"Lil' Turtle!"
Li Fei studied the small sea turtle nearby, which was baring its teeth and swiping its claws at her, then gave it a cheerful wave.
The turtle shot back with a ferocious water cannon. Li Fei sidestepped — the jet didn't lose a drop of momentum, slamming into a tree and blasting it apart. Five meters of solid trunk shuddered from the impact, bark exploding off in chunks.
It was abundantly clear: if that water cannon had hit a normal person, they'd be walking away with shattered bones at best.
"That's a Thornshell Turtle — Sequence 9. Usually best to just go around them…"
Beatrice was still mid-explanation when Li Fei strolled forward, Ogre Mage Staff in hand, that same sweet and genial smile on her face. The moment the turtle stretched its neck out to bite her, she grabbed the staff with both hands and drove it straight down.
Splat.
Clean. Decisive. Su Ling'er flinched at the sight. She hadn't expected the gorgeous, flower-of-the-establishment Miss Li to have such a… ruthlessly coldblooded side.
"We've just arrived — naturally we need to get a feel for the locals' fighting strength. Just to be safe, right?" Li Fei turned around with a smile.
"Mm. You're absolutely right."
Qin Zhihua — who ordinarily disliked killing — was the first to voice her support.
With the boss having spoken, the rest of the group quietly swallowed whatever they'd been about to say.
"Still, we should get moving," Beatrice said, covering her face with one hand. "Viranean has another name — Turtle Island. Kill one, and in a little while a whole nest of them will come looking for revenge."
Oh? Now that was convenient.
Li Fei glanced at her System Panel.
[You have slain a Thornshell Turtle. +12 EXP.]
Excellent — slightly more experience than a Moonlight Wolf. Turtle Island was a wonderful place. She'd have to come back often.
For now, though, she'd keep a lower profile. No point letting people think she was the kind of idiot who dragged her teammates into unnecessary fights.
Li Fei narrowed her eyes and surveyed the island — an enormous, boundless expanse of lush, dense forest stretching as far as the eye could see. A small smile curved at the corner of her lips.
"Right then. But if anything gets in our way — let me handle it."
...
Despite standing at roughly half a human's height when upright and being capable of firing water cannons, Thornshell Turtles made no adorable little cries — and they looked, frankly, hideous.
Pitch-black shells covered in sharp, jagged ridges. Clumps of blackened moss clinging to every surface. Barnacles, too — enough to send anyone with a fear of clusters into a dead faint.
Not that it mattered how cute or hideous they were. For the sake of experience points, Li Fei wasn't going to go easy on anything.
The morning passed without much incident — the only disruptions being the occasional Thornshell Turtle that wandered into their path and was enthusiastically dispatched by Li Fei before anyone else could volunteer.
Qin Zhihua, meanwhile, was having a very productive morning. Turtle Island in its undeveloped state was genuinely a treasure trove. In the two-plus hours it took the thirteen-person team to reach their designated zone, Qin Zhihua spent just over an hour finding more than a dozen medicinal herbs — and that was with the eldest Miss Qin casually ignoring several varieties that could be cultivated in bulk and were too cheap to be worth her time.
For two of the easier-to-harvest ones, Qin Zhihua simply directed Su Ling'er to handle the collection herself, offering guidance from the side.
Li Fei — who had no idea that Su Ling'er had already been privately designated as the bridal-chamber handmaid — assumed Qin Zhihua was considering taking the girl on as a disciple.
"Does your hand still hurt?"
During the midday break, Li Fei settled onto a large, shaded boulder, and Qin Zhihua — her fingers moving with exquisite precision — began massaging Li Fei's little paw.
There's no such thing as a wrong nickname, only a wrong name — and "Thornshell" was well-earned. The species' bloodline ability was a spiked shell that not only hardened their defenses but also reflected a portion of melee damage back onto the attacker.
Li Fei had approached the whole thing with the philosophy of let's see whether your shell is harder, or my Ogre Mage Staff.
As it turned out: both were harder than her hand.
