Hours before…
The city had never felt this heavy.
What was once a peaceful floating haven built on the waterfall's basin now trembled under the thunder of marching boots. An army of bandits—more than a hundred strong—advanced in formation, weapons glinting beneath the sky-blue mist. Their arrival sent ripples of panic through the streets. Shopkeepers slammed their doors shut. Mothers rushed their children indoors. Citizens peeked anxiously from shutter cracks or balconies, whispering breathlessly among themselves.
Never in the city's history had such a brazen march occurred.
At the front of the procession rolled a wagon pulled by two well-bred horses. Fatty Wen lounged inside, resting his swollen body like a king surveying conquered land, flanked by his so-called "elite" guards. His expression twisted in hateful satisfaction as he basked in the fear around him.
Behind him, the lined-up bandits marched as though going to war, each step scraping the nerves of the trembling city folk.
One of the onlookers whispered, voice quivering, "I knew those kids from this morning were trouble. They knocked him out cold without lifting a finger."
"Yeah… and fatty Wen's actually mobilizing his whole group over it," another man muttered. "Those kids are as good as dead. Nobody can fight a hundred bandits."
"Quiet! If he hears you, he'll cut your tongue!"
Meanwhile, inside the wagon, Fatty Wen was boiling. He couldn't stop replaying the humiliation he suffered. One moment he was threatening that brat—and the next thing he knew, he was waking up on the ground, foaming at the mouth, with the city watching.
The shame was unbearable.
"Hmph… those little shits," he growled, crushing a chicken bone in his fist. "They dared to embarrass me. Denied me my women. Denied ME."
His eyes gleamed with venom.
"When I catch them… I'll break their limbs. All three women will become my toys."
His elite guard shifted uncomfortably. Even for bandits, mobilizing the entire mountain force over some children seemed excessive.
"Oi, you sure they're at the far side of the city?" one of them asked, glancing toward the early-morning survivors who had woken beside him.
The previously collapsed bandit nodded quickly, still pale from recalling the earlier incident.
"Yes. The little girl lives there. She was taking care of her sick mother… I was scouting the place. We weren't allowed to enter because of that old deal with the mayor, but that doesn't matter now."
Another guard scoffed.
"Hmph. That was the old boss' agreement. Screw that. We rule the city now."
"Exactly," Fatty Wen snarled. "Deal or no deal, that brat dies today. I want his head mounted on the city gate."
The bandits around him cackled in agreement.
None of them realized they were marching straight toward the man who had wiped out their brothers overnight.
None of them understood the depth of the threat they were provoking.
And none of them—least of all Fatty Wen—had imagined that by the end of the day…their entire bandit faction would cease to exist.
"WEN CHAI!!!"
The roar cracked across the street like a whip. The marching bandits halted as an elderly man atop a fine white stallion galloped into view, flanked by several spear-wielding guards. His long white hair flowed behind him, matched by a dignified beard and stern, weathered features. Every citizen watching recognized him instantly.
Huan Bei — City Lord of the Floating City, the man who had kept this isolated realm peaceful for decades, despite the growing shadow of the mountain bandits. Even now, his presence drew murmurs of respect from the people hiding behind shutters and balconies above.
Wen Chai merely sneered.
"Well, well… if it isn't old Huan Bei," he drawled, leaning lazily in his wagon. "Move aside. This boss has business to handle with those brats in the north."
The city lord's voice trembled with fury as he stopped directly in Wen Chai's path.
"Your father swore an oath that your people would never step foot into this city. We allowed you free passage outside the boundary in exchange. How dare you break that pact?"
Wen Chai scoffed, waving a hand dismissively.
"That was his decision—not mine. And unless you want a war, don't block my way."
Huan Bei's expression darkened. The bandits had grown numerous and violent over the years. The city had no real army—only simple guards, farmers, and craftsmen. If war broke out, the Floating City would be overrun within hours.
Still, he held his ground.
"What have those children done to you?" he demanded. "I heard rumors, but nothing deserving of this madness."
"They denied me." Wen Chai spat the words like poison. "That brat humiliated me in front of everyone. You think I'll let him walk away after refusing to hand over those beauties?"
The bandit leader cracked a twisted grin as he cast his gaze over the ancient city around him.
