Kaelan's posture shifts.
The spiritual pool within the flying ship begins to churn violently, its absorption rate climbing as free spiritual energy is dragged in from the surroundings and funnelled through the ship's arrays. Runes along the hull brighten one after another, responding to his will.
His eyes sweep across the five figures.
The more puppet components fused into a body, the more terrifying the strength. Metal bones, artificial meridians, replacement organs, weaponised limbs. These five are not mere cultivators wearing tools; they are living constructs.
As a clone, Kaelan knows the truth clearly.
Facing five Divine Mind Realm experts like this—
He cannot win in a confrontation.
He walks to the edge of the deck anyway.
His voice carries across the sky, calm but sharp.
"Your Divine Puppet Sect really is like a dog," he says, "always following behind me."
One of the Heavenly Officials snorts.
"Very soon," he replies coldly, "you'll learn whether we are a dog—or the hand that puts you down."
The words fall.
The attack comes instantly.
The Heavenly Official whose body shows the most exposed Red Iron puppet components raises a hand.
Metal screams.
Behind him, space distorts as enormous flaming metal spikes form in midair, forged from Red Iron alloy and wrapped in violent fire-element energy. They launch forward in a barrage, tearing through the sky toward Kaelan.
Kaelan does not move.
With a single thought, he activates the ship's defences.
A multi-layered energy barrier blossoms outward, forming a translucent shield around the flying ship. The spikes slam into it and do not shatter—instead, they begin to rotate, spinning like drills, flames roaring as they grind against the barrier with terrifying force.
The barrier trembles.
Kaelan's eyes narrow.
He draws on the spiritual pool.
Energy surges through the arrays.
He raises a hand.
"Dark Arrow."
A simple spell.
A Zero-Tier spell.
Yet in Kaelan's hand, darkness condenses with terrifying density. Not one arrow—but dozens form instantly, pitch-black and silent, each compressed beyond what a normal spell framework could ever support.
They fire.
The Dark Arrows strike the flaming spikes head-on.
There is no explosion.
No grand spectacle.
The darkness eats.
Fire extinguishes.
Metal fractures.
The rotating spikes disintegrate into drifting fragments that lose all momentum and fall away into nothing.
Spell tiers are not determined by raw power.
They are determined by difficulty.
A Zero-Tier spell is something an apprentice can engrave into their spirit space.
A First-Tier spell requires a Bronze Wizard's expanded spirit space.
Higher tiers demand exponentially greater spiritual capacity and structural stability.
An apprentice's spirit space can carry only Zero-Tier spell models.
Only upon advancing to the Bronze Wizard Realm can a wizard engrave a First-Tier spell.
But—
Kaelan does not use spell models.
He does not need to engrave anything.
He is the creator.
For him, spells are not pre-built structures—they are expressions of law formed directly through will, understanding, and energy control.
A Zero-Tier spell in his hands is limited only by how much power he chooses to pour into it.
The second and third Heavenly Officials move together.
Metal gears unfold from one, rotating with brutal precision, interlocking into a whirring storm of blades. From the other, purple poisonous wooden vines erupt—wood-element constructs saturated with venomous corruption, twisting through the air like living serpents.
They surge toward the flying ship.
Kaelan's eyes remain steady.
"Dark Armour."
Darkness pours outward.
An armour of condensed dark elemental energy forms around the flying ship, layering itself over the hull like overlapping plates of shadow. The ship shudders as impact follows impact—metal grinding, vines constricting, poison sizzling against darkness.
The hull trembles.
Then—
The front of the ship opens.
Runes ignite.
Two giant cannons slide out from within the hull, their interiors swirling with compressed dark energy.
"Dark Pulse."
Two pulses fire.
Not beams—waves.
The Heavenly Officials react instantly.
Three of them tear space beneath their feet and retreat, barely escaping the expanding darkness. The fourth raises both arms, metal puppet components unfolding and fusing into a solid metallic wall.
The first pulse slams into it.
The wall is pierced.
But the energy has already thinned—its force reduced just enough that the fourth survives, though he is hurled backwards, armour cracked and smoking.
The fifth is not so lucky.
The second pulse hits him directly.
Darkness engulfs his form.
He vanishes—ripped away, body and aura erased from sight.
Far below, a newly arrived carriage screeches to a halt.
Jin Yinji steps down.
The intensity of the battle freezes her in place.