The shell had been smashed to pieces by 24 points of Strength, and the Thornshell Turtle was dead — but the Ogre Mage Staff had survived without a scratch, while the queen of the establishment had been hit with such a vicious recoil that her arm went numb and she'd nearly burst into tears.
"It's still a little… sniff. Is my hand ruined forever? Am I going to die alone?"
Li Fei whimpered and played pitiful at Qin Zhihua.
"No injury. It'll feel better in a moment."
Qin Zhihua, who was quite well-versed in medicine, flushed faintly — she'd understood exactly what Li Fei's teasing implication meant. But her hands didn't stop moving. Her long, slender, snow-white fingers danced like living things along Li Fei's pressure points and meridians, the massage precise and delicate, dizzying in its skill, sending waves of uninterrupted comfort washing through every nerve.
Li Fei's own thoughts bolted off like a runaway horse — and her face went red too.
"Soft-shell turtle soup, coming right up!"
Su Ling'er appeared carrying two bowls of milky-white broth, presenting them to the pair.
The soup was piping hot, wisps of steam rising from an oil-sheened surface that smelled absolutely incredible. Under normal circumstances, soft-shell turtle soup required a long, slow simmer to cook through properly — let alone a Transcendent-grade specimen.
But Qin Zhihua always carried with her a cooking vessel of Eastern origin: the Turning Dragon Pot, which could dramatically accelerate the cooking process. Even sub-dragon species thrown inside came out fall-off-the-bone tender in five minutes flat.
Li Fei took a sip. Rich and savory with a thread of subtle sweetness — deeply satisfying, intensely flavorful.
"Ling'er-jie, you're an incredible cook!"
"Glad you like it — have as much as you want."
The praise made Su Ling'er beam, her eyes curving into little crescent moons.
Nearby, Fufu had polished off her own bowl of soft-shell soup in two enthusiastic laps, and now — with the uncanny instinct of a creature far more aware than she appeared — stretched her neck toward Beatrice's bowl. Those large, dewy eyes seemed to speak volumes: just one more lick.
The elven young lady was not fooled in the slightest. She clutched her bowl protectively and, seizing the opportunity, slid over to sit beside Li Fei — a strand of emerald hair and a strand of black hair tangling together in the process. The perceptive Madam Zhihua noticed immediately and, with thoughtful care, reached over and gently separated them.
Only Grace sat alone in a corner, radiating a do not approach aura, eating her meal and drinking her soup in total silence, expression blank. Such were the privileges of going on a mission with the generous young mistress — ordinary low-Sequence Transcendents got dry rations, while Miss Zhihua's spatial storage held an abundance of exquisitely prepared meal boxes.
Li Fei narrowed her eyes in contentment and finished her soup in small, savoring sips. Then she leaned comfortably against Qin Zhihua's shoulder and reflected, with genuine feeling, on the Thornshell Turtle's contributions to society.
The creature really was useful from head to tail: the processed shell could craft low-grade Transcendent equipment, certain body parts could be used as medicinal ingredients, the meat made excellent broth, and it gave respectable experience points to boot.
All in all — one turtle, maximum value.
After a short rest, the queen of the establishment downed her mana potion in a few quick gulps, picked up her staff again, cast the fifth round of Terrain Awareness on her teammates, and the fully refreshed group set off once more.
...
The primitive, crude ogre village reeked of blood — even more pungent than usual.
Ogre corpses were strewn across the ground in every direction. A few Transcendents who had just come through the fighting sat atop the massive, imposing bodies, smoking and chatting casually. Others wandered through the village, smashing pots and jars one by one, searching for anything worth taking.
"Look what I found."
Laughter drifted up from a large pit nearby.
At the bottom of the pit lay piles of bones — most of them slender in frame. From the skeletal structure: some human, some elven, but the majority belonging to the Siren clan.
This, evidently, was where the ogres discarded their leftovers.
Two Transcendents trampled over the bones, searching through them, the crunch of their footsteps filling the air. One suddenly let out a whoop of triumph and wrenched a necklace from a slender skeleton. He'd pulled too hard — the weathered cervical vertebrae snapped clean off.
