Yanfengle’s talent blazed like a comet in winter skies, nearly on par with Ying Xuan’er.

He looked like a chick in a storm, feathers damp and trembling.

He acted like a rabbit under thunder, heart first, spine second.

He seemed as useful as a dull knife in wet bark. Truth be told, not much use.

But his skin was thick like rhino hide baked in sun.

“I’m telling you, I’m super brave, okay? That vampire—what’s-his-name, Ed…gar—he usually won’t hit a weakling like me. Last time he rushed in to ambush the Holy Maiden, I played dead like a fallen leaf. When he leaned in, I cast Holy Light and flashed his eyes white.”

Back then, everyone at the table went wide-eyed like fish breaking the surface.

Yanfengle spoke with fire like hot coals in a brazier, boasting before a ring of teachers without a blink. The boy who seemed meek suddenly had a spine like bamboo. Selling out the Holy Maiden, though… that did sting like sour plum.

His talent ranked near the top like peaks in a mountain range. And Qianya was willing to carry him like a hawk with a fledgling. So he became our last pick for the team.

Time pressed like a tide against pilings. Outside, the thing sensed Qianya’s magic like wolves scenting blood, and it began to stir. The shield showed hairline cracks like ice at dawn.

Right before we moved, Qianya spoke softly, her voice cool as moonlight. “By the way, a reminder. Last time, on the surface, you could suppress Edgar Warren. His true strength is far deeper, at least… in raw body hardness.”

“Vampires don’t wield magic,” she said, cold as a mountain spring. “Everything they do comes from bloodline talents and bodies like granite. The fuller the Blood Reservoir, the stronger the skill, the faster the recovery.”

“I don’t expect you to kill Edgar Warren,” she added, calm as a still pond. “Even with your growth. Just… hold him for ten minutes. I can break this barrier.”

“No worries! We can’t beat him… but if we’re talking being a pain?” The teachers smiled like foxes at dusk. The rest of us felt a chill like mist in a graveyard.

When Mentor Xuewei had bad days, she’d drag us out for single-target drills like storm lashes on reeds. With her strength, it was one-sided like hammer to clay. To avoid being punching bags, we cooked up tricks like flies under summer heat—especially for monsters of overwhelming strength.

“As for speed, don’t worry,” Qianya said, and a feather gleamed in her hand like violet lightning caught in frost.

“Quasi-Divine Artifact: Swift-Thunder Feather?!” A savvy expert’s voice cracked like dry pine.

“Heavens… she just pulls out a quasi-divine artifact,” someone breathed, awe shimmering like starlight on water.

Such a treasure could serve as a nation’s heirloom like jade sealed in an ancestral hall. Most never even see one in a lifetime; to hold one… like catching a dragon’s shadow.

She was the Queen of the Blood; they could only stare like sparrows at a phoenix.

“With this wonder, we might not even need to stall,” someone said, smiling bitterly like snow on a wound.

“No,” Qianya replied, eyes clear as ice. “My math already assumes the Swift-Thunder Feather. His speed will outstrip your imagination like a hawk outpacing swallows.”

“I don’t think he’s that fast…” Yanfengle muttered, voice thin as smoke.

Qianya glanced like a knife’s frost. He wilted like grass under frost, head down, feet backing off.

Sigh. The guy was timid like a quail.

He didn’t want to come. Don’t ask—task orders, like iron seals, dragged him in.

The reward was a purple-grade offensive spell scroll, gleaming like a plum crystal. Yanfengle dreamed of such things like a child of lanterns. That silly Holy Maiden only taught him Holy Light… and healing. The teachers taught him how to take hits like stones teach a river. The Church folk were unreachable like bells in a ruined tower. If he wanted real magic, he had to beg his System-Mom like a fox at a door.

Without that, he wouldn’t dare boast before so many powerhouses, whose casual strikes could shatter mountains like clay pots.

Though… wasn’t he ninth-rank now? The Queen of the Blood had boosted him for a short time like sun in winter. He didn’t know many attack spells, but his plain strikes might hit like iron hammers. Maybe test Holy Light at ninth-rank mana, see how it roars like noon thunder. It was his highest-tier spell anyway.

When that Vampire catches up, I’ll flash him one and feel the burn, Yanfengle thought, excitement quivering like a bowstring.

“Ready to move,” Qianya said, voice calm as falling snow. “If you’re all set.”

“Of course. Open the gates! Prepare to strike!” The order rang like bronze bells.

Thanks to the energy shield, citizens could stay put like stones under a canopy. The City Lord didn’t need extra measures.

There were more people than last time, like a river swollen by rain. They were making a final gamble, like a boat in storm choosing the narrow cut. The elite guard joined in; almost every soldier in Starfate City took the field like wheat bending to wind. Their job: pin the blood thralls so they couldn’t encircle, soak blows and buy time like walking ATMs in a grinding war.

Several ninth-rank powerhouses had to bow out for reasons like hidden thorns. The ones who remained were sharper than before, top strength raised like a blade newly tempered.

“Kill!” The soldiers’ shout rolled like mountains and seas. The crowd surged at the blood-thrall army like a tide.

Not far off, Edgar Warren watched from a distance like a wolf on a ridge. He frowned, a shadow crossing his face like passing cloud. If they threw themselves into a final fight, he felt thrilled—like a hawk seeing scattered prey—easier than hunting them one by one. But… Vinoena Qianya wasn’t there. She seemed still in the city, though he’d felt her aura earlier like a scent on wind.

In the dark, a shadow moved, quick as a swallow through dusk.

Black light flashed, slicing like obsidian rain. Edgar Warren’s arm dropped, clean-cut, like a branch sheared.

He didn’t panic; he turned with cold eyes like night glass, staring down the shadow.

“Again with you washed-up losers,” he laughed, voice like iron scraping stone. “Ha… that woman’s aura—so that’s it, hahahaha. You think getting stronger means you can fight me?”

Edgar Warren grinned, a snarl like a wolf’s crescent. His body convulsed; the wound crawled shut like vines knitting bark.

The shadow gave no time, flickering again like lightning in a squall. His leg severed; his balance broke like a toppled pillar. City Lord Fan Chen stepped in, spear crackling violet like storm-fire, thrusting at the staggered Vampire.

“Move! I’m dropping a big one!” a clear woman’s voice sang, bright as silver bells. Fan Chen sprang aside like a cat. Edgar Warren, swathed in violet thunder, flew like a leaf in a gale.

The next heartbeat, high-tier magic circles bloomed around him like frost flowers. A giant red mushroom cloud surged, then thinned within the barrier like smoke under glass.

“Heh… we meet again, Mr. Vampire,” a man in formal wear smiled, lifting his glasses like a knife’s glint. “This time… we can have fun.” Xuanwu looked like a gentleman-beast in silk and fang.

“Basalt Phalanx.” The words dropped like stones.

Those hidden in shadow stepped out one by one like stars from cloud. The arena had formed like a ring of standing stones; it was their cue.

“Careful.” Black light flashed, and Youdie appeared like a raven-wing. “He’s recovered.”

From the smoke, blood-red eyes lit up like coals and drew near like wolves at dusk.

“We’ve seen it before, but his regen is obscene,” someone muttered, bitter as wormwood. “Blown to ash, and he’s back.”

“Don’t forget the mission,” another said, steady as a drum. “This round, the teachers get the stage.”

Inside the city.

“Qianya, we just run in the direction the teachers marked, right?” The voice trembled like a moth near flame.

“Yes.” Qianya’s gaze was a quiet lake. “I hope they…”

“Running? I’m great at that!” Yanfengle perked up, spirit rising like a kite in a fresh breeze.