at “Presence Manipulation” in the Unit and easily met those conditions. But what about the others? Most of the Unit could perform to some degree, but few had truly mastered it.

“Four,” she finally said. “If I stretch it, maybe six.”

Four or six, huh? Clare briefly considered that, before speaking again.“We’ll go with four. I’ll temporarily group them as the Drifting Moon Team. You’ll lead them.”

Julie Tao-Yao nodded, her posture calm as she listened to her leader’s indifferent tone.

“The moment you enter Ventamonte, start gathering intel. Find out the number of saints, shift rotations, the layout of the Holy Church’s dungeon, and where the General base steward is imprisoned at the Ventamonte base. Get everything you can.”

Clare paused, remembering her past life as the Heavenly Saintess. She had visited the Central Holy Church branch in Ventamonte long ago. However they often changed the layout, and relying on old knowledge would lead to failure. She needed current intel.

“I will do as you order,” Julie Tao-Yao said.

Clare continued walking with the rest of the Unit. Just before the Drifting Moon Team was about to depart, she added one final order.

“Don’t let any detail slip—no matter how small.”

The Drifting Moon Team moved out, blending into the wind and shadows as their "Presences" faded, becoming one with the night. They seemed to dissolve into the shadows, merging with the world itself, becoming the wind and shadow, as they headed toward Ventamonte.

— — — — —

In a secluded, ancient fortress nestled within the craggy peak of a distant mountain—far from the Central Peak but not too far, and well-hidden—rivers of cold, sluggish magma surrounded its walls. Inside, a grand hall of considerable luxury was lit by glowing magical beads, casting dancing shadows on the stone walls. The air was thick with the intoxicating aromas of heavenly dishes, a feast of delicacies and sparkling booze spread across a long, polished table.

At one end of the table sat a dazzling woman with jade-colored skin, her two horns gleaming under the light. She held herself with regal elegance, her cherry-red lips shimmering as she slowly feasted on the dishes before her. Every movement was deliberate and unhurried, speaking of refinement and power—traits that marked her as one of high status, like an Arrancar of the highest rank.

After taking a measured sip of booze from a well-preserved mug, she smiled, revealing sharp white teeth that hinted at the cunning beneath her beauty.

“I heard the Soaring Heaven Equal Guard Squad has been deployed,” she said, her voice calm but edged with knowing.

Across from her sat a raven-haired man with piercing blue eyes. His face, lined with age, held an air of quiet authority. He took a long sip of his drink before responding, his voice smooth but dismissive. “The Soaring Heaven Equal Guard? Sure, they’re part of the Thirteen Guard Squads, but they’re still just newbies. Is there really anything to worry about?”

The woman laughed softly. “You underestimate them,” she replied, “They may be new, but they are the Soaring Heaven Equal Guard Squad. Don’t forget, underestimating them could cost you dearly.”

She placed her mug down lightly, yet the bottom left a deep imprint on the polished surface of the table—a sign of her strength. Her gaze never wavered.

“... Even though I’ve joined forces with you, underestimating our Clan could be fatal,” she warned.

The old man, now more attentive, tore into a piece of chicken and nodded, taking her words to heart. The woman before him wasn’t just any Arrancar. She was Beatrice Aligiere Spero, the current "Visored" of the Demonic Arrancar Clan and one of the Twelve Arrancar Grandmasters. Known as the ‘Heavenly Flame Bender,’ she was a force few dared to challenge. And if the current Demoness fell or proved incompetent, Beatrice was poised to become the new Demoness.

Maintaining good relations with her was necessary.

“Forgive my manners,” the old man said, wiping his mouth with a napkin, caution slipping into his voice.

Setting aside pleasantries, Beatrice continued, “Are you prepared to stop the Soaring Heaven Equal Guard Squad? Rumor has it their leader is quite capable.”

The old man chuckled. “We’ve been preparing for decades. We’ve got decent combatants lined up—Dimitristsim Von Spaze, the Ice Elf Saint, is already in place.”

Beatrice raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Isn’t he just a brat of two hundred and fifty years or so?”