"When I'm done with those pests… this entire city is next. That floating island above? The treasure of your ancestors? I'll turn it into my palace."
"You—!"Huan Bei's knuckles whitened around his reins, but even his anger couldn't mask the trembling fear beneath.
No one had stepped foot on the sealed floating island for three thousand years. It was the legacy of the realm's original ruler—the Moon Empress herself. And Wen Chai wanted to desecrate it with his filth.
"What?" Wen Chai taunted. "Going to stop me? With what army? Hahaha!"
He flicked his wrist, and the bandit army resumed marching toward the northern outskirts—toward the lone house Huan Bei knew all too well.
His heart plummeted.
That house…The sleeping woman…The child she left behind…
Huan Bei's jaw clenched until blood filled his mouth. He struck the ground with his fist, skin splitting against the stone.
"Miss Lin…" he whispered through gritted teeth. "I promised—I swore—to protect your daughter after your husband died and you fell into that coma. I promised you would not wake to tragedy."
He turned his horse, torn between duty and hopelessness.
If he followed… he would die.
If he stayed… Xueli would die.
The city lord closed his trembling eyes.
"I must protect the people… but…"
The memory of a beautiful woman pleading with him—tears on her lashes just before she slipped into eternal sleep—struck him like a blade.
"…but how can I face her if the girl she entrusted to me dies today?"
His horse stamped anxiously. The thunder of bandit boots grew distant.
Huan Bei hung his head.
For the first time in years…the city lord felt truly powerless.
Inside the shabby little house at the edge of the floating island lay the one person Huan Bei feared for most—Xueli's mother. Her beauty was unparalleled, so striking that even in a year-long slumber she looked untouched by time. That alone was enough to make any wicked man covet her. To protect her, Huan Bei had crafted a careful lie for the city: that "Miss Lin" was being treated in a remote clinic, far from prying eyes, when in truth she had never left this fragile wooden hut.
He had chosen the lie because it worked. No one ventured to the poverty-stricken outskirts. No one cared for a run-down shack with broken windows and creaking doors. And behind that obscurity, the city lord hid two secrets—a sleeping beauty who did not age, and a little girl desperately trying to survive.
His hidden guards kept vigil from afar, ensuring no bandit or scavenger approached. His servants brought meals to the child daily, washed the comatose woman when necessary, and tended the house as best they could. He even pleaded with Xueli to live at his manor, to have safety, warmth, and food, but the girl steadfastly refused. She wanted only one thing: for her mother to wake up again.
And now… all of it was about to collapse.
Because of him.
Because Fatty Wen had cast aside the old oath made with his father—and was marching an army toward the house Huan Bei had sworn to protect.
Instead of turning back, Huan Bei whipped the reins and galloped after the bandits.
"City lord Huan Bei! Are you insane?!" the law enforcers behind him shouted as they struggled to keep up. They knew this was suicide. They knew the city lord was overpowered and outnumbered. But he didn't slow.
"I can't let them die!" he bellowed through the wind. "I promised her—I vowed to protect her daughter! I swore to her husband before he disappeared. If I can't even keep this promise, how am I fit to call myself a city lord?!"
Behind Wen Chai's army trailed a wave of citizens, whispering anxiously, following from a distance only to witness the storm that was brewing. Few had seen the fat bandit chief mobilize this many men before. Nearly a quarter of the entire mountain bandit faction marched toward a single house. Even the elite guards were intimidated; some had heard rumors that dozens of their comrades vanished last night, found beaten beyond recognition. But Wen Chai, drowning himself in wine and women, never heard a thing—and clearly didn't care.
When the horde reached Xueli's little home, even the bandits found the scenery strange. A single tiny house in the middle of a vast grassy plot, perched dangerously near the floating island's edge. The land around it was large enough to fit a whole village, yet only a lonely hut and a shed stood there.
Wen Chai didn't care. His mind was already salivating with greed.
"Hmph. Not bad," he smirked. "Men, we'll make this our forward base after we take the city. A perfect spot. From here, we rule everything."
His subordinates cackled.
"Boss, what's the first thing you'll do once we conquer the city?"
Wen Chai stroked his greasy double chin thoughtfully, then burst into laughter.
"Easy—I'll impose a life tax! Hahaha! Every person pays just for breathing in my city!"
