The moment Divya finished speaking, the air in the hall grew tense, thick with unspoken rage. The ghost cultivators' eyes sharpened, their hands tightening around the hilts of their swords.
Then-
Shing!
Blades were drawn, the cold gleam of metal reflecting the flickering lantern light.
Divya barely had time to register what was happening before one of them lunged.
Her body reacted before her mind could.
She dropped to the ground, feeling the air shift above her as a blade sliced through the space where her head had been.
Holy hell.
She scrambled back just in time to dodge another strike. Then another. And another.
It wasn't skill. No, she knew her limits. She was a boxer, a kickboxer-dodging fists was one thing, but swords? That was a whole different nightmare.
Yet, here she was, weaving through attacks like a seasoned warrior. This body...
Something wasn't right.
Pangpang was supposed to be a fool. A weakling. A disposable pawn.
