“Huh?” Eli blinked like a startled sparrow. “What the hell?”

The quiet boy tilted his head, curiosity like ripples on a pond. “Could Weimi have gotten it wrong?”

The girl shook her head, firm as a mountain. “No way. The system told me.”

Irritation rose in Eli like heat off a road. He touched the silver-white ring on his left index finger, cold as a small moon. He ignored their buzzing quarrel like flies at dusk, took Edlyn’s small hand, and pulled her back.

Edlyn was gleefully picking up alien curse words, like a magpie stealing shiny sounds. Eli tugged; she stumbled on loose sand and fell against him.

“Ah!”

“Easy. Don’t fall.”

They felt different things. Eli caught her to steady her, arms a sheltering branch; she felt small and soft, like a warm bun and a kitten.

Edlyn lay against his chest and smelled two days of sweat and dust, a desert wind clinging to cloth. With her dislike for the Hero, her eyes rolled white, and she fainted.

“Hey, miss, breathe,” Eli said, helplessness fluttering like a torn flag. “Sure, I’m suave—a jade tree in the breeze. People adore me, flowers turn to watch, car tires pop at my smile. But fainting from my charm? That makes things awkward.”

The two boys’ mouths twitched, thoughts barking like stray dogs at this “fellow” dressed barely better than a beggar.

The girl stared, then shouted, voice sharp as a cracked bell. “Still pretending! Who else is shameless enough to say that?”

The black-haired boy tugged her sleeve, urgent as a sparrow pulling grain. “Weimi, wrong line! Say it like this.” She looked at him, curiosity bright as a lantern.

He cleared his throat—cough, cough—and pointed a long finger at Eli, a spear toward the sky. “Chang Wei! You still claim you can’t fight!”

Eli froze, a deer hearing brush move, then stepped back on instinct.

The boy nodded seriously, heavy as a judge’s hammer. “Yeah, it’s him.”

Eli frowned, stormclouds gathering behind his eyes. “What do you want?”

The trio traded a glance, quick as birds in flight. “Didn’t we say what we want?”

“Did you?”

“What do you think?”

“…Sorry.” The black-haired boy rubbed his head, sheepish as a dog in rain. “We’re transmigrators from another world. We have a group—the New Era Sect. We’re here to invite you in.”

He pointed to himself, gesture clean as a reed in wind. “Back there I was Du Yu. Here, I’m Pilin.” He pointed to the girl. “She was Ister; here, she’s Weimi.” Then he gestured at the other boy. “He was Peter; here, he’s Sande.”

Pilin stepped up and offered a hand, open as warm sunlight. “To avoid suspicion, we use our names from this world.”

Eli blinked, shutters closing. He didn’t take it.

Confusion pressed in like fog. Was he a transmigrator? His memory held no other world, a pond with no stones beneath.

Then why did their nonsense slot in like rain smoothing stone? He still couldn’t see the point, a map with no roads.

So maybe the problem lay in his past life, a shadow behind the curtain.

“Sorry,” Eli said, tone cool as a stream. “Wrong guy. I’m not a transmigrator. And you kidnapped a little girl. That makes me question what you’re really doing.”

The boy blinked, thoughts scattering like sparrows. “Huh? Like that?”

The girl thought for a beat, silence a held breath. “Looks like Ascaraun was right. Lots of transmigrators think they’re invincible. Chuunibyou, trying to solo the world.”

Eli went speechless, emptiness like a hollow gourd. He waved her down. “Hold it. When did I say that? And you still haven’t answered—why kidnap the girl?”

Sande muttered, voice low as a drum in fog. “Ascaraun said, if you meet a guy like that, beat him first, then drag him back. Teach him his place under the sky.”

“Hey, hey! Do you lunatics ever listen?”

“We saw her drunk in a tavern,” the girl said, words clipped as icicles. “We feared scum would take her. As for tying her—obviously, to bait you in fully.”

“Sounds like you’re the scum.” Eli chuckled and shook his head, mirth like wind in grass. A violet array flared under his feet, crystal-bright. He kicked off and left his spot.

Moments later, a pillar of fire burst from where he’d stood; molten rock sprayed like a volcano’s breath. Eli stepped on violet sigils like crystal and drifted through the air.

The black-haired boy bit his lip; a thread of blood gleamed like a red string. He grinned, teeth white as bone. “Think you can run? Great Flame Dragon! (Tier Six)”

His fingers wove, quick as weaving reeds. Ambient mana rushed into the fire pillar, and it catalyzed into a dragon that roared and lunged for Eli.

Eli sighed, a breeze through leaves. He tapped the sky with both feet; two circular light discs bloomed like pale moons. He stepped, borrowed their force, and rose.

“Hmph!” Pilin snorted; the fire dragon wheeled back like a hawk.

Beside him, the girl raised her right hand, palm a thunder altar. “Ever-Founding Thunder, by my Andra blood, awaken! Roar! Tear my enemies! (Secret Art)”

Purple lightning wreathed the dragon and streaked with it toward Eli, like storm snakes on a burning river.

Eli patted his coat and drew out a crystal shard, clear as ice. He crushed it; a vast curtain of light unfurled like dawn. The lightning-wreathed dragon struck and vanished, smoke swallowed by sky.

But the purple lightning exploded midair, a stormfruit bursting. Eli spread both hands, and two golden curtains formed like twin suns. They wrapped the breaking arcs and snuffed them out.

“Impossible!” Pilin faltered, a step in mud. He thought he was dreaming, but the missing chunk of mana inside hissed, dammit, you’re not fooling yourself.

Eli drifted back to the ground as if gravity had forgotten his name, feather-fall soft.

The girl frowned; the cut she’d made on her finger began to knit, slow as ivy. Her trembling hand told how hard she’d pushed. Blue flickered in her pupils like a fish darting. Pilin stepped beside her. “How is he, Weimi?”

She grew grave, words heavy as rain. “He’s capable. He’s been using Tier Seven windwalking to dodge us. Those curtains were likely Divinity-type spells.”

Eli sauntered to Edlyn, swagger lazy as a cat in sun. He hefted her onto his shoulder and smiled. “Kids, uncle’s done playing for now. Mm?”

“Codex of Hell: Water Prison (Tier Six).” Long-quiet Sande rose from the ground like a reed from a pond, hands forming seals. Water spiraled toward Eli, serpents coiling to hunt.

“Damn, more?”

Eli tossed Edlyn aside; she rolled across sand like a tumbleweed, then blinked dumbly awake from her stupor, eyes wide as moons.

Sande flashed behind Eli with a dagger in hand, a shadow leaping.

“Backstab?” Eli said, startled, surprise sharp as a snapped twig. Gold flared in his hand; he swept back, knocking the hide-wrapped dagger skyward like a shooting star. The wielder took a palm with it.

“Ugh.” Sande grunted, a stone in throat, but the Water Prison finished forming, locking Eli like amber. He shouted, “Now!”

Pilin and Weimi clasped hands and cast as one, their grip a knot of wind. “Joint Technique: Gale-Gathered Rain!”

Sande didn’t lag. He signed again; the sky-flung dagger split into a shower of darts like a meteor rain, and each dart became a Sande.

“Secret Art: Shadow Raid!”

Edlyn rubbed her eyes, sleep clearing like mist. Wow—the Hero was getting mobbed! She clapped hard, palms like drums, ignoring her hostage status, and shouted, “Go! Beat the Hero to death!”