Life tax. House tax. Water tax. Food tax. Protection fees. Slave penalties. His twisted imagination spun with delight as he envisioned the wealth pouring in.
The fatty's eyes gleamed as he stared at the small hut.
"But first… let me deal with that brat.
"He licked his lips, savoring the moment.
"I'll show everyone what happens when someone opposes Wen Chai."
The rotten wooden door creaked open.
A young man stepped out—calm, steady, unfazed. His modernized adventurer's outfit fluttered lightly in the wind, and his cloak swayed behind him like a drifting shadow. Yet despite his striking appearance, his aura was plain, almost ordinary—no pressure, no killing intent, nothing that suggested he possessed even a hint of cultivation.
To the bandits, he looked like any other civilian.
To Yun Che, they were simply noise interrupting his work.
He walked toward the small, collapsing wooden gate with the same energy one might use for a morning stroll, completely ignoring the hundred armed men arrayed before him. His unbothered composure made Wen Chai's blood boil.
These guys…Haven't they learned enough?
Bandits snickered and muttered among themselves. This? This brat was the one who supposedly humiliated their leader? He looked barely twenty. Their newest recruits could beat him half-dead.
Wen Chai lumbered down from his carriage, veins pulsing on his fat forehead. He glared murderously at the boy who knocked him out earlier—ruining his hopes of claiming the women Yun Che traveled with. His grudge had simmered all day.
"Brat…" Wen Chai growled, his voice thick with hate. "You've got guts defying me. How dare you deny me those women? How dare you humiliate me and my men? You sealed your own fate."
Yun Che sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose as if this was merely a minor inconvenience.
"Look… I'm in the middle of treatment right now," he said casually, "and you're all being a pain in the neck. How about we settle this another day?"
The bandits erupted in laughter. They thought he was bluffing—shaking in fear but trying to look brave.
"Boss, leave him to me! I'll skin him alive and bring you his head!
"A bandit drew his sword with a sick grin, licking the blade like a deranged animal.
Wen Chai puffed out his chest, stepping closer to Yun Che with malicious delight.
"Listen well, men! I'll show you what happens when someone defies Wen Chai! If any of you think like this brat, I promise you'll suffer the same fate!"
"WE WILL NEVER DEFY YOU, BOSS!!!" the bandits roared.
Yun Che stared dully at the fatty, unimpressed.
Is this guy serious? Should I just kill them and be done with it? No… Xueli might get the wrong idea.
Just then—
"Yuu-kun… Are you done? I'm about to go shopping with Mio."
"Danna-sama, we're taking Xueli with us. Do you want to come?"
The moment those ethereal, honey-sweet voices drifted into the air, the entire army froze.
Two veiled figures stepped out from the house—one with black braids cascading over her chest, the other with soft black hair adorned with a butterfly clip. Their foreign attire hugged their curves perfectly. Mature beauty and delicate cuteness, side by side.
The men stared, jaws slack, throats dry. Their bodies reacted instantly—primitive lust overwhelming their senses.
Some had seen these women earlier today. But up close… they were devastating.
"Probably not," Yun Che replied offhandedly while ignoring the army. "I'm still treating her mother. Just buy what's necessary."
Ignoring the bandits entirely.
The insult only fanned their lust and rage.
"Boss, they're even more beautiful up close…" one of the men muttered, eyes clouded. "Let's kill the brat and take them!"
Wen Chai's face twisted in greed and jealousy.
"Don't you dare touch them. They're mine. Anyone lays a finger on them—I'll kill you myself."
Retsu exhaled with a bored expression.
"Yuu-kun, do you want help? If these men annoy you, we can dispose of them."
A vulgar laugh answered her.
"Take care of us? Hah! Maybe you can take care of our swords down here! Hehehe!"
Mio's expression darkened. Retsu's eyebrow twitched. These men truly saw women as nothing more than toys.
A dangerous silence fell.
Fatty Wen Chai's restraint snapped.
The moment he saw Retsu and Mio, lust swallowed what little reason he had. He lumbered forward, fully intending to seize them with his own hands—until a single voice stopped him cold.
"Oi… where do you think you're going?"
Yun Che didn't even bother lifting his head as he spoke. He stood casually before the fat bandit, one hand in his cloak, expression bored—almost tired.
