For Yanfengle, a model 21st‑century kid glued to Bilibili, the worst pests are Uncle X and holy light, two flies that keep landing on his screen.

The first can wait, but holy light is pure trash, like fog dumped over a sunrise.

Right when the art he craves finally glimmers like moonlit silk, someone slaps on holy light, a curtain over stars pretending to be virtue.

Whoever invented it must’ve had no mother, just a block of ice where a heart should be.

Yet now, Yanfengle thanks the heavens he learned Holy Light, clinging to it like a lighthouse in storm surf.

“Don’t—come—any—closer!”

Holy Light: Extreme.

Awoooo— The howl tore out like wolves under a blood moon, and the spell flared like noon sun; against a Vampire like Edgar Warren, it burns like salt on open eyes.

“Ah—my eyes! You idiot, stop spamming skills!” Ye Muhuan cursed, voice sharp as gravel in a stream.

“Ice Hammer!”

I moved on instinct, snatching the floating ice hammer like a falling comet, then slammed it at the Vampire like thunder striking an old pine.

“Nice hit, kid. While the window’s open, we run!”

“Kid…” Yanfengle’s mouth twitched, a dry reed in winter wind.

[Don’t ask. You’re the youngest here.]

“…”

“Something’s off.” Qianya’s voice chilled like frost creeping over glass.

“Big sis, stop saying ‘off’—I’m scared for real!” Every time Qianya says that, the road turns to thorns.

Qianya ignored the whining, eyes steady as a crane’s. “Notice anything? A few minutes shouldn’t stretch like taffy.”

“True…” The word fell like a pebble into a well.

“Are we just walking in circles like moths chasing a lantern?”

“I got it!” Yanfengle blurted, heart thumping like a drum. “It’s a ghost wall—we’re trapped in a ghost wall!”

He hesitated, doubts fluttering like bats. Wrong setup, and the enemy’s a Vampire… whatever, a Vampire’s still a ghost.

“What’s a ghost wall?” Qianya and I tilted our heads, two sparrows watching a snake.

“Ghost, my foot!” Ye Muhuan snapped and kicked him, boot like a stone skimming water.

“Ignore him. He’s got chuunibyou, a fever that turns shadows into dragons.”

Qianya thought, brow snowfall‑calm. “If I’m right, we’re not circling; the barrier shifts with us like a spider moving its web.”

“If that’s true, we’ll never reach the target, like sailors rowing toward a painted shore.”

“Bad! Heads up!” Her shout cracked like lightning.

Godstride Thunderfeather: Ring‑Flash.

We vanished, and a scarlet claw crashed down where we’d stood, a hawk’s talon gouging dust.

“That was close…” Breath came thin as mist.

“Do you really think you can escape?” His voice slid in from all sides, wind whispering in iron reeds.

“As long as you’re in my barrier,” he purred, “you’ll never get out,” a cat smoothing fur before the pounce.

I scanned the haze, mind falling into still water. “I think I get it. No need to pass messages out anymore. The Vampire pulled back the barrier that covered Starfate City. Unlucky us, we’re still inside his personal net, and he’s right behind us like a shadow at dusk.”

“You’re kidding—again?”

“Ho‑ly—Light!”

Pig‑slaughter screams knifed the air behind us, and this time Ye Muhuan and the others slammed their eyes shut ahead of the flare, like turtles ducking into shell.

“You little pest! Blind me twice and I’ll rip you apart!” Edgar Warren’s rage roared like a volcano spitting fire.

“Not bad—caught my drift in a heartbeat.” I clapped Yanfengle’s shoulder, palm light as falling snow. “You’ve got chops, little brother.”

“Nice work, junior. Bringing you was the right call.” Qianya gave Yanfengle a thumbs‑up, a lantern lifted in fog.

“…” Yanfengle’s smile looked worse than tears, a wilted blossom after frost.

With nothing better to say, Ye Muhuan patted his shoulder. “Hang in there. Survive.” Her hand landed like a spar’s steady rhythm.

