"Qi power?"

The book fell to the ground, crumbling to dust—clearly useless now. Yet it released a strange, mystical aura that seeped into the clone’s body.

In a blink, the clone’s form twisted violently. His young, handsome face warped grotesquely as bizarre limbs sprouted across his body.

Aruola, calmly sipping tea nearby, watched the transformation with a hint of confusion.

"Why did it turn out like this? My sister’s power was only meant to copy that person’s appearance, wasn’t it?"

No one answered Aruola’s doubt—not even Zhang Luan knew.

But monster or not, this thing looked far from friendly.

Stellar Flame condensed over a dozen fiery blades, launching them in attack.

The creature shot eerie tentacles, clashing with the flames.

Stellar Flame’s intense heat burned the tentacles, but it discarded the charred parts and regrew fresh ones instantly.

A status panel flashed before Zhang Luan’s eyes:

[???]

Level: 1

Tier: 1

HP: 1

Defense: 1000

Resistance: 1000

Attack Power: 10000

Abilities: [Shell] [Devour] [Regenerating Tentacles] [Soul Absorption]

—

Zhang Luan frowned at the bizarre stats. He’d never seen attributes like this. HP of just 1 couldn’t be that simple—if it were truly one-hit, Stellar Flame’s casual burns would’ve ended it already. Its resistance and defense were mediocre, yet attack power was immense. Something was off.

Zhang Luan halted his assault, letting the monster transform freely. Aruola floated over, eyes wide with confusion at the ugly creature. She couldn’t fathom why her sister’s power had warped like this.

Finally, the thing’s tentacles fully unfurled. Its chrysanthemum-like mouth pulsed open and shut as it writhed forward. Zhang Luan pursed his lips, grabbed Aruola’s hand, and teleported to the staircase entrance below. Evil spirits lurked there, restless and eager.

He activated the Hypergravity Net instantly, then switched the Ends Bow to Black Moon form. A barrage of arrows pinned the spirits in place while he sprinted away with Aruola.

The writhing creature moved fast. It leaped down, engulfing the spirits. Roars of agony echoed as they vanished, devoured whole.

"Hah, does this count as me eliminating all the evil spirits?"

Aruola pondered seriously, then nodded. "Mm. Eliminated."

Amused by her cute expression, Zhang Luan ruffled her hair. Aruola’s face clouded with confusion—she didn’t grasp his meaning.

Zhang Luan didn’t care to explain. He was happy; that was enough.

The mutated spirit was swift, but Zhang Luan’s buffs made him faster. He led the monster in endless circles.

"I don’t understand. Why keep running?" Aruola asked.

She didn’t get his plan, drifting passively like a kite on his pull. They’d circled three times already. He’d even pause to wait for the monster—pointless, yet he seemed to enjoy it.

"That thing has no mind. Mocking it is meaningless," she added.

"Mocking? No. Taunting this dumb beast is boring—it won’t even get angry. I’m observing. No monster lacks a weakness. Nothing’s unkillable. If it won’t die, I’m just not strong enough yet."

"My sister said that too."

Nostalgia softened Aruola’s face. She smiled faintly, recalling Afan Yin—a look identical to Zhang Luan’s memories.

He pinched her cheek again, sparking mild displeasure. She didn’t understand his actions, but a strange unease prickled her.

Zhang Luan ignored it. She was too cute not to tease.

After messing with the emotionless girl, his gaze snapped back to the gooey tentacle monster. He’d circled this floor twice, testing every method to kill it.

Force of Creation severed its tentacles; Stellar Flame engulfed its body—nothing worked.

Severed limbs regrew instantly. Burning flesh shed like a molting spider. It feared no damage. Likely, the [Shell] ability was shielding it.

If there’s a shell, there must be a core.

Zhang Luan raised his bow skyward. Volleys of arrows rained down—[Arrow Rain] fused with [Spiral]. Spiral arrows ignored resistance and defense. If a core existed, the monster would guard it fiercely.

Countless arrows flew. Tentacles blocked them, but the Black Moon form’s suppression and Hypergravity Net overlapped, shrinking its protected zone.

Zhang Luan drained his energy dry, body steaming. He watched every twitch—no movement missed.

Mindless as it was, instinct forced it to shield its vital spot.

"Found it."

He’d analyzed over a hundred blocks. Three-quarters guarded one spot: dead center, ten centimeters above the chrysanthemum-like mouth.

"Tch. I expected something more special," he muttered.

He rolled his shoulders. He’d found the core, but no good way to pierce its defense. Spiral arrows could bypass armor, but if all tentacles shielded that point, even total energy drain wouldn’t kill it. Only one chance remained.

Zhang Luan recalled his past-life archery mentor’s words:

"One strike, certain kill; no mercy. These eight words suit archers as much as assassins. Often, you get only one shot."

"One strike, certain kill; no mercy."

He repeated the phrase, then turned to run. The fight hadn’t lasted long, but dragging it out would backfire.

A touch of madness might work better.