The casino at the top floor looked as if a storm had swept through.
Shattered crystal chandeliers littered the ground, expensive gambling tables were charred and broken, and the air was thick with the scent of gunpowder, blood, and the lingering scorched aroma of Crimson Flame.
A handful of surviving Demons had long lost their initial ferocity; they curled up in the corners, gazing in terror at the two girls who seemed like grim reapers come for their souls—one shrouded in icy chill, the other wreathed in flames.
“Mon… monster! Run! Hurry!”
No one knew which Demon was the first to break down and shout, but at once, the remaining Demons scattered in a panic like startled birds, rushing desperately toward the only exit—the luxurious elevator.
“Trying to run?!” Huayin gave a cold snort, and the flames atop her staff surged high once again.
“Wait!”
A Little War Demon who looked like the leader, though trembling, tried his best to sound fierce and bellowed.
“Don’t get cocky! My big brother—he’s a full-grown Warbrute Demon! He’s right on the second floor! He’ll come up any second and tear you to pieces! By then—”
He hadn’t even finished his threat.
Ding.
A crisp chime sounded as the elevator they had pinned their hopes on slowly opened its doors.
Bright lights from within the elevator spilled out, illuminating a tall figure.
Ange was leaning lazily against the elevator wall, a freshly opened can of cola in her left hand, tilting her head back for a long drink.
In her right hand, that iconic pair of Gunblades hung loosely, dark red blood trickling down the cold blade, drop by drop, landing on the spotless elevator floor with a faint, nerve-wracking tap, tap.
The Little War Demon who had been boasting about his big brother on the second floor was stuck at the very front, and as the elevator doors opened, he couldn’t stop in time, crashing straight into Ange’s firm, flat stomach, hidden beneath her black clothes.
“Ugh…” Ange leaned back slightly from the impact, frowning.
She didn’t seem to care about the terrified Little Demon at all. Instead, she lifted her gracefully-lined neck and finished the rest of her cola in one swig.
“Ah, this can is just the right temperature.”
Without even glancing over, she casually tossed the empty can with perfect aim into the trash bin in the elevator corner.
After doing all this, she finally looked up at her leisure, her gaze drifting across the ravaged battlefield that was the top floor.
Seeing only a few shivering Demons left, and the two students—disheveled but with eyes still sharp and fighting spirit undimmed—a visible smile curved up on her previously impassive face.
“Not bad,” she remarked lightly, her tone almost indifferent.
“First real combat and you managed this much, nothing to be ashamed of. Though…” Her gaze swept over the smashed gambling tables, scorched carpets, and frozen decorations.
“…the amount of damage is a bit much. Just like me when I was young. Forget it—this place isn’t clean to begin with; I doubt they’d dare to ask the Academy for compensation.”
Her eyes finally settled on the Little War Demon who’d bumped into her, now desperately trying to shrink back into the crowd of his fellows in terror.
“Not scared when you’re causing trouble, but afraid now?” Ange’s voice was still calm.
Before her words had even faded, she flicked her right wrist ever so slightly.
The blood-dripping Gunblade flew from her hand, streaking through the air in a precise line, effortlessly piercing the Little War Demon’s throat and pinning him to an ornate pillar behind.
The Little War Demon didn’t even have time to scream. The light in his eyes faded instantly, his body twitching twice before falling still.
Only then did Huayin and Ingrid Beltans realize with shock that, even after that gruesome battle downstairs, Ange’s black top, hotpants, and even the black stockings on her legs were still spotless—without even a drop of blood.
Only the pair of Gunblades in her hands, and the one that had just flown out, gave proof that she wasn’t merely here as a spectator.
Instinctively, the two girls looked down at themselves. Huayin’s red dress was smeared with Demonic blood and ashes, the hem even bearing marks of acid corrosion.
Ingrid Beltans had torn her own skirt for ease of movement, golden hair matted with sweat and stuck to her forehead, thin sword and arms streaked with dark red blood.
Compared to Ange, who looked as poised and elegant as if she’d just returned from a stroll, they looked more like wild children who’d been rolling in the mud.
Ange didn’t even bother to retrieve the Gunblade she’d pinned into the pillar—it would return automatically if it got too far.
She merely glanced at her two students with calm violet eyes, a hint of teasing in her voice.
“Well, young ladies, have you played enough? Time to go home.”
Ingrid Beltans’ cheeks flushed crimson—partly from shame at her own bedraggled state, partly from awe at her teacher’s overwhelming strength.
Head bowed, she softly replied, “Yes, Teacher,” and obediently walked into the elevator.
Huayin rolled her eyes in exasperation, muttering under her breath, “What’s with the show-off,” but her actions betrayed no hesitation as she quickly followed Ingrid Beltans into the elevator.
The elevator doors slowly closed and began to descend.
As the elevator passed the second floor, its outer wall made of special transparent glass, Huayin and Ingrid Beltans couldn’t help but turn their gaze to the Rest Area below.
In the next instant, both of them gasped in shock.
If the top floor was the site of a fierce battle, then the second floor was nothing less than a bloody slaughterhouse.
Every inch of the place was ruined.
Severed limbs and Demon flesh were scattered everywhere. Dark red blood was splashed across the walls, ceiling, and sofas like paint.
A full-grown Warbrute Demon with dark red skin had been cleaved precisely in two.
Slick Stalkers were sliced into several pieces, their tentacles still twitching.
A stealthy Nightfiend had a bullet hole through its right eye, lying twisted and dead in a pool of blood, never to hide again…
The stench of blood was so strong it seeped through the elevator’s seams, making Ingrid Beltans instinctively cover her mouth and nose.
The Demons here were far more numerous than upstairs, and far stronger—full-grown Warbrute Demons, slippery Stalkers, and even those troublesome Nightfiends.
But all they saw was the result: a one-sided, almost artistic massacre.
Ange—by herself—had, while the girls upstairs fought the rabble, silently and completely destroyed the core strength of the Demon nest.
The elevator continued downward, leaving that hellish scene behind.
Inside, silence.
Huayin and Ingrid Beltans were quiet; whatever little pride they’d felt for clearing the top floor had long since faded away.
They exchanged a look, and in each other’s eyes, they saw the same shock—and a trace of helplessness.
They had finally caught a glimpse of the true horror that lay beneath their seemingly slovenly, laid-back silver-haired teacher: the terrifying edge of the First Demon Hunter.
“Want a cola?”
“No thank you, Teacher. I’m not thirsty.”
“I wouldn’t drink that stuff anyway.”
“Oh? You’re picky, Huayin. What if it’s got ice?”
“Maybe I’ll consider it~”
“Heh, see? Still going to drink it~”
“Che, don’t get cocky, you maid.”
“Yes, yes, young ladies.”