Well…

Talk is talk; in a real fight, who stands still and lets you smack the crown of their skull like a temple bell?

Even Ban, with endless revivals in his pocket, shrank from pain without cause, like stepping barefoot into burrs.

He pulled the same little trick he’d used on Edmund and turned it on Ling again.

His fist hit her skull like punching wet clay; the blow landed, but the strength sank and oozed away.

He collapsed into dust that spilled to the ground like a gray waterfall, then flowed, knit tight, and hardened into four or five bone-whips. They wrapped Ling’s small frame and lifted her, trussed and floating midair like a silken puppet.

From below, dust scraped along the earth—rustle-rustle—an everyday sound, rare in this burrow, so it snagged the ear like a thorn.

Her ears traced the sound’s path. When it stilled, the sand drilled up and shaped itself into Ban’s pale form.

So that’s how he moves fast…

Annoyance flickered like heat under her ribs as Ling weighed it.

Fair enough. To think of moving like drifting sand—Ban’s no simple fool.

But a Skeleton, thinking this sharply—is that right?

Bones should be empty, a clattering chorus with no minds.

She was grumbling inside like smoke under a lid when Ban’s taunt drifted over.

“How is it, little one? Weren’t you boasting just now? When’ll you pull out that Scythe of yours?”

At that, Ling finally saw why he couldn’t grasp her true strength.

Since entering this Undead burrow, she rarely smashed foes with fists or Magic Cannon. She mostly used the Scythe.

Add the Undead’s gossip-chain, and Ban likely heard “she uses a Scythe” from other Skeletons.

With a rumor mill like that, he probably pegged me as “a bit strong, universe-invincible, super-cute little adventurer.”

Yep. Definitely.

Ling giggled inside, never noticing Ban’s look skewing strange.

“Uh… did I knock this kid crazy?”

Ban pointed at the bound, grinning Ling, but he looked at Alicia, face saying, “If she’s nuts, don’t blame me.”

Would Alicia humor him?

Of course not.

She kept kneading Edmund’s overworked muscles, palms working like a baker softening dough.

Ban, left hanging, turned back to his “mad lass.”

The “mad lass” cackled on, laugh squeaking like a plate being scrubbed—creeeak, creeeak.

After wiping fifty or sixty imaginary plates, she finally caught her breath enough to speak.

“Hey… Mr. Skeleton over there…”

A blush of pride stung like chili, but Ling couldn’t hold back. She wanted to show off, to let this native see an outlander’s power.

“Ever heard this—‘before absolute strength, schemes are useless’?”

Ban wore honest confusion, a blank face like fresh snow. A saying from another world—he hadn’t heard it.

Even so, he caught the meaning.

Strength you can’t outplay.

That was Ban’s take, simple as a stone.

He understood, but looking at the little one, he didn’t believe she could slip free. Unless…

“Mr. Skeleton, this thing beat Edmund for one reason—Edmund lacks area attacks. He hits single targets only.”

Ling raised her gaze to the Skeleton, eyes steady as moonlight.

Under that stare, Ban felt a nameless fear, like a leash slipping off his plans.

“Actually, Mr. Skeleton, your attack’s easy to solve. You just do this.”

Which is what?

Of course—aim a Magic Cannon at herself.

Not the giant kind; she picked a thumb-sized Magic Cannon and used it as a hot cutter on the “bone-whips” binding her.

First time turning her own aim inward, a prickle of unease crawled like sparks, and her clothes singed. Still, one whip sliced clean.

The severed bone-whip dove into the ground like it lost heart and scurried toward Ban.

Watching his bind unravel, Ban wanted to pour on pressure, to tie Ling until she blacked out like a candle snuffed.

But the little one acted as if the bind didn’t exist; no matter how he tightened, it was wind on stone.

She conjured a few more green spheres, clearly intending to erase the whips, not just cut them.

Unwilling but wary, Ban recalled the bone-whips. That dust is real matter; a few hits from the Magic Cannon, and it’s gone like dew at noon.

Ban didn’t want his dust obliterated. Without it, his only attack vanished. How would he fight?

“Little one… don’t think breaking the bind means you win. Remember, you can’t hit me.”

Mm…

Still a Skeleton who only gained wisdom recently; his heart’s untempered, like soft clay.

When his scheme slipped, he pivoted to mockery to save face, a paper mask against rain.

He didn’t know a schemer’s taboo: never bare your heart.

In the end, just a child tossing petty tricks.

Ling judged Ban so, and sighed, like a breeze through reeds, at meeting the Undead burrow’s final boss in this shape.

A foe like this can’t give you a good, clean fight.