Like a blind person staring into the boundless darkness before her, Yvette hung there in stillness, sensing the differences within this region; for the first time in a long while, a twinge of crisis stirred in her heart.

Yet after listening to Vermes’s self-introduction, she didn’t rush to struggle, resist, or try to break free of this dark space. Instead, she asked calmly, “Do you serve two gods at once, or are those two gods the same person?”

“The God of Machines and the Goddess are as close as could be. Serving Him is itself the Goddess’s will.” Vermes’s voice drifted out of the darkness—hazy and illusory, impossible to place.

Yvette said nothing more and tried to light the dark with an illumination spell. Strangely, in her perception the spell clearly triggered as normal, yet all around remained pitch-black—nothing to see at all.

“Don’t waste your strength. This isn’t a power you can comprehend—it’s the ‘Kingship’ the Goddess bestowed upon me.” Watching Yvette repeatedly try various spells to gain sight, Vermes still didn’t make a move, his tone edged with a faint sneer.

He had been assigned under the God of Machines to await the one before him, handling petty, trivial tasks each day—his mood had soured to the extreme. Now, glimpsing the first light of dawn and standing within a dark space he completely controlled, he actually found himself in the mood—and with the confidence—to look a little longer at the task target who had tormented him for seven centuries, even to chat a few sentences more.

Yvette ignored him. So long as Vermes didn’t strike first, she was happy to keep studying the properties of this space.

Thus, after brief trials, she reached several conclusions:

First, in this space the composition of magical elements was relatively singular; aside from the shadow branch of light-and-shadow magic, the rest of her magic was drastically weakened—her combat strength plummeted.

Second, the place devoured all light; any means of making illumination failed in less than an instant.

Third, Vermes seemed to have many innate advantages here. By now she had tried every spell once and still hadn’t figured out how to pinpoint his location—or even where the boundaries of this space lay.

So this is what they call a domain powerhouse?

Is an aberrant monarch’s “Kingship” a domain with its own built-in special rules?

Seeing that conventional means offered no hope of escape, she sighed inwardly, then asked in a conversational tone, “Who is the Goddess? I heard she has fallen. Is that true?”

Whether or not she could get out, every scrap of intel was worth having.

“The Goddess is the Goddess. If you must use Her honorific, perhaps ‘Lady Witch of the End.’” At the mention of the Goddess, Vermes’s tone was exceptionally reverent; then it turned cold. “I don’t know where you heard such rumors, but the Goddess is an immortal, undying existence—not something a low creature like you can fathom.”

“I’m asking what Her true name is. For example—Lianna Renee?” Yvette probed.

“The Goddess is the Goddess. Even if She has a true name, you are not qualified to know it,” Vermes said coolly.

“Have you seen the Goddess? What does She look like?” Yvette asked.

“…”—For once, Vermes fell silent at the question.

“You haven’t seen the Goddess?”

“What right would I have to behold Her?” Vermes countered.

“Have the other monarchs not seen the Goddess either?”

“…” Vermes fell silent again.

“Oh, so it’s only you—” Yvette cut herself off. She only wanted intelligence, but she sensed that another word and he would attack.

Even so, cutting it short didn’t revive Vermes’s interest in talking. Indifferently, he said, “Save your words for when you’re in hell.”

At once, countless tides of darkness surged from every direction—as if every inch of space were packed with blows—slamming into the force-field shield Yvette held with magic. She maintained the spell, withstood the all-around assault, and fired elemental spells in every direction in return.

The trouble was, she received no feedback. As they sank into the dark, those spells were severed from her control; even if a strike hit Vermes, she had no way of knowing.

Stranger still, though she could shift her position with wind magic, she couldn’t tell whether she had truly moved. She even suspected that her flight within this dark space was nothing but flying in place.

After brief contact, realizing her opponent was virtually invincible within this space, Yvette decided to squeeze out a bit more intel before tapping aberrant mana. “I surrender. If you answer me a few more questions, I’ll let you do as you please.”

“You’re about to die and still have so much to ask? Do you think I’ll believe you?” Vermes’s voice rang out, icy cold.