The Ice Elf Saint, though in his late thirties, looked nearly twice as old compared to those in the Soaring Heaven Equal Guard Squad. Still, he was far from ancient by Arrancar standards, and wasn’t he merely the successor of the ‘Frost-Yin Magic Swordsmanship’?

“Have you forgotten that the leader of the Soaring Heaven Equal Guard is exceptionally skilled for her age?” Beatrice Aligiere Spero asked, chewing slowly, her tone thoughtful. She doubted that just the Ice Elf Saint alone could stop the Guard Squad. Unless their leader is an incompetent half-breed, she wouldn’t face the Holy Church branch in Ventamonte head-on. Her eyes narrowed. “If this plan fails, it’ll be hard to blame the Demoness for incompetence.”

The old man nodded solemnly. For Beatrice Aligiere Spero to rise as the Demoness, a few conditions needed to be met. One of them was the current Demoness being either absent or deemed incompetent. His mind worked through the layers of political conspiracy.

“That’s why I’ve sent another Saint,” he said with a sly grin, taking a long drink from his mug.

“Who?” Beatrice’s curiosity was piqued as she took another spoonful of porridge, savoring each bite.

“The Second Disciple of the Ice Elf Saint, of course,” the old man replied with a smug smile.

Beatrice nodded in approval. The Second Disciple, a Fourth-chained combatant, was on a completely different level. Handling the Soaring Heaven Equal Guard Squad shouldn’t be much of an issue for him.

“You know, that brat Spazo will underestimate the Soaring Heaven Equal Guard Squad and just send a clone because his Disciple was already there, to begin with,” Beatrice said casually, elegantly licking her cherry-red lips.

“Well, that was to be expected. Punk or not, he’s still a powerhouse,” the old man replied with a sigh.

Silence filled the hall, broken only by the occasional clink of a spoon against a plate and the soft sounds of chewing. After all, there’s a saying, ‘They say no matter how refined a person is, they can never eat as elegantly as a cat from the Monster Race... or those foxes from the despised Lost Nin clan.’

“By the way, what about the Sword Art of the Demoness?” the old man asked, shifting the conversation. “Even with all these preparations, it won’t matter without the Complete Stage of the Sword Art. That’s the key to the clearest symbol of legitimate authority, the mark of superior leadership, and, most importantly, to unlock the gateway to the Demon God—granting the right to undertake the Trial for the Contract.”

Beatrice laughed softly, extending her jade-like hand. Steam began to swirl above her palm as sparks ignited, forming an orb of flame. Though small, the flame burned brightly, illuminating the hall with an eerie hue. It was unmistakable—the flame that symbolized mastery of the final stage of the Demoness’ Sword Art.

The old man swallowed nervously, a cold sweat forming on his neck as he felt the chill of the flame despite its heat.

“This is the Flame that will end the Demoness’ sacred life,” Beatrice said, her voice calm yet dense.

Indeed, the flame was known as the ‘Divine Hell Flame’—a relentless fire that could never be quenched. As it flickered in her hand, a grin formed on the old man’s face, his mind already racing…

— — — — —

After crossing the border of Venton State and making their way through the Tangled region toward Ventamonte’s center, the Soaring Heaven Equal Unit finally settled about three “states" away from the Central Holy Church's branch. They found refuge in a dense forest, having fought off human-sized bats that attacked with a deafening supersonic cry, and clans of furious hyenas whose banshee-like laughter threatened to unnerve them. Yet, all were swiftly dealt with by the unit’s precise, coordinated combat—chaining attacks seamlessly.

By the time they truly settled, it was already late at night, with the moon high in the clear sky, its bright glow illuminating everything below. They were neither too far nor too close from their target, allowing room to react, strategize, and counter if needed.

As mentioned earlier, members of the Drifting Moon Team, including Julie Tao-Yao, were gathering intel at Ventamonte's base, while the rest of the unit sharpened their skills and tuned their bodies for the inevitable clash.