Wen Chai growled and clamped a massive palm onto Yun Che's shoulder—only to feel as though he had grabbed a stone pillar rooted deep into the earth. No matter how he pushed or leaned, the young man did not budge an inch.
The fat bandit's face twitched.
"Brat… you better kneel if you know what's good for you."
Yun Che finally met his eyes.
"Oh, I know exactly what's good for me. And for you bunch? I suggest turning around and walking away. Because I won't be merciful."
His indifference—his total lack of concern—infuriated the bandits.
"Hahaha! You against all of us?" Wen Chai barked out a laugh. "Brat, even our recruits could cut you into pieces!"
Yun Che smirked faintly, as if pitying them.
"Then send your finest. If they win, do whatever you want."
Wen Chai spat.
"If you win, I'll still take those women and kill you. Don't pretend you have a choice."
Eager volunteers stepped forward. Rage, humiliation, lust—every vile emotion rolled off them in waves. One man in particular, bruised from this morning, stepped out with shaking fury.
"Boss. Let me do it," he snarled, pulling out his dagger.
"You knocked me out once, brat. That trick won't work twice."
Yun Che stifled a yawn.
"Oh? I wouldn't bet on it. But I'll admit—that move gets boring if I use it too often."
The bandit sneered.
"Then let me give you a handicap! Draw your weapon and fight me like a—"
"I don't need to," Yun Che cut him off.
"And by the way… have you ever heard of a One Inch Punch?"
BZZT—
To the bandit, the world blinked.
One instant Yun Che stood several paces away.
The next—he was directly in front of him, so close the bandit could see his own reflection in Yun Che's calm eyes. Terror surged up his spine.
Yun Che's hand was already poised at his abdomen. Two inches away. No—one inch.
His fingers curled.
His fist tightened.
POW!!!
A thunderous impact detonated from within the bandit's torso.
His vision exploded into white static as his body bent backwards unnaturally before he shot through the air like a ragdoll. He barreled into the line of bandits behind him, bowling them over like stacked logs. Blood spewed from his mouth in a violent arc. He didn't even scream—his ribs had already caved inward, shards stabbing into his organs.
The shock that spread through the army was instantaneous.
Such speed.
Such force.
Such casual brutality.
"…Is he even human?" someone whispered.
Wen Chai's face drained of color.
Yun Che dusted off his knuckles with a small, irritated sigh.
"I told you—send someone decent. And you gave me a twig to fight a sword. Underestimating me, huh?"
Wen Chai trembled with humiliation and rage.
"You… you DARE!? How dare you harm my men?! BRAT, YOU'RE COURTING DEATH!!!"
Yun Che exhaled slowly, his palm drifting away from the shattered bandit as if brushing aside a speck of dust.
"Oi, oi… he's the one who tried to harm me," he said lazily. "Looks like last night wasn't enough after all."
The bandits froze.
"B-Brat… what are you talking about?" Fatty Wen stammered, but his voice was already shaking.
One of his elite guards suddenly stiffened. His eyes widened. He leaned in close to his leader, voice tight with dread.
"Boss… it's them."
Wen Chai blinked. "Huh?"
"The survivors from last night," the guard whispered, sweat beading on his brow. "They described the same thing. A brat… and two women."
The murmurs around them died instantly. A chilling silence fell over the bandit ranks.
Wen Chai's face twitched. "What surviving men? What are you babbling about!?"
The guard swallowed hard—then spoke loud enough for everyone to hear.
"Last night, dozens of our forest men were… annihilated. Not killed—but crushed. Bones broken. Muscles torn. Organs ruptured. They were beaten so thoroughly even the healers refused to touch some."
Shudders rippled through the bandits.
"They said the attackers were a young man… and two women. The women did most of the fighting. They said—" he lowered his voice, "—they said the women weren't human. That they fought like demons wearing the faces of goddesses."
The fat bandit's lips trembled.
He turned slowly toward Yun Che… then toward Retsu and Mio, who stood behind him with serene expressions—expressions that did not match the massacre they had allegedly caused.
"H-Hah… A fluke," Wen Chai croaked, forcing a laugh. "A fluke! Those idiots must've been drunk off their asses! There's no way—no way!—that two delicate women and a skinny brat could possibly defeat dozens of armed men!"
But the elite guard didn't even look at him.
