Ling stood at the treasure room’s door and breathed deep, steadying the storm in her chest like a pond under night wind.
First she learned Perfect Healing, then the torn pages of a hands-on guide to spatial powers, a map written on broken leaves and moonlight.
It taught “space storage,” a swallow’s nest folded inside a shell; she bound that technique to the book, turning it into a storage ring in paper skin.
Knowledge is power, blades hidden in ink; Ling swept every book into that pocket of space, pruning the bullies’ strength like frost biting a field.
She parkoured up the shelves like a alley cat on rain pipes; atop the last stack, a chest waited like a quiet stone under moss.
Inside was a green wedge-shaped shard, a dull leaf chipped off a mountain; she tossed it away without blinking, useless driftwood in a fast river.
Even so, Ling sighed at this lot—so poor it squeaked, no coin, only dust and words like dry reeds.
The books whispered that this place was a god’s abode, a temple carved from starlight and prayer.
Gods were the strongest in this world, pillars under a sky of thunder; she’d already felled more than a few like old trees in a storm.
They were humanity’s anchor, built to pin dragons, elves, and the Undead, to nail wild tides to stone; so maybe she had helped peace… a little?
So… what was her situation now?
Roughly ten thousand gods ringed her like a white cliff; before them stood one blazing with holy light, a sun-mask that had to be the God-King.
While Ling weighed her options, the God-King spoke, voice cold as winter rain.
“Unknown creature, you have slain countless of my kin. Surrender your core today, and I will spare your life.”
Villain lines, scripted like thunder behind glass; core—what even was that?
Seeing Ling silent, the God-King didn’t bristle; his calm was ice on a lake as he spoke again.
“I ask one last time. Will you hand over the core?”
“You’re saying if I hand over the core, you’ll let me live?”
“I have never broken my word.” Pride rang in him like a bronze bell under noon sun.
Ling caught that pride, bright and brittle; her mischief curled like smoke and found a spark.
“So by your logic, I should agree, right?”
At her question, confidence, smugness, and hauteur crowded his face like clouds fighting for the same moon.
“Yes. It’s your only cho—”
Ling leaned against the nearest wall like a willow at rest, legs crossed, right hand on her thigh, left bracing behind; she tipped forward, disdain painted across her face.
“But I refuse.”
For a heartbeat, she saw the God-King freeze, his high pride ground underfoot like chalk on stone.
He smoothed his mask in a breath; pity pooled in his gaze like stale water. He raised a hand, perfunctory as a lazy breeze.
“Full assault…”
At his call, the gods lifted weapons like a rustling forest, yet few actually rushed forth, minds drifting with the same thin contempt.
“Come on, insects. Let me test the Magic Cannon’s bite.”
Ling raised both hands; green light gathered like dew beading on jade, visible even to sleepy eyes.
The orb swelled, and swelled, a hungry moon, its pressure climbing like tide under a storm.
At last even those proud gods felt the cliff edge beneath their heels; moments ago they’d sneered at Ling, now they charged like arrows loosed from a black cloud.
Ling ignored them; she stalled, because the huge emerald orb kept expanding, refusing to fire, a stubborn star stuck in its cradle.
How did this thing shoot again?
Earlier her body had moved on its own and the shot flew; what had she done then, in that wild current?
The green globe grew to the size of one Ling, a lantern of jade; she shook her hands hard, trying to fling it off like a bee clinging to sugar.
The gods didn’t dawdle; a knight sprinted like a spear of wind, aiming to cleave her with a handful of bright cuts.
Behind him, more than a hundred thousand light arrows screamed toward her like a silver rain; chains rose from the floor, black snakes coiling her ankles.
Meanwhile the orb swelled to five Ling across, a green planet; she kept jerking at it, and the rain of arrows splashed against it, a natural shield carved by chance.
“Quit it! Stop getting bigger!”
She clenched both hands, cutting the mana feed like snapping a cord; the orb twitched into a change.
It shrank to half a fist, a seed the size of a teardrop—then shot out, blooming into a beam as thick as a hundred Lings, a river of jade light.
It swallowed the ten thousand gods whole, night wiped from a window with one ruthless stroke.
Ling didn’t smile; annoyance pricked her like sand in a shoe.
“So that’s the trick? You give me magic without a fire button, make me set it myself? What kind of trash is that?”
Only then did she notice the gods were gone; she stared, puzzled, at the equally stunned God-King, two fish blinking in the same clear pond.
“So… did they go grab lunch?”
Her tone, half question, half jab, snapped the God-King’s temper like a brittle twig.
“Fool! Those were the temple’s strongest ten thousand! You will pay.”
Ling let his anger roll past like heat off stone; excitement lit her like dawn.
“Come on, then. I spent ten minutes getting this spell down. Let me give you a proper demo.”
They locked eyes, battle will spilling like sparks; but their hearts aimed at different horizons.
One chased revenge like a wolf on a trail; the other chased her first taste of victory in eighteen years, a swallow darting for the sun, challenging the world’s strongest—the God-King.