Clare was no different. She found a secluded clearing in the forest, where the moon's sparse rays pierced the thick canopy. Her bushy tails curled slightly, releasing tension as she took a deep breath. The dimly lit atmosphere of the secluded area felt calm, far from the prying eyes of Arrancars or residents. Here, she brought out her Absolute Scythe from the dark red band around her waist and began her practice.

The sound of air being sliced cleanly echoed through the clearing as Clare swung her scythe. Dense undergrowth was cleaved with ease, and even tree trunks bore deep, gaping scars from her strikes. If she applied just a little more force, entire trees would fall, but Clare held back—avoiding any commotion that might alarm nearby residents.

Her movements were fluid, her body in perfect sync with her weapon. Muscles, heartbeat, and breathing followed the same rhythm as the gentle breeze that caressed her skin. She unleashed powerful arcs with precision, the scythe vibrating faintly with the build-up of energy around its curved blade. Clare’s fingertips trembled as the energy surged through her, her fluffy ears and tails tingling with each step, the grass quivering beneath her feet.

The scythe moved with a blend of elegance, accuracy, and violent grace. She practiced quietly through the paths between the willow trees, embracing the inner peace the secluded spot offered. At this point, her concentration peaked, and her imagination soared. An epiphany suddenly struck her calm mind.

There was a clear difference between this scythe and her old one. No, an undeniable difference that made Clare murmur to herself, almost subconsciously:

“Has my basic scythe-manship improved?” Clare glanced down at the curved blade reflecting the sparse moonlight.

The scythe, regarded as one of the most complex and revered weapons, required immense skill and enlightenment to master. Clare had combined the sword techniques from her past life—parrying, blocking, twirling—into an ever-evolving series of moves known as "Wind Fiery." Within this style, she had mastered the "Chaotic Windfiery of Hellscythe," comprising “forty” basic moves, which she used today.

Perhaps her development was tied to the Absolute Scythe itself, something she couldn't achieve with her previous weapon. There was a fundamental difference, one she had felt clearly at this moment.

The fundamental reason for this unexpected change in her strength and mastery was the scythe in her hand.

This scythe, in the hands of the Half-breed Nin, made all the difference. It was subtle, but she had felt it clearly just moments ago. When Clare began to feel stressed, the scythe sent a calming sensation, easing the weight on her mind. And when her balance between stability and power faltered, it signaled her again, as if urging her to find harmony.

Who could have imagined that even her demon and fox sides would be startled by this foreign entity?

Absolute Binds of Grim Scythe.

Clare stared at the scythe, its dark red surface catching the moonlight at a sharp angle. The real question, though, was why this phenomenon had occurred in response to her. She examined the weapon closely, searching for anything unusual. But it appeared to be just a normal scythe—nothing out of the ordinary. Then her eyes fell on the blade. An inscription was etched into the metal: "Κρανίο Δαίμονα Θειάφι του Βαθέως Στυγός.”

“Made of Demon Skull Brimstone of Deep Styx.”

Or the smaller markings, just above the letters, stood out. Bold, yet faint enough to be easily missed without a careful eye. But now, under the soft glow of the moon, she could see them clearly.

From the Forgotten Star to the Escapada, Keep and Safeguard for the day, the flower blossoms: Από το כוכב הנשכח στην הבריחה, Κράτησε και προφύλαξε για την ημέρα, το λουλούδι פורח…

There were many nicknames in Salamander, but only one individual used "Forgotten Star." A former demoness of the Demonic Arrancar Clan, the Forgotten Star Demoness. Perhaps this scythe had been a gift from her to someone.

The problem was who. Clare didn’t know. Nor did she know what "Escapada" referred to. She wondered if it had something to do with the "Escapada of the Demonic Arrancars." But soon, she decided that wasn’t the case.

The "Escapada of the Demonic Arrancars" was a squad, not an individual. They wouldn’t be presented with a single scythe. Even if they were, it would be a symbolic heirloom, not a discarded wall hanger on the third floor of the Demonic Armory Vault. And yet, here it was—an absolute scythe, hanging forgotten. Perhaps it chose its wielder? Her foxy side scoffed at the idea. How could no one in the entire Demonic Arrancar Clan be worthy? It was cliché and absurd.