He kicked aside what appeared to be a human skull, climbed out of the pit, and held the necklace up high with a triumphant wave.
"I'd bet this is at least a Full Moon-grade piece of equipment."
"Get out of here. If the person who got eaten by these big louts could afford anything decent, you'd have heard about them. Firefly-grade at best."
Someone laughed back.
"Sherlock — why don't you go try your luck?"
Among the mercenaries present were a few who had crossed paths with Li Fei at the Mercenary Guild the day before. Cowell — silver-armored, with the natural bearing of a leader — clapped his companion hard on the shoulder and laughed broadly.
"Brother Cowell, ease up — you're going to shake my bones loose."
Sherlock — his face hidden behind a black-and-white mask that managed to look both eerie and absurd, wrapped in a voluminous dark robe that revealed nothing — gave a shake of his head. His voice was mild and unhurried, the voice of a well-mannered young man.
"There's a survivor!"
A shout rang out from inside a large, crumbling building.
The Transcendents snapped to attention, hands going to their weapons, footsteps converging on the source like rain.
"ROAR!"
Inside the building stood a female ogre. She was three meters tall, massive, like a bear that had learned to stand upright. Her ragged clothing was dark with grime and old blood — the faded red that lingered beneath spoke of many meals. At her back cowered an ogre cub, barely a meter tall, trembling from head to toe.
The female ogre's eyes burned a savage red. Her green face was contorted with fury. She swung her enormous, bone-crushing club in wide sweeping arcs, shrieking and snarling, baring mottled yellowed tusks — doing everything she could to drive these intruders back and protect the cub behind her.
"Leave this to me."
A spear-wielding warrior stepped forward. As the whistling club came crashing down toward his skull, he suddenly broke into a sidestep — smooth, effortless — and flicked his spear upward. The tip traced a clean, elegant arc, like an antelope leaping over a branch, and drove into the ogre's armpit. A firm twist followed, and amid a gush of dark blood, the ogre's right arm was completely disabled.
Ignoring the ogre's raw, ragged screams, the warrior moved with fluid, sure-footed grace, pulling back and thrusting again. His spear was a serpent — lancing through the other arm, then each leg in turn.
With the battle already decided, this Transcendent was in no hurry to finish it. He was enjoying himself — using the helpless ogre as a living demonstration of his flawless spearwork.
"Don't kill it, don't kill it."
When the ogre finally collapsed to the ground, a short dwarf warrior with a thick beard spoke up urgently.
Under the puzzled stares of the onlookers, the dwarf scratched the back of his head and grinned. "Me, I prefer 'em on the bigger side… Haven't had a taste of ogre before."
A sharp, collective intake of breath.
To the stunned, disbelieving eyes of everyone present, the barely-one-meter-tall dwarf grabbed the ogre's matted, tangled hair with one knotted, muscular arm and physically dragged the massive, thrashing, roaring green creature into the adjacent empty room — leaving a streak of crimson across the floor.
The masked youth Sherlock tightened his grip on his staff. Then Cowell's voice reached his ear:
"Don't."
Sherlock hesitated — and put the staff down. A moment later, a piercing, agonized shriek split the air.
The spear-wielding warrior had driven his spear tip at an angle through the ogre cub's abdomen, then lifted it high. The cub screamed in bursts of pain, limbs flailing wildly. Wet blood ran down the shaft and dripped onto the warrior's hand. He paid it no mind, laughing freely:
"Look — the baby ogre throws punches."
"Magicae sagitta."
The incantation was barely a breath long. A Magic Arrow blazed through the air, searing with light and heat, and struck the ogre cub between the eyes with perfect precision. The crying stopped instantly.
The scene went silent.
The spear warrior gave his weapon a sharp flick, casting a crescent of blood through the air, and fixed a cold stare forward.
"What do you think you're doing."
The Transcendents present belonged to two separate groups.