“…”

Uuuh… what do I do… His thoughts curled like smoke in a cave.

[Kid, pray for your own luck.] The voice slid by like a bamboo flute in twilight.

“Eyes up. That thing’s fast, and speed cuts like wind over a ridge. Stay sharp.”

“Oh…” Yanfengle’s answer drooped like a tired leaf.

“No good… red smoke is pressing down like a storm front. We go lower.”

“Uh, what do we do? Can we still backtrack, like fish swimming upriver?”

“Probably too late,” I said, steady as a frozen lake.

“Huh?” The word popped like a bubble.

“Scatter!” Qianya folded her feathers back like a crane keeping wings, then shoved us apart with raw mana, a gust breaking flock.

“Blood Soul Shot!” The Vampire spat power like embers bursting from charcoal.

The name rang familiar; I frowned, like tasting iron. Do Vampires only know a handful of tricks?

“Crap, the Vampire’s aiming at… that guy—hey, that guy, watch yourself!” Panic flailed like reeds in flood.

No need to say the name. It’s me, Yanfengle thought, sinking like a stone in his gut.

Holy Light Bulwark.

Ready to die, Yanfengle suddenly found himself walled in by a vast gold barrier, a sunrise trapped in glass. Outside the bulwark, Edgar Warren’s face twisted like bark under frost.

…As expected of the Holy Maiden. Reliable when the sky falls.

“So this is a Holy Maiden blessed by the One True God…” Qianya murmured, voice a cold bell. “False gods and true gods are oceans apart.”

No. Kill that church bitch first. Edgar Warren’s thought hissed like oil on flame.

“Hey, don’t ignore me, bastard,” I shouted, distance stretching like a dry riverbed. I needed a breath to close.

I’d already smacked him twice, yet he still treated me like fog—was my presence a phantom in rain?

Too much. Way too much.

“Your opponent is me!” I called, anger clean as mountain wind.

Gather water to shape; condense ice into blades. The flow curled into steel‑blue, like winter rivers turned to glass.

Ice Profound Thrust!

I couldn’t use Water Prison in front of them; secrets need shade like orchids. So I went with simple ice spells. Against a physical fighter like a Vampire, water works better, a net instead of a needle.

“Tsk. Annoying bug,” Edgar Warren sneered and swatted the ice spikes like gnats, shards falling like sleet.

Too much—just like that, you ignore me?

Heh.

I’d meant to test him blade to blade, but I ditched that plan like a worn glove. If I don’t get under his skin, I’ll stew for days like tea going bitter.

Do ice spells have a troll’s sting? Sure. Not on this muscle‑type Vampire—I tested that. But tools that annoy? I have plenty. For example, this: the Thousand‑Face Mirror, a moon fractured into shards.

“Lighting master, give me holy light!” I locked him in with an ice prison, bars gleaming like glacier ribs, and lobbed a small round stone that kissed air like a pebble skipping water.

“Got it!” Yanfengle snapped out Holy Light: Extreme, a sunburst in a cave.

Edgar Warren went blind. Again. The night shrieked like owls scattered.

“Twin Blades, Butterfly Dance!” My swords fluttered like wings, edge singing through snow.

“Are you done, bug? Two rusty swords can’t cut me—I—” His snarl rattled like chains.

Bang!

Edgar Warren went flying, a comet punched from orbit.

“Sorry… went too hard.” Qingsheng Tangxue said, face blank and voice cold as sleet, long spear leveled with the butt, not the tip.

With the tip, I’d pierce straight through, a needle through silk. For Vampires, a hole in the chest means little. For impact, I’d rather ram with the butt, a battering ram hitting a gate.

Blindsided, Edgar Warren stared, stunned like a deer in torchlight, forgetting to rise. It had been ages since raw strength sent him flying like a leaf in gale.

After he hit ninth tier, no one had knocked him away with just flesh and bone, not once.

“Interesting. Too interesting.” He smiled like a wolf scenting blood. “Woman, you’ve got my attention…”

“…?” My brow lifted, a single feather against wind.