As the trailing Sal9000 slipped into the mountain’s shadow, Stage One finally bared its fangs.

The Ghostfire Brothers lost their straight-line edge, and Gu Xiangshi latched on like a hunting hawk on a gust.

She dove for the apex of a near–150‑degree hairpin, full tilt, like a blade skimming water.

The Thunderflash behind her belched cerulean fire, then fell away like a comet losing its tail.

She snatched the lead back with the clean snap of a banner in wind.

The Asura, its Alchemy engine humming, chose that moment to show why it made the main card.

Ribbons of Sorcery streamed around the chassis like river weed in a fast current.

In the passenger seat, a uniformed operative kept casting Cleansing, like holding a clear umbrella that walled off grit and sand.

At that scale and cadence, the drain would flatten even Yekase; it felt like pouring a lake through a straw.

What were they, some no‑name prodigy—no, wrong.

Their whole car was his “staff,” a moving wand wrapped in steel.

What kind of monsters are these people…

Yekase muttered, half awed, half amused, like someone watching fireworks from a cliff.

Farther back, the Chimera Dreadnought and Sal9000 fought for fourth, a long rope of darkness between them and the leaders.

They hadn’t shown their hidden blades yet, and beside the three demigods up front, they looked plain as bread.

Of course, Yekase wasn’t naive enough to think they’d limp into the finals like this; their best sectors hadn’t come yet, or this was sandbagging.

What she didn’t know was that on a track that still looked like pure speed, an accident had already budded like frost on glass.

Inside Sal9000’s cockpit, Liu Shiyuan and Wang Yihan were frantic, like ants on a skillet.

The fuel got tampered with?!

Yeah! Omega and Neptune were swapped to three‑to‑one. It’s that infamous 6‑3‑1 death formula. If we’d pumped Mind Energy in…

When did they do it?! Final prep—didn’t anyone catch an outsider in the team bay?!

It was too dark!

Damn it…

All we need is to keep the injected Mind Energy off that ratio—no, it’s not that simple.

Emergency Infinite Power blended into the mixed feed again, like oil chasing water, and the ratios skated on a knife’s edge.

No indicator could warn them; one slip meant a firework for the gods.

They loved to race, but not enough to die with dawn’s sermon in their ears.

They held rank in the organization, solid careers; dying in a dusty foreign gorge for a place on a board was just stupid.

Fix the hazard, then claw it back in the next four sectors—so thought driver Liu Shiyuan, as he bled speed and crawled the mountain like a family sedan on a rainy night.

However—

He felt the speed creep up, sly as tide on a moonlit shore.

What the hell—

His eyes stuck to the fuel readout like a lizard to warm stone.

Remaining fuel… was rising, like a well refilling on its own.

At this moment, there was only one way it could rise.

Yihan?! What are you doing—got a death wish?!

—

Wang Yihan was pumping Mind Energy into the engine, his right hand resting on the inlet, sheathed in azure flame like frost that burned.

Liu Shiyuan stared, horror beating in his chest like a caged drum.

Was Wang Yihan bought? No. Impossible.

He knew this partner, years by his side like a second steering wheel.

And even if he’d snapped and wanted a murder‑suicide—the one who found the fuel issue was him!

If he wanted to blow the car, he could’ve kept his mouth shut from the start.

Yihan! Wake up, you—

Wang Yihan didn’t speak.

He only smiled, a thin curve like a knife in water; in his eyes flowed a secret light that made the skin crawl.

Who… are you?

The burn swallowed the cockpit like a red sea, and Liu Shiyuan never got an answer.

—

Huh?

Sal9000 was on fire.

From Yekase’s perch a hundred meters up, she saw the car wobble and try to brake, like a drunk dancer searching for the beat.

It couldn’t slow.

Flame burst under the hood, a sudden blossom, then wrapped the whole chassis until it turned into a rogue fireball in the night.

It spun off the track like a meteor, and vanished into gravel with its head down and heels up.

It stopped moving.

Without lights, the charred lump was just a smudge on black velvet.

As for the driver—yeah, probably dead.

Bold, trying the world‑famous “man‑and‑machine as one” fuel ratio in person.

That’s finalist swagger?

Yekase almost laughed, the way you do at a bad joke that lands.

The Chimera Dreadnought thundered past Sal9000’s wreck and claimed fourth, like a ship passing flotsam.

Its fuel matrix was the real labyrinth—five kinds of Infinite Power plus Neptune.

It came from two unaffiliated freelancers, which had Yekase’s hopes high at first.

But the front three had left it like dust in sunbeams; it didn’t even feel like the same race.

The top three neared the end of Stage One—the Midway Camp at the forest’s edge, a white lantern among trees.

They’d break the line, roll down on a buffer strip like a long exhale, then hand off to their crews.

The service window was a full day, a fat slice of time like a loaf.