He only stared at Yun Che—at the relaxed posture, the unassuming aura, the effortless punch that shattered a man's ribs like twigs.
And the guard whispered, voice cracking:
"Boss… they're the same. The descriptions match perfectly. The way they moved. The way they fought. The way the brat spoke. Even the women—one with a braid, one with a butterfly clip…"
He pointed, his hand trembling violently.
"…Boss… it's really them."
The color drained from Wen Chai's face.
His legs trembled.
His throat bobbed.
His entire army had marched here to take revenge on monsters they didn't even recognize.
He had brought them right to their doorstep.
And now those monsters were staring back.
The fatty boss immediately trembled, but stubborn pride glued a false bravado onto his face. Before he could mutter another threat, Yun Che stepped forward at a casual pace, as if taking a leisurely walk rather than approaching an army of armed bandits. His expression was calm, almost bored, and the mere sight of it irritated Wen Chai even more.
"Hoo… seems your guard over there knows exactly who we are," Yun Che said lightly, brushing off imaginary dust. "Now that you understand what you're dealing with, I suppose I can't just let any of you walk away."
"B–Bastard!" Wen Chai barked back, clinging desperately to the last traces of his fading courage. "You think we'll let you leave!? YOU forced our hand! MEN!!! GET HIM!"
At once, nearly a hundred bandits surged forward, roaring and brandishing weapons. Yun Che only sighed as though they were inconveniencing his afternoon.
"Looks like action really does speak louder than words."
Then he vanished.
A blink later, a dull sonic snap ripped through the air as Yun Che reappeared directly above Wen Chai. His foot descended in a relaxed, almost lazy downward kick—yet it struck with devastating effect. Wen Chai's eyes bulged, his entire body rippling like a water-filled wineskin, and he shot backward like a flying boulder. His rotund body plowed through his own men, flattening several rows before slamming into the ground in a heap of pained groans.
"BOSS!!!"
Panic erupted among the bandits as dust settled over the scene. And from the center of that settling cloud, Yun Che rose—a solitary figure standing unhurriedly amidst the chaos, hands tucked in his pockets. His expression remained completely indifferent, as if all of this was a mild annoyance rather than an actual battle.
"Sigh… you lots," he said, rolling his neck. "Don't expect to leave this place with a single bone unbroken."
Several bandits felt their knees weaken. Their fear only intensified when two figures approached from behind Yun Che—Retsu and Mio, their steps graceful, deceptively calm. The men swallowed hard. These were the women from the morning incident. The ones rumored to have destroyed dozens of their comrades overnight.
What the bandits didn't expect were the "weapons" the women revealed.
Retsu slid a polished ladle from her sleeve as if unveiling a legendary treasure. Mio twirled a heavy frying pan in her fingers so lightly it seemed weightless. For a moment, the entire bandit army simply stared, dumbfounded.
"Ufufufu," Mio giggled, spinning the pan with frightening elegance. "Retsu-chan… shall we compete? Whoever knocks out the most of them wins. Loser cooks lunch."
Retsu smiled sweetly as she balanced her ladle like a spear. "You're on, Mio-chan. But don't dent that pan. It's my favorite."
"Same for my ladle."
Yun Che only sighed into his hand. "Please don't break the pan again."
Before the bandits could process the absurdity unfolding before them, a streak of light burst from Yun Che's sleeve. It shot into the corpse of a bandit lying on the ground, and a moment later the body jerked upright. Several men screamed, others cursed, and a few simply stared as the "revived" bandit stretched his limbs casually.
"IMPOSSIBLE! He was knocked out cold!"
"T–TRAITOR! I knew he was shady! Joining the enemy now! I'll kill him myself!"
But the "bandit" walked straight to Yun Che, slung an arm around his neck, and sighed dramatically. His voice was squeaky and obnoxious—nothing like the original owner of the body.
"Yare yare~ You all had so much fun last night," Kon complained. "And poor Kon-sama was left behind like trash. Shameful."
Yun Che didn't even look at him. "Out of all the bodies here, you possessed the one with the worst moustache. You slept like a rock. I didn't bother waking you."
Kon puffed up indignantly, chest thrust forward as if he were some mighty warrior instead of a squeaky-voiced spirit in a borrowed body. "Temeeeee… fine! Oi, bastard! I challenge you! Whoever knocks down more bandits wins! Loser hunts dinner today!"
