Master, boss, this looks bad—those three are Divine Realm titans, a storm-front of power. I’m no match, not even a ripple against them!

Hill stared at the Undead Monarch and his lot, calm as a moonlit lake, then told us that—without much worry in her tone.

Shadow and Soulreaper had already fled, like shadows melting at dusk. Hill didn’t bother chasing this time.

Huh? That demon summoner was only high-tier Sacred Realm. How did he call out Divine Realm strongmen—three mountains at once?

Shock hit first, like a drum in my chest. I looked at Xinuo, confused.

Nothing strange.

Xinuo pinched my cheek, cool as dew, and kept talking: That ant was using the Nether King’s Staff, the weapon of the Demon King Oskxaya. After the Saint slew that King, the staff vanished like mist. Never thought it’d pop up in the hand of a mere Sacred Realm ant.

She rose with light steps, like a breeze crossing grass, and walked toward Hill’s head.

Besides, even the Divine Realm is just ants. Servant, no need to tremble like leaves.

By now Xinuo stood on Hill’s head, gaze cold as a winter moon, looking at the Undead Monarch, the Demon Lord, and the Fiend Overlord.

I’m in a decent mood, so you ants can scram like fallen leaves on the wind.

Her first line hit like flint. They almost choked on fury, steam rising from their faces.

Girl, don’t get cocky.

The Fiend Overlord strode forward a few steps, boots like heavy stones. Don’t think a Holy Peak dragon lets you look down on—

BOOM!!!

Before he finished, Xinuo flicked a strand of Sword Aura, sharp as a shooting star. His right hand—and the space around him—were erased like chalk from a slate.

If you don’t scram now, you won’t be able to later. The door will freeze shut like midwinter ice.

She spoke with the calm of a quiet pond, not even glancing at the Fiend Overlord writhing like a gutted fish.

…

The Undead Monarch and the Demon Lord gave him a single look, fell silent like graveyards at dusk.

Then—

Honored one, we offended you by accident—our fault like dust in the wind! We’ll leave at once!

They bowed to Xinuo, lifted the stunned Fiend Overlord, and rushed into a spatial rift like fish darting through a split wave.

The rift folded shut like a wound knitting under cool rain.

Good. The annoying ants are gone, scattered like sand.

After, Xinuo came back, set her head on my lap like a cat in sunshine, and lay down.

Master’s so strong! Under Master, all are ants, scurrying like grains before a gale!

Hill turned her head, eyes star-bright with worship, fixed on Xinuo like a night sky on its moon.

Hill, by your logic, I’m an ant too? Annoyance first, I glared like a storm cloud.

No, no! Boss isn’t an ant. Boss is fierce—especially at cooking, fire and spice in one pot!

Hill shook her head hard, drool spilling like a small stream at her lips.

It’s been a while since I ate Boss’s cooking. I really want some—like a bear in autumn craving honey.

Ah! Hill, stop drooling—it’s gross like muddy rain. When we reach the Eastern Moon Continent, I’ll cook every day. Close that waterfall of a mouth!

Her drool flowed like a cliffside cascade, so I scolded her in a rush.

There it is! The Servant’s wifey talk, sweet as steam from warm rice.

Hey, Xinuo—how is that wifey talk?

Every bit of it. “I’ll cook for you every day”—that’s a girl’s line, soft as spring rain. Servant, you’re pure wifey.

Right! Boss is a perfect wifey—whoever marries you is blessed like a harvest for life. Boss, can I marry you and bring you home?

Hill chimed in, eyes earnest like lanterns in a quiet night. What’s with that look?

Servant, you’re popular. Here—feed me, like feeding a sparrow with sweets.

Xinuo smiled, pinched my cheek like kneading dough, then handed me a small plate of cake to feed her.

Xinuo, eat it yourself!

I want Boss to feed me too, like a chick pecking crumbs—but I want to marry Boss more! Boss, will you marry me?

Servant, ah—feed me. Open like a flower, I’m waiting.

…

Anything’s fine by me—like wind through bamboo, I’ll take it all.

And so the day slipped by, bright and odd, a strangely cheerful day like sun after rain.

The next day.

Mm… why is it so dark? A chill pricked first, like frost on the skin.

It’s morning, yet the sky presses like night. I woke, stared at the sullen clouds, and worry knotted like twine.

Crash—crash—

A deafening roar of surf rose from below, drums pounding in the deep.

What’s happening? Unease blooming, I muttered as I peered down.

Uh!

The Endless Sea churned and boiled, pots of black water upending—like a tsunami birthing itself.

Huh? A tsunami?

I rubbed my eyes, looked again, breath held like a fish.

…

Yes, the Endless Sea was bursting with a tsunami, a wall of water like a moving mountain.

And it wasn’t just that. Across the surface, countless colossal waterspouts rose from seawater, pillars spearing sky and sea. Each spout climbed a thousand meters, like spears to pierce the heavens.

Hill nearly brushed several, scales glinting as she slipped past like a silver fish. Thankfully, she dodged each one.

Hey, Xinuo, wake up!

Panic first, I shook her shoulder, urgently as wind in pines.

What is it, Servant, dragging me up so early? Her voice was lazy mist.

Xinuo, look—look! What’s happening?

I pointed at the Endless Sea and the ring of waterspouts, fingers trembling like reeds.

Oh, it’s just the Sea-Wind Rite. Servant, you woke me for such a small squall?

She glanced at the sea and the spouts, gave me a sidelong pout, then reclined with her head on my lap like a pillow of clouds.

Uh, what’s the Sea-Wind Rite?

Mm, nothing big—just a seasonal storm in a grand ocean’s heart.

She kneaded my cheek, soft as dough, and went on: Yup, kneading your face wakes me. The Sea-Wind Rite is the Endless Sea’s specialty. It erupts every hundred years and lasts a week, a festival of wind and wave.

When it erupts, tsunamis and waterspouts bloom like wildflowers. Its force can crush an empire like sandcastles—that’s why no empire rises on the Endless Sea.

Oh, and those spouts are born of seawater alone. Don’t get caught, or even a Sacred Realm mage could be shredded like silk in a storm.

She spoke terrible things with the calm of a winter moon, light drifting across a frozen lake.

Xinuo, why are you still kneading my face? This is a big crisis, a dragon roaring at the gate!

A mere Sea-Wind Rite is a crisis? Servant, you love to fuss, gusts over a teacup.

Ugh!

Still… to Xinuo, a tide that could erase an empire was nothing more than weather, clouds passing over a high peak.