"There is... but wait. Why has your life force diminished so drastically? What exactly happened?"
Ye Ying sensed something was off with Zhang Luan. A person’s lifespan equaled their life force—and his had plummeted. Had something inside the Mage Tower drained him?
Nan Fenghua’s face tightened with worry at her words.
"Brother Zhang Luan, are you alright? What divine art restores life force? Teach me now! Godmother, teach me!"
Though Ye Ying was pleased Nan Fenghua wanted to learn divine arts, the fact she sought them solely for Zhang Luan left a strange unease in her chest.
"It’s fine, really. Just spent some life points. I won’t die. Once we’re back, keep my lifespan above fifty. Won’t drain you much."
After a moment’s thought, Ye Ying understood. His missing life force was roughly fifty points—and he intended to restore it. Did he possess an item or ability that consumed life force on such a scale?
"I’ll perform the divine art for you once we return to the Sacred Temple."
"Good. I’m tired. Let’s head back."
Without another word to anyone, Zhang Luan strode toward the temple. He truly was exhausted. Nan Fenghua immediately looped her arm through his, clearly intent on accompanying him.
Ye Ying didn’t stop them. She watched Zhang Luan’s retreating figure until he vanished, then finally turned to Yanat, who had just approached.
"Spread word that the Holy Son destroyed this Mage Tower. The neighboring towns will scramble to invite him, eager to win his favor."
Yanat hesitated, lowering his voice.
"Is that wise? This Holy Son appeared out of nowhere... Can we trust him? What if he’s a spy from the Mighty Roar Cathedral?"
Ye Ying shot him a cold glance.
"Mind your tone, Guardian Mentor Yanat. A Holy Son is a Holy Son. Even if he were from the Mighty Roar Cathedral, he’d still be the Holy Son. Besides—if they had a genius who achieved first ascension at level 15, why send him here? They’d have shipped him straight to the Central World."
Yanat bowed his head, wiping sweat from his brow. He’d overstepped. Doctrine forbade doubting the Holy Son—it was tantamount to doubting the Holy Maiden who confirmed his position. Blasphemy.
But what stunned him more was Ye Ying’s claim that Zhang Luan had *ascended*.
Impossible.
During their fight, Zhang Luan hadn’t ascended yet. How could he have done it in mere days? Yet Ye Ying had no reason to lie.
He stared at where Zhang Luan had disappeared, bitterness twisting in his chest.
Yanat himself had been stuck at zero-tier for four or five years. He’d long surpassed the required level for ascension, yet failed every attempt. Lately, he’d even lost the will to try. He had one last chance—if he failed again, he’d give up. That was why he poured effort into training Guardians, hoping to see *them* succeed where he couldn’t.
But Zhang Luan?
Level 15 ascension? That never happened in a backwater like Acamana City. Only the superpowers of the Central World produced such prodigies—maybe one or two per generation.
Could it be...
A thought struck Yanat: Was Zhang Luan from a Central World noble family, hiding here after being hunted? Biding his time to regain strength and return?
The more he pondered it, the more plausible it seemed. His eyes gleamed. If true, swearing absolute loyalty to Zhang Luan now could mean riding his coattails back to power. His own ascension might finally be within reach!
Ye Ying shook her head at Yanat’s shifting expressions. Whoever Zhang Luan was, peace was no longer an option for this era. If he truly hailed from a great power, it might even benefit Acamana.
Goddess Akamana, though a deity of blessings, paled beside Central World gods like the War God, Death God, or Yin-Yang God. Blessings ranked lowest among divine domains. Yet Akamana possessed one anomaly: a silver thread of fate that wasn’t hers.
That thread granted her—and by extension, Ye Ying, her most devoted disciple—the ability to glimpse fate’s currents. During Zhang Luan’s three-day absence, Ye Ying had used this art. The result shocked her.
The once-steady river of fate had turned violently turbulent. No destiny could be discerned—not even her own predetermined end, where doctrine-bound constraints would see her manipulated to death.
This defied reason.
Had the silver thread not shielded her, the raging river of fate would have devoured her existence without a trace.
"This world... is about to shatter."
Her whisper was meant only for herself. Perhaps... it was time to change.
Walking down the broad street, the townsfolk—already familiar with their new Holy Son over the past three days—greeted Zhang Luan and Nan Fenghua with warm smiles. Even those who didn’t recognize him knew him by Nan Fenghua’s side. Under Goddess Akamana’s guidance, Acamana City’s people were, by and large, kind-hearted.
"You head back first. I need to go somewhere."
He stopped at a street corner, gently prying Nan Fenghua’s clinging arms off him and tapping her forehead.
"Ugh! I’m coming too!"
"I’ll be back soon. You’d just slow me down."
Zhang Luan sighed inwardly. He wanted to check on the custom arrows he’d commissioned from the Blacksmith. Bringing the Holy Maiden along would ruin his plans to "negotiate" the price.
"No! I’m sticking with you. What if you vanish again?"
Nan Fenghua refused to let go, her soft mounds pressing firmly against his arm.
"Let go."
"Nope!"
Zhang Luan rubbed his temples as onlookers gathered, chuckling at the Holy Son and Holy Maiden’s playful bickering.
"You—fine! Fine. Come on, then. Honestly..."
He couldn’t win. He’d have to take her to the Blacksmith. He’d planned to "remind" the man of his divine duty to keep him from doubting his faith during Zhang Luan’s absence—but with this little shadow attached, that idea was dead.