The army of mountain bandits stared in mounting horror.
A ghost puppeting their fallen comrade…
Two divine-faced beauties brandishing kitchen utensils like divine artifacts…
A young man who blinked through space as if gravity didn't apply to him…
And their own leader—fat, heavy, immovable Wen Chai—had just been launched into a human bowling alley.
This wasn't a battlefield.
This was an execution ground.
Delivered straight to them by fate.
Yun Che rolled his shoulders and cracked his knuckles one by one, the sound echoing like a death knell.
"Sure," he said lightly. "At least I know who'll lose later."
Kon snarled, face twitching. "Cocky bastard!"
Mio and Retsu stepped beside Yun Che like two queens descending upon a court of insects. As they approached, their expressions shifted—not the gentle warmth they offered Xueli, nor the playful teasing they gave Yun Che. No. Their eyes were cold, predatory, and cruel.
Four pairs of eyes—Yun Che's calm indifference, Retsu's quiet menace, Mio's sadistic cheerfulness, and Kon's bloodthirsty bravado—locked onto the trembling bandits.
The entire army froze.
"A-are they even human…?" one whispered.
"They're demons," another breathed shakily.
Yun Che smiled thinly. "Guess the beating last night wasn't enough. Let's fix that… and see if any of you survive long enough to tell the tale."
Then—
Chaos erupted.
The air filled instantly with screams—high-pitched, agonized, desperate.
And the sounds were unmistakable:
Splat—
Crack—
WHAM—
"MY NUTS—!!!
"CRUNCH—
"MY FACE!!!"
"WHAT IS THAT FRYING PAN MADE OF—?!"
Mio spun into the crowd like a crimson comet, frying pan swinging with terrifying precision. Every swing flattened a face, crushed a ribcage, or sent a grown man flying like a ragdoll. The pan rang with each impact, a metallic chime that sounded disturbingly cheerful.
Retsu was a cold blur beside her. Her ladle descended with surgical brutality—striking nerve points, breaking bones, sending men convulsing on the ground as if struck by lightning. Every movement was elegant, but her smile was razor-sharp.
"You're falling behind, Mio-chan," Retsu chimed sweetly as she knocked out three men in a single sweeping arc.
"Eheee~ don't cry when I win, okay?" Mio giggled, spinning her pan like a deadly windmill.
Kon, meanwhile, possessed body and all, bulldozed through the crowd, kicking shins, stomping groins, punching throats with wild enthusiasm. "Kon-sama will win this one! None of you shall escape my wrath—!"
"WRONG PERSON! YOU'RE HITTING ME!!"
"STOP RUNNING, COWARD! FACE THE MIGHT OF KON-SAMA—!!"
And Yun Che…
He moved lazily, almost bored, flicking bandits aside with single punches, palm strikes, or casual taps that sent bones cracking like dried twigs. Every movement was minimal, efficient—yet devastating.
A single step from him broke a man's ankle.
A casual slap sent teeth flying.
One light jab to the chest sent a bandit flipping through the air like an acrobat.
The screaming never stopped.
This wasn't a fight.
It was a massacre—conducted by a young man, two goddesses with kitchen weapons, and a perverted plush lion possessing a body.
And the mountain bandits?
They lasted all of three minutes.
==========================
The city lord, Huan Bei, arrived as fast as his aging body and loyal horse would allow. His hastily assembled force of armored law enforcers thundered behind him—not a real army, merely three dozen men wearing mismatched armour and holding spears with shaking hands. But it was all he could muster. After years under the mountain bandits' oppression, this was the first time the Floating City dared to rise.
He knew they were marching toward a losing battle.
But he also knew this day was inevitable.
Straddling his horse in full armor, his old but resolute figure radiated an aura of leadership that stirred fire in the hearts of even the most frightened soldier. He raised his voice, sword pointing forward.
"Men! I know the odds. I know we face death. But if we kill Wen Chai, those bandits will crumble! Today, we fight not for glory, but to free our city from years of darkness!"
"YES, CITY LORD!" the men answered with trembling determination.
"THEN RIDE! WE STRIKE THEM DOWN TODAY!"
