Her silhouette burst, snaking in a curve to Shans’ feet; her body dipped to his belly height, and a small right fist rose like a coiled viper.

—Hell ahead? Please. Like I haven’t walked the Underworld already.

She swung the fist up from below, a spark of indignation flaring for Rafi, who’d been blamed for nothing.

Her punch shredded the air; a small tornado kicked up and lifted Shans’ skeleton frame like dry leaves in a gust.

Yes—lifted.

Light as ash, Shans rode the wind, flickered a few times, then vanished, like smoke blown thin and gone. Ling didn’t buy the kill.

—So it’s teleportation after all?

The hit hadn’t hurt much. But it proved his earlier “speed” was just simple teleport hops.

Behind her came the Dragonbone Cannon’s clack-clack, like teeth chattering. She was used to that skeleton loving her blind spot, so she wasn’t surprised.

She pivoted 180 degrees on her right toe; her left foot drove the turn, and she settled. Twin Magic Cannons primed in the same breath.

—Something’s off.

Unease coiled cold in her gut, but her hands didn’t slow. She aimed along the Dragonbone Cannon’s line. Her sharp eyes caught the dragon-jaw opening.

She fired the Magic Cannons the instant it did.

A blue beam and a green beam lanced out together. They locked in midair, a stalemate, neither inching forward.

Normally, she’d nudge her mana output and crush him. She didn’t. Instinct cut the Cannons, and her body leapt skyward like a startled swallow.

Midair, she glanced down. A massive blade, cobbled from a hundred bones, scythed through where she’d stood. Hit by that? Injury unknown—comfort guaranteed zero.

She rolled in the air and rode the drop, landing behind. Amusement tugged her mouth as the skeleton showed a fresh trick.

“Hiding extra skills for the cheap shot? You’re not a good skeleton, are you.”

By “extra,” she meant that eerie bone-control into a blade.

Shans didn’t care for her barbs. In fights, hiding skills is common sense; the odd ones are the fools who show the whole deck.

His two skeletal hands closed on air before him, as if gripping a staff that wasn’t there.

“Kid, I’m gonna get serious now. This is my workout for the year, so I can’t afford to slip!”

Blue light sparked between his finger gaps. A pure white bone popped into his grasp, a crude club born from marrow-white moonlight.

Ling couldn’t help thinking: no rusty broadsword, no half-broken round shield—he picked a bone. Not the image people expect. She still set herself to receive.

Two pink fists rose to her chest, a sloppy boxing guard, planning to meet the charge with raw, unpolished knuckles.

In her sights, his eyes flickered yellow and blue, like will-o’-wisps. Whoosh—the sound snapped, and Shans vanished.

—Behind me!

She knew his habit. She turned and threw a punch before the thought finished forming.

Crack—!

Hit. That sound, that impact—that was bone for sure.

But the thrill didn’t bloom. When her vision caught up, the bone she’d struck wasn’t the bun-brain skeleton. It was his Dragonbone Cannon.

The body was gone. A bad chill opened like a flower. Something sliced the air behind her, a knife through silk.

She saw the plan: the rear Dragonbone Cannon as bait; the real body up front, bone club in hand.

Clean plan. Hard to believe it came from a skull with no brain. Still won’t work. He’d misread Ling’s speed, mapped her to a human—fatal gap.

Her fist on the Dragonbone Cannon pressed harder, crushing it to shards, dodging a trap within the trap. Then she turned back to a bone ten centimeters from her nose.

She reached out. Her small hand caught the bone at a speed too fast to leave an afterimage. She couldn’t palm its girth, yet it didn’t move a hair.

She lifted her lids, savoring, a little wickedly, the panic or disbelief she expected to see in his eyes. That always took the heat off.

But it didn’t play her way. No panic. Just that same ancient grin—teeth bared, mouth curved like a new moon.

Maybe before the grin meant nothing. This time, Ling saw it plain: mockery tucked under the smile.