Weather drastically shapes battlefield dynamics—altering fighters and monsters alike. Rain expands water mages’ spell ranges; fog slashes visibility; during Soul Night, ghost-type monsters grow stronger.
Under blizzard conditions, the Mutated Bamboo Boar King spawns more frequently. All snowland-type creatures gain combat boosts—like the Bamboo Rabbit ahead, now blessed with Frost Ear.
The Boar King’s ultimate skill, *Blessing of the Blizzard*, triggers below 5% HP: full invincibility and 50% HP recovery—but *only* during Blizzard Level 8 weather.
The Mechanist knew this… yet prepared nothing. In his mind, Blizzard Level 8 was impossible. Levels 1–7 were normal; anything above Level 7 never occurred naturally.
After all, this was life or death. He’d scoured historical records: legend claimed only the Frost Witch—one of the Eight Great Witches—could twist the heavens in fury, summoning extreme weather buffs beyond Level 7.
“Impossible! A witch in this mountain village?!” But doubt no longer mattered. HP restored to 54%, the Mutated Bamboo Boar King shook off all debuffs and unleashed its full rage upon him.
A roar split the air. With a violent headshake, it sent him flying—*slam!*—into solid rock. The colossal beast gathered its weight and stomped down. Instant death.
The remaining three swordsmen froze. *How did its health bar refill?!*
“ROOOAR~!” The Mutated Bamboo Boar King bellowed skyward and charged. Blades drawn, the swordsmen rushed to meet it.
“We’ll fight you to the death!”
They fought valiantly. After losing two comrades, they’d whittled its HP to 5%—only for *Blessing of the Blizzard* to trigger again. The last swordsman, unable to break its invincibility, was crushed beneath its foot.
Silence. The entire village held its breath. Militiamen lay weakened, immobile. Outsiders—all dead.
*You pulled the monster? Fine. Into the village? Tolerable. But you couldn’t even win?!* Now a Level 10 hidden boss stood square in the village center. One thought echoed in every mind: *“We’re doomed!”*
“ROAR~!” Rampaging, the beast smashed thatched hut after thatched hut. Then—it charged straight for the children. Buried deep in fur, its eyes locked onto the silver-haired loli standing among them.
“We’re doomed!”
“Our militia fathers couldn’t beat it!” The children crouched, hands over heads.
“What do we do? What do we do?” Ke Er whispered, despair clawing at her throat—
When a familiar voice cut through the storm.
“Hey, big dummy! Over here!”
The Mutated Bamboo Boar King turned. There stood Uncle Rod—controlled by Ou Tao—striding boldly through wind and snow.
“You’ve got three seconds to turn this around!”
Ou Tao crouched, looting swiftly: two longswords and a greatsword from the fallen swordsmen, slung at his waist; a rapier from the priest’s corpse, held horizontal. Snowflakes kissed the blades, frosting their edges with deadly chill.
“Because the moment I took up these swords… the game was already over.”
The weakened militiamen—veterans of this beast’s fury—stared. *Is he really challenging alone what took us two rounds to fail?*
They checked his status. Class changed: *Spiritblade Knight*.
“A Tier 4 class?!” They’d expected Tier 1 confidence.
Reality sank in. The continent ranked all known professions: T1 to T4, TN. TN covered roles with no growth—farmers, militia, laborers. Tier 4 barely qualified as combat-ready. Spiritblade Knight? Just one extra trait: *Spiritblade Summoning*—calling a sword spirit.
Worse: Rod’s swords were looted. No spirits. Only a passive strength boost. Zero skills. *Relying on basic attacks? At Level 5?!*
Undaunted, Rod strode forward. Drew the waist swords. Tossed two sideways. Launched the third.
Perfect distance. Perfect force. Blades planted left, right, and directly behind the beast. Rod stood firm before it—encircling the king.
“AAAAH!” At Hamiyou HQ, a female fan shrieked until her voice cracked. Viewers glued to Ou Tao’s first-person feed pressed faces to screens.
“Here it comes! The pro’s signature opener—*Cross Encirclement*!”