Half‑time sounded absurd, but think of the Gobi sun; better to prevent any heat‑stroke inferno.

The racers would crash at the on‑site budget hotel, sealed almost like a monastery.

They could stroll, but rivals had to keep distance; no popping back to Cloudlong City.

They called it the Cloudlong Night tradition: full rest, no backroom whispers, no cheating.

But if something happened during those five days, wouldn’t it turn into a snowed‑in mountain lodge—

Yekase had floated that, dead serious, and Jiang Bailu had roasted her for it like a cat by a brazier.

Come on, like some detective‑novel setup would happen—like that.

But then Jiang had baited her: if there is a case, you’ll be the detective, and I’ll be your Watson.

After that, the woman actually started hoping for a little murder between racers.

Don’t hope for that. Seriously.

Anyway, as off‑book staff, Yekase’s trio didn’t need the budget bunks.

They could go back to their big, soft beds, like ducks to a warm pond.

With the Pale Knight about to cross, Yekase tipped her staff and banked homeward to regroup.

Before she landed, she spotted Jiang Bailu carving an S on the level air, like chalk on a slate.

She wasn’t afraid anymore that a spell would cut out and drop her like a stone.

Oh, wait. What if I pop Nightlight Torch right now?

Kinda scary. Try it on an enemy next time.

Bailu—

Mm?

I suddenly can’t remember. Did you open Celestial Speech before casting?

What’s that?

Ah?

Ah?

They stared at each other midair, two birds on a wire.

Yekase blinked, then explained: Celestial Speech is a ritual boot word in modern magic, like logging into a mech before driving it.

Chant it, and you can free‑cast for a while.

Then I definitely didn’t chant it.

Jiang Bailu answered honest as spring water.

You didn’t chant Celestial Speech… and you flew.

Yekase checked again, voice careful as a hand on glass.

When she learned the Levitation Spell, she already had the basics of floating.

It came naturally.

And she’d chanted Celestial Speech before lift‑off, like lacing boots before a run.

She hadn’t made Bailu learn Celestial Speech first for two reasons: study without use doesn’t need the boot word, and if Bailu had to chant, she’d get cautious.

There’d be no tricking her into the sky.

The plan was simple: once Bailu got it, Yekase would catch her with Levitation Spell, then teach Celestial Speech.

But she just… flew.

The mood had been perfect, a rare still lake.

Yekase was too busy showing off to notice.

Only now did the pebble hit the water.

Uh…

Yekase ran out of words, like a pen out of ink.

Seeing her face like she’d swallowed a fly, Jiang Bailu tensed up.

Is this something you forgot to tell me? Will the magic police come because I cast without Celestial Speech—

No! Because everyone else needs to boot before they run code!

Good… wait, what?

They stared at each other again, a silent drumroll.

Fierce staring contest.

Yekase took out her phone to ask Sandryon for a take.

Then she remembered: the old fossil’s an Alchemist.

He’s probably never debugged modern magic.

No one else to ask, though, so she called with zero hope.

What now?

Master, my student can use modern magic without Celestial Speech. Is that a bug?

Then she’s likely a natural caster.

Oh, so that’s the term.

Yekase waved to Jiang Bailu, all clear, then blinked.

…What’s it mean?

Haven’t you seen other Infinite Power users? It’s someone who can use it straight, no tools. Modern magic’s just an OS wrapper. Rare, but nothing holy—just proof of good talent.

Got it. Like barehand users.

Yekase had seen Ling Yi freehand Mind Energy and Flash Energy.

After her own fusion, she’d barely brushed the threshold of freehand Flash Energy.

With Bailu freehanding magic, she couldn’t even be bothered to be shocked.

Cool. Thanks… I’ll snag you some research loot from the Cloudlong branch later.

Go on, who wants their scraps.

Sandryon laughed, then hung up like a door in wind.

Uh… anyway, congrats.

Congrats again?

Yekase shrugged, a little helpless wave.

You’ve no idea how annoying it is to boot Celestial Speech every time.

You burn your global cooldown and basically tell the enemy, I’m casting now.

No stealth. That’s why I don’t like magic.

Ancient Alchemy doesn’t need Celestial Speech, sure, but drawing circles is a heavyweight pain.

I use my Alchemy keyboard, simplified ten thousand times, no memorizing.

And I still have to hammer keys forever for one shot.

The most convenient magic is probably superpowers.

Like Gu Xiangshi’s—looked like a signature spell from the Infinite Power residue.

We checked. It’s just a superpower.

Proof? She can’t cast anything else.

But that’s pure luck of the cradle.

Anyway, aim for Archmagus for now. Try a little.

I’ve got a few magic textbooks at home, a bit scorched by my fire. I’ll lend them when we’re back in Twin Towers City.

I don’t want them.

Why?

Jiang Bailu shook her head, calm as a moonlit pond.

Because I’m administrative staff.

Pfft.