“I’m just a very curious person,” Yvette said, unfazed.

“…At most one question.”

“Three,” Yvette bargained.

Vermes attacked again.

“One will do,” Yvette amended.

Vermes stopped. “Ask.”

“Are the Sanctum prayers of the Machinefolk really answered by the God of Machines?” Yvette asked.

Vermes was a little taken aback; he hadn’t expected her to suddenly ask that. “Who else? Those questions are both foolish and endless—other than the God of Machines, who could possibly keep up?”

Noting the grievance in his tone, Yvette smiled. “All right. I’m done.”

Then, before Vermes could speak, her silver hair writhed in the dark and suddenly became countless shadows indistinguishable from the darkness itself, stabbing toward every side of the space!

“Hmph. I knew it,” Vermes sneered. “But can you even touch me?”

Yvette didn’t answer. Even after expending a great deal of aberrant mana, she still hadn’t gotten Vermes’s location—or found an exit.

This wasn’t her full power. If it were truly to the death, she could muster denser Shadow-Tendrils, using tactile sense in place of eyes—perhaps even leaving Vermes with nowhere to run in this space. But the problem was twofold: she didn’t know what trump cards he held, and she didn’t want to pay that price.

Which left only her final trump card.

Thus, just as Vermes’s smile turned scornful and he prepared to speak again, he suddenly realized Yvette had vanished from his senses. Yes—vanished. At the spot where she disappeared, a tiny tendril seemed to linger, but it, too, soon dissipated—into motes of gray no naked eye could catch.

“Hm?!” Vermes froze. This was an outcome that should never have appeared within a situation he commanded.

He shut his eyes at once and carefully felt every inch of his space. After several minutes yielded nothing, he reversed the domain’s shadows, turning the dark into pure white. He looked about, trying to find with his eyes the silver-haired girl he had considered already in the bag.

But the other party had truly evaporated. Even after he searched every corner of the vast, empty space—squandering untold time and effort—he still found nothing at all.

In the silent night, in a dark alley outside a corrugated-iron shack, Yvette’s figure suddenly appeared—unscathed, in black blouse and skirt, a blue-cross brooch at her chest, bare white legs below the short hem, and black ankle boots.

Letting the night wind brush her cheeks, she breathed out softly and thought, Thank goodness I waited until I had the Flesh-and-Blood Waymark before coming to scout the Sanctum Headquarters. With a pre-placed mini-waymark I can force a swap regardless of distance. Otherwise, if the “King of Shadows” Vermes trapped me with his domain, wouldn’t I be finished? I’m still in the brute-force, throw-bricks phase, and he’s already playing with domain rules—these mechanics are flat-out unfair.

Well, fine—her Shadow-Tendrils aren’t exactly fair either. Maybe that’s a “mechanic” too; she just hadn’t figured it out yet.

Looking up at the vast silhouette of the Sanctum Headquarters, Yvette stood there thinking for a long time, then finally turned, pushed open the door, and stepped into Ice Rain’s home.

Just then, in the dim interior, Ice Rain happened to come out of the washroom. “Yaa—good evening—Miss Good Samaritan,” she mumbled.

On a normal day, Yvette would probably gripe inwardly about why a golem needed a bathroom—but she wasn’t in the mood now.

When Ice Rain reached the little bed on the first floor and was about to lie down, Yvette suddenly said, “Ice Rain, you—what is your relationship with the God of Machines?”

Ice Rain’s movements halted at once. She looked blank, drowsy and puzzled. “What are you saying, Miss Good Samaritan? I didn’t catch that.”

Yvette remained by the doorway, unmoving. “Vermes told me everything. Playing dumb won’t help.”

Deathly silence filled the room. Wan moonlight poured through the glassless window frame, illuminating Yvette’s silver hair. In the bed’s shadow cut out by the moonlight, Ice Rain sat there, staring straight at her. The innocence on her face gradually faded, replaced by a cool strangeness wholly at odds with her usual self.

After a brief silence, Ice Rain asked softly, “What did he say?”