An heirloom Doughroller? Damn right it’s legit.

Lu Feng valued simplicity above all. If something could be simple, he kept it simple. So this gourmet kitchen tool had been gathering dust in a junk pile.

But today? The Doughroller found a brand-new purpose—bursting with life.

Look at that butt—big and round. Look at this Doughroller—long and thick.

The ultimate household tool for disciplining bratty kids!

Lu Feng’s spirit ignited. He swung the Doughroller with a staff technique “mastered” from three days of free online tutorials.

Smack! Swing! Flick! Thrust! Jab! Five strikes in one second!

Hall Master Qitong couldn’t recall the last time he’d been spanked. Though his body was a child’s, his age made him an ancient monster.

Each strike of the Doughroller was pure agony—a direct counter to his evil abilities. The first hit sent a sharp surge through him, draining his vital energy. Within two seconds, he was critically wounded.

He leaped off the bed, instinctively dodging Lu Feng’s blows, clutching his sore butt as he bolted outside.

“Hall Master…?”

His female subordinate saw him flee, face deathly pale. Before she could speak, he vanished beyond the clinic. She hurried after him.

Watching the boy hop away while clutching his butt, Lu Feng satisfiedly tucked the Doughroller away.

“Huh. Still got some pep.”

But outside, seeing the boy’s mother sneak off like she was dodging debt? Lu Feng’s mood soured.

“You haven’t even paid yet!”

He waited stubbornly by the door. No return.

Guess the fee was gone for good. He clicked his tongue, trudged back inside, resigned.

A lifetime freeloader… freeloadered? Seriously not cool.

Still… that butt had been weirdly soft and bouncy. “Call it alternative compensation,” Lu Feng muttered, forcing a grin.

Hall Master Qitong had fled using his abilities. His subordinate—far less skilled—took ages searching. Peering nervously, she finally found him collapsed in a deserted alley.

Dead.

His buttocks were mangled by repeated strikes from a hard supernatural weapon, flesh pulped and decaying. A long blood trail stretched behind the corpse.

With a blood-soaked hand, he’d scrawled a chilling message on the ground:

“Go report to the Cult Leader at once.”

The subordinate froze—shock, disbelief, but mostly raw terror.

...

...

News reached the Pantheon Cult’s headquarters swiftly.

“Hall Master Qitong? Dead? *Instantly*?!”

Over a dozen purple-robed figures sat stunned around a round table. All Hall Masters. All summoned by this shock.

Eerie blue flames flickered. Silence hung heavy.

“Confirmed instant kill? No struggle?” Barnet asked.

“Yes. I went back. The doctor calmly ran his clinic—unguarded, almost mocking us,” the subordinate whispered, kneeling nervously.

“Repeat exactly what happened.”

“We posed as mother and son. He said treatment needed quiet. I didn’t think much… he ushered the Hall Master in. Less than a minute later—shouting. Then the Hall Master ran out… and collapsed dead in the alley.” Her voice trembled.

“Uh… quick question—is ‘Ora ora’ followed by ‘Muda muda’?” one Hall Master raised a hand.

Icy glares shot his way. He shut up and crouched in the corner.

“Photos show wounds from a rare divine artifact—rapid, consecutive strikes,” a Hall Master said, holding evidence.

“If true… we may need to consult the Cult Leader.”

“Disturb him over this? He’s in deep seclusion!” objected a portly Hall Master.

“What choice? This doctor took out Qitong in seconds. How many of us would it take?”

“The Cult Leader’s nearing breakthrough. For the Cult’s future—we can’t interrupt.”

“But leaving him alive? A major threat.”

...

Debate swirled. No conclusion.

Then—the main doors swung open.

A figure in pitch-black robes strode in, face hidden deep in the hood.

“The Cult Leader is wise and mighty… so why are his Hall Masters such spineless turtles?” The voice dripped with mockery.

“Divine Envoy…”

“Weren’t you studying the Eye of Divinity?”

“What wind brings you here, Divine Envoy?”

Recognizing him, several Hall Masters gaped in shock.

This was Harris—a mysterious new member claiming to be the Envoy of the Primordial God. The Eye of Divinity he brought, plus his vast knowledge and power, had earned universal acknowledgment.

With the Cult Leader in seclusion, Harris now handled core affairs—de facto deputy leader.

“Reports confirm he’s a long-hidden, formidable threat,” Harris said, removing his hood.

Hairless skin clung to bone like ancient bark, wrinkles mapping immense age. Yet his eyes—razor-sharp—warned no one would mistake him for senile.

“So… should we avoid further conflict?” Barnet ventured.

“No. Rest assured.” A cold glint flashed in Harris’s eyes. “The Eye of Divinity activates soon in Nanzhou. I will not tolerate a single grain of sand disrupting my plan.”

“I swear it on the name of the Divine Envoy.”