The gates thundered open. Huan Bei and his soldiers galloped across the plains, their armor clattering, their breaths sharp. Citizens followed in droves—farmers with pitchforks, mothers with wooden staffs, young men holding shovels. They knew they were helpless… yet still they followed. If their city lord was willing to risk his life, so would they.
For the first time in years, the Floating City stood united.
"Is this the right decision…?" Huan Bei whispered to himself as the wind whipped through his silver beard. He feared he was marching his people to slaughter—but he could not turn back. Not when little Xueli's safety, and the memory of her parents, weighed on his conscience.
As they neared the outskirts, his horse suddenly slowed.
Two veiled women walked leisurely down the dirt road toward them, carrying small baskets as though they had just finished shopping in town. Their otherworldly beauty was breathtaking—one with a braided hairstyle and a serene smile, the other with a delicate butterfly hairpin, both wearing unfamiliar yet elegant foreign garments.
The soldiers froze. Even Huan Bei, a married man long past his years of romantic folly, felt his heart skip. Heavenly maidens—real ones—walking casually through a battlefield.
"Mio-chan, what should we cook tonight?" the braided woman asked cheerfully. "Xueli-chan must be starving."
"Hmmm… how about that teriyaki rice Yun Che taught us? I want to try it. Honestly, that little exercise earlier barely warmed me up," the butterfly-haired woman replied casually.
Huan Bei blinked. Exercise? On the same road the bandits marched?
The braided maiden nodded thoughtfully. "Ara… well, we did only fight normal humans today. Nothing compared to last night. I even used my favorite ladle."
Their voices were like gentle bells, beautiful and soft—completely at odds with their casual discussion of "exercise" that likely referred to… bandits.
Huan Bei quickly urged his horse forward. "Fair maidens! Please wait!"
The two turned, tilting their heads in the same elegant manner.
"Hai? Can we help you?" the braided one asked sweetly, her gentle aura alone making the surrounding men blush.
The city lord cleared his throat, trying to maintain his dignity. "It is… dangerous here. Mountain bandits have gathered nearby. Maidens as stunning as you may be taken by them. You should not wander these roads."
Both women blinked in confusion.
The butterfly-haired one pointed down the road. "Ahh, you mean those bandits? You'll find them not far ahead."
Huan Bei stared, stunned.
"But… it is dangerous for you," he insisted, lowering his voice. "Especially with beauty like yours…"
The braided maiden smiled gracefully. "Ara… thank you for the kind warning. But please don't worry. We can take care of ourselves. Good day."
They bowed respectfully and walked past the army as if strolling through a garden.
Once they disappeared from sight, Huan Bei exchanged looks with his men.
"…Should we… warn them again?" one soldier whispered.
"Do you want to risk offending them?" another hissed. "Just look at them! They're probably nobles… or spirits!"
Still baffled, Huan Bei urged his men to continue.
But when they reached the clearing—
Every man froze.
Bandits—everywhere.
Dozens upon dozens littered the ground like fallen leaves. Some were piled like sandbags, others crumpled in grotesque shapes with twisted limbs. Weapons lay shattered. Armor was bent inward as if crushed by impossible force.
It was not a battlefield.
It was a massacre.
Without a single death.
The citizens who followed behind gasped and stumbled back, covering their mouths in terror. Even the resistance group that had secretly formed within the city stood speechless.
And then they saw him.
Fatty Wen Chai, the tyrant who dominated the city for years, was kneeling in the dirt, forehead smashing repeatedly against the ground. Tears and mucus soaked his face as he groveled before the young man sitting atop a mound of unconscious bandits.
"PLEASE—!" Wen Chai sobbed hysterically, smashing his head down again. "MERCIFUL KING—SPARE ME! SPARE ME, I BEG YOU! I'LL BE YOUR SLAVE! YOUR DOG! I'LL DO ANYTHING—JUST DON'T KILL ME—!!!"
The city folk nearly dropped where they stood.
T-that Wen Chai…? The demon who tormented the city for a decade… crying like a five-year-old?!
And atop the pile of his defeated men sat the young stranger—calm, unbothered, wiping dust off his cloak as if all of this was merely a mild inconvenience.
Huan Bei's jaw fell open.
"What… in the heavens… happened here…?"
Because before him was not the aftermath of a battle.
It was the work of a monster disguised as a young man—and two heavenly maidens returning home as if from a casual stroll.