Her guard leader rushes to her side.
"Miss," he says urgently, "a battle between Heavenly Officials has broken out ahead. For safety, we should pull back."
She nods faintly.
But her eyes never leave the sky.
There—above—
A ship floats, wrapped in dark armour, facing four—no, five figures. One of them is clearly injured, his aura unstable from the pulse fired moments ago.
Her maid gasps.
"How… how can such a large ship fly?"
Jin Yinji does not answer.
She watches as the five bombard the ship—gears, vines, flames, and metal raining down—while the ship retaliates relentlessly. Dark arrows, dark blades, and pulses tear through the sky in precise, devastating counterattacks.
Yet the imbalance is clear.
The Dark Armour cracks.
The energy barrier beneath it trembles, flickering under sustained assault.
Then—
From far above—
Two golden fireballs streak downward.
They explode between the combatants, forcing immediate separation.
The sky splits.
Two figures descend.
Black-golden wings spread behind them, feathers edged with divine radiance.
Divine Race.
They hover beside the flying ship without a word.
The four remaining Heavenly Officials retreat instantly, vanishing into the distance without hesitation.
The two divine beings step onto the deck.
Moments later, the flying ship turns—
And resumes its course toward Silver City.
Jin Yinji exhales slowly.
The sky clears.
But she knows—
She has just witnessed the opening move of something that will reshape the world.
Her guard captain rides up beside her carriage, his face still pale from what he has seen.
"From which sect could that flying ship be?" he asks.
"Could it be from Tianren Mountain?"
Jin Yinji shakes her head slowly.
"If Tianren Sect had refined something like that," she says, "we would have known long ago."
The guard captain frowns.
"But the Divine Race only communicates with Tianren Sect."
"That is true," she replies quietly.
"But not this time."
Her gaze lingers in the direction where the flying ship disappeared, thoughtful and alert.
She turns back to her people and raises her voice slightly.
"Prepare to move. We will know who it is once we reach Silver City."
The guard captain nods, swings himself onto his horse, and pulls the reins tight. With a sharp command, he rides to the front of the convoy to lead the way.
Jin Yinji steps into her carriage.
The convoy turns.
And the road toward Silver City opens once more.
---
Elsewhere, far away in the Chen Kingdom, Kaelan's true body completes the transformation of the fifth spiritual node near the capital.
Purple magic energy stabilises.
The node settles.
Kaelan floats above it, eyes narrowed.
Just like the fourth node, the mana wash is underwhelming.
The improvement to his body is present, but shallow. Not nearly enough to justify the time, effort, and risk required to transform an entire world node.
His brow furrows.
"At this rate," he thinks, "this method is inefficient."
Then—
Memory arrives.
The third clone's experiences flood into him in perfect clarity.
The flying ship.
The five Heavenly Officials.
The Divine Puppet Sect.
The battle.
And finally—
Rescue.
Two members of the Twilight Race.
Amy and Gill.
They stand with his clone, black-golden wings spread, escorting the flying ship safely toward Silver City.
Kaelan's expression darkens.
"Why is the Divine Puppet Sect acting like a mad dog behind me?" he mutters.
He searches his memories.
Once.
Twice.
Now a third time.
Each encounter escalates.
Each attack is more direct.
Yet no clear offence surfaces.
He frowns deeper.
"Where did I offend them?"
Nothing comes.
No insult.
No betrayal.
No broken agreement.
Then, slowly, clarity settles.
"…I didn't."
He exhales.
Sometimes, an enemy is not created by hatred.
Sometimes, simply standing in the way is enough.
The spread of the Wizard Way threatens the Divine Puppet Sect's foundation.
That alone makes him an obstacle.
Kaelan no longer feels puzzled.
Only resolved.
He rises from the fifth magic node and soars back toward the Chen Kingdom capital, the night wind brushing past him like flowing silk.
Near midnight, he slips quietly into the palace.
Into Shen Yuelan's chamber.
He slides beneath the covers and pulls her close.
She stirs, startled awake.
"Lord Wuya?" she whispers, half-asleep.
He leans close, voice low and impatient.
"You've advanced to the Bronze Wizard Realm."
Her breath catches.
"Yes…"
He smiles faintly.
"Good."
He is eager.
Eager to see how much his mana can be refined now.
The world outside moves toward upheaval.
But for the moment—
He focuses on something far more immediate.