Cowell's four-man team had come to fulfill a commission. A Transcendent had been killed and eaten by the ogres of this village. His widow had knocked on the door of the Mettis Family, traded ten years of service as a high-grade attendant for the coin needed to post a bounty, and hired someone to avenge her late husband.
The other group had come purely to loot. The two parties had run into each other and, in the spirit of mutual benefit, agreed to clear the village together.
"Slipped. My apologies."
Behind the mask, Sherlock's voice carried not a trace of remorse.
"Bullshit."
The warrior raised his arm, spear tip leveled at Sherlock's throat.
"Then what?"
Cowell stepped in front of Sherlock in a single stride. Silver armor gleaming, tall and broad-shouldered, his presence was a wall.
Simon and Zoller moved up on either side — one sweeping back his cloak to reveal the crossbow at his hip, the other laying a hand on his sword hilt. Their meaning needed no words.
"Ha. You'd draw on your own allies for a bunch of man-eating monsters?"
The spear warrior's fury curdled into a cold laugh.
Cowell didn't bother engaging with him. He turned instead, meeting Sherlock's gaze — an apology in those eyes — and a small smile rose to his lips.
"Sherlock. Compassion is a virtue. But remember this: if you're going to do a good thing, either don't start — or see it all the way through."
Then he lifted his greatsword. Battle-qi surged from him like a flooding river, raw and unrestrained, filling the air with a weight that made men step back.
Cowell ignored the spear warrior's furious, stunned expression. He turned, kicked open the door that had just been pulled shut, and brought his blade down in a blaze of silver light — like the Milky Way falling from the sky. The female ogre's head dropped, wide eyes still staring.
The dwarf warrior opened and closed his mouth several times. In the end, he said nothing, and furiously pulled up his trousers.
"We'll part ways here. When we're back in Loxibrook, drinks are on me."
Cowell hoisted his sword onto his shoulder, gave Sherlock's thin frame a clap on the back, and the four of them walked away laughing and talking — leaving behind a broad, unrestrained silhouette that faded into the distance.
...
"Zhihua-jie, could there be any danger?"
Li Fei tilted her chin up and studied the sheer cliff face blocking their path.
The jagged rock wall stretched dozens of meters high. Clinging to its face, swaying in the wind, was a single small white flower.
"It'll be fine."
Qin Zhihua fixed her gaze on the flower, her expression quiet and distant.
It was a rare and precious ingredient — one required for refining the potion known as Smile of the Fortune Goddess. Exceptionally difficult to come by.
The pure, refined qi in her meridians surged into sudden motion. Qin Zhihua pressed her fingertips lightly against the rough stone face, touched one toe to the wall — and rose. Dozens of meters of sheer vertical rock, and she moved as though the cliff were level ground: stepping from one outcropping to the next as her strength peaked and ebbed, white robes billowing, drawing closer and closer to that small white flower near the top.
She looked like a butterfly dancing in the wind — feather-light, impossibly graceful, gliding up the cliff face in elegant bounds. Like a startled swan in flight.
You know qinggong?!
Li Fei stared, slack-jawed, watching Qin Zhihua drift effortlessly up to a height of several dozen meters.
It suddenly dawned on her: the eldest Miss Qin, who looked so tender and delicate, who seemed like she might break in a strong wind — could probably beat Li Fei senseless with one hand tied behind her back.
So what exactly am I working so hard for?
Marry Madam Zhihua, and I'll never need a bodyguard or a bank account again…
Li Fei was torn between bliss and exasperation.
"My young mistress has cultivated to the Fourth Heaven of True Qi, you know…" Su Ling'er squinted up at the fairy-like, transcendently beautiful figure above them, eyes sparkling with admiration and reverence. "Which would be equivalent to 'Advanced Battle-Qi.' Though whether she's Sequence 6 or Sequence 7, I honestly couldn't say…"
"How wonderful. Unlike me — a helpless little mage who couldn't hurt a fly."
Li Fei — currently gripping a staff that had been thoroughly baptized in blood — sighed wistfully in agreement.
____
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