Chapter Twenty-Eight: Understanding

Well, here's the latest on someone trying to sabotage me: the person who tried to mess with my stats has already taken down all 800 fake follows, so those who were accusing me of cheating can finally shut up. The reason my book is still on the new releases chart is solely thanks to the genuine support of readers who love my story.

Also, the freeze on this book has been lifted. Thank you, everyone, for standing by me during the most difficult times. I won’t forget your kindness. I’ll work even harder and write better content.

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"So, you've come..." Link looked up at the sky, where Whitewing circled above, passing along everything it saw to Link.

Doronto and two fanatics from the Temple of the Mad God were approaching.

"Honestly, the religions in this world seem to have no taboos at all. Sending assassins after me in broad daylight—aren’t they afraid of being discovered? Well, it doesn’t matter. If you have no scruples, then neither do I." Link gave a cold laugh, feigning practice as he quietly awaited his enemies.

It wasn’t long before Doronto and his companions arrived at Link’s location. From a distance, they watched his every move, then spread out to encircle him from three sides. Little did they realize that everything they did was under the watchful eye of Whitewing above, and they even felt secretly pleased, thinking Link was completely unprepared.

Link sneered inwardly but outwardly continued his practice, deliberately revealing a portion of his strength. Doronto watched closely, making his own assessment, and concluded that Link’s cultivation must be late first stage, possibly at its peak.

Thinking this, a pang of bitterness stabbed through Doronto’s heart, quickly replaced by a surge of envy and hatred. He was a peak first-stage martial artist himself, but at twenty-eight, he was about to pass his prime, and his strength would inevitably decline. How much blood, sweat, time, and money had he poured into becoming stronger?

But Link? He was only sixteen! Sixteen, and already a first-stage peak martial artist. In the entire Red Moon Province, this was an extraordinary feat. To Doronto, if Link wasn’t a genius, then no one was.

"Damned little bastard. A month ago, he was only mid-first stage, and now, in just a month, he’s gotten so much stronger!" The more Doronto watched, the more his shock and envy grew, his murderous intent intensifying. Yes, he was jealous of Link—so jealous it drove him mad