But that didn’t change the facts. The scythe was sturdy and well-balanced, lacking any gaudy embellishments beyond the inscriptions. It had incredible storage capabilities, absorption powers, and more. Clare had just begun to uncover its secrets—and there were surely more waiting to be discovered.

The strangest part? The scythe felt familiar in her hands. It was as if the scythe had been waiting for her, purposely choosing her as its wielder. It forced her to tame it and forge her techniques into it…

No matter how Clare walked ten paces and contemplated deeply, none of it made sense.

It felt like a cliché story, with a touch of mystery. And yet, Clare couldn’t help but feel intrigued. She stared at the scythe for a while, trying to make sense of it, until she finally gave up. As if responding to her surrender, the scythe fragmented, wrapping itself around her wrists like a brand. Clare flexed her arm, getting used to this odd ability.

Suddenly, her ears perked up in alarm. Her relaxed, bushy tails stood slightly on end, curling together. Something was behind her, above and to the right.

Her premonition was correct. A figure landed silently on a tall tree branch. Clare recognized the presence immediately, even though it lingered in the shadows beyond the reach of the moonlight.

“Zhan Ruyan, what brings you here?” Clare asked calmly.

A voice responded from the figure leaning against the trunk of the tree. “Yes, Unit Leader. The Drifting Moon Team is back from their scout mission.”

Clare sighed quietly and leaped into the tree. Zhan Ruyan followed as they made their way back to the hidden, dilapidated cabin where the Soaring Heaven Equal Unit was stationed.

When they arrived at the cabin, the unit gathered in the dim light of the moon that filtered through the broken windows and shattered ceiling. Clare sat cross-legged in front of them, with Zhan Ruyan beside her. They were there to hear the intel from Julie Tao-yao, the scout leader.

“There are around four hundred members in the Central Holy Church’s Ventamonte branch. About two hundred are Saints, and another hundred are Aura combatants,” Julie reported.

Two hundred Saints and one hundred Aura combatants. This wasn’t a small number. As the Heavenly Saintess, Clare knew they couldn’t be high-level Saints like the Fairy Saint, but still—alongside the Aura combatants—it was something to consider carefully.

“And out of the four hundred Saints and Aura combatants, one hundred and fifty-five are second-chain combatants.”

The individuals that NETH mentioned were stronger than the priests and other workers of the church, as well as the general public. However, they were considered weak by Salamander’s standards.

“The rest are pseudo-second-chain or third-chain at best. Out of them, there are three we should be particularly careful of.”

Clare nodded. “I assume one of them is the bishop of the branch?”

“Yes. He’s known as the Bishop of Pristine, Ed Rothtaaylor.”

“Is he from the Poison and Assassination family—one of the Seven Great Families?” Clare asked.

“Yes, but he’s formed a collateral line. He’s skilled in poison purification and wields abundant Holy Mana. He’s also adept at using Cursed Mana poisoning for assassination.”

Cursed Mana poisoning to assassinate? That line caught Clare’s attention. Her eyes widened briefly, and even the ends of her tails curled in curiosity. What exactly was this type of Mana? Still, she shrugged it off. It didn’t matter how potent or lethal that damned corrosive Mana was—it wouldn’t be a problem for Julie Tao-yao.

Even her demon side was curious, screaming at her to dig deeper, but Clare resisted. She trusted Julie. With or without “Presence Manipulation,” Julie was one of the best.

Julie Tao-yao caught Clare’s silent signal. “I’ll handle that fatso,” she said with a nod.

Hm, Clare raised an eyebrow. In her previous life, the Bishop dispatched to this branch had been a well-fit man. Now, though, he was a fatso. She guessed—and would even bet money on it—that he might have some sort of fetish.

Her foxy and demon sides both twisted their faces in disgust at the thought.

“And who are the other two?” Clare asked.

“The Elf Ice Saint and his second disciple.”

Clare’s expression hardened immediately. Her Heavenly Saintess side stirred old grudges. “You mean the successors of the Frost-Yin Magic Swordsmanship?”

Julie nodded in confirmation.

That damned Second Disciple! Clare felt her heart pound in her chest. It hadn't been long since she had dealt with Blanche, the ex-Song Saintess, and uncovered how she had been manipulated in some grand plan. A smile curled on Clare's lips. How fun... It felt like fate was working in her favor.

But Clare knew the old High Elf wouldn't come himself. No, his real body wouldn’t be here. It would only be his clone.

“I’ll deal with the second disciple,” Clare declared. She wouldn’t be able to handle all of them at once, but an idea came to her. She turned to Zhan Ruyan. “You take care of the Ice Elf Saint. Be careful—he’s cunning.”

“I understand,” Zhan Ruyan replied. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

The second disciple was naturally stronger than the Ice Elf Saint’s clone. Clare, the Heavenly Saintess, had briefly encountered that cunning High Elf in her past life. He had fought her using an ice clone, which had irritated her back then. How impudent it had felt then. But now? Not so much. The clone, despite any unexpected developments, should be manageable. Zhan Ruyan, though weaker than Clare, would be able to handle it.

At the moment, Clare's focus was on the second disciple, whom she hated far more.

“This is the worst-case scenario,” Clare continued. “If possible, we need to rescue the General Base Steward undetected.”

It wasn’t wise to push too hard. This was Ventamonte. Although it wasn’t part of the "Middle States," it was still a region controlled by three major factions: the Ten Best Guilds, the Four Great Continental Clans, and several influential kingdoms. For the Demonic Arrancar Clan, it was far from an ideal place to shed blood.

“Fighting should be avoided at all costs. But if it happens, the situation must be handled quickly and quietly.”

The Soaring Heaven Equal Unit responded in unison. “Understood, Unit Leader.”

Clare sighed inwardly. This was a warning to herself as well. The Second Disciple was her enemy, but only one of many. As the current leader of the Soaring Heaven Equal Guard Squad, she couldn’t risk the safety of the entire unit just to kill a mere Godless Saint or Saint Apprentice. Maybe she wouldn’t be able to kill the Second Disciple today, but there would be more opportunities in the future.

Her bushy tails relaxed in the soft breeze drifting into the cabin, matching her calming thoughts. As a Half-Breed Nin in her early twenties, still gathering her strength, she didn’t need to rush. Patience was key. Waiting for the right moment would give her a surer chance of victory was the smarter move.

“Julie Tao-Yao, continue your report,” Clare said.

The detailed operation plan was based on the intel gathered by the Drifting Moon Team. General Base Steward Ba-ba, a dwarf half-breed, was supposedly being held in an underground dungeon. Since they didn’t know his exact location, they’d have to find him using the illustrations and descriptions provided by the Demonic Arrancar Clan. In short, it would take time.

Clare calculated the time needed for the mission. It was crucial they moved quickly and quietly. Ideally, they should be in and out within an hour.

“I assume there are a good number of Saints guarding the dungeon as well,” Clare said.

Julie Tao-Yao nodded solemnly. “Considering they’re holding the General Base Steward, they’ve made sure the place is secure. The Central Holy Church is likely expecting the Demonic Arrancar Clan to make a move.”

She continued, “Each Saint guarding the dungeon changes shifts every two hours, whether to take a break or eat. There are quite a few of them. If we’re aiming to be swift, entering and exiting with a large group would be a problem.”

Clare nodded thoughtfully. Julie’s assessment was sound.

“Unit, this mission requires us to be extremely swift and silent. I’ll enter with Drifting Moon and Second-in-Command only,” Clare decided.

Her unit responded calmly and in unison, “Understood, Unit Leader.”

“The rest of you will stay on standby around the perimeter. If things go south, we’ll signal with orange fireworks. If an emergency arises, fire them off. Those going in will be equipped with smoke gas for escape. Prepare yourselves, and…”

Clare glanced up at the shattered ceiling of the cabin, where the moonlight streamed through. The moon was still in the same position, indicating it was almost midnight. Soon, the darkest part of the night would fall over the world. And that was the time—

“We’ll dispatch after midnight,” she said, her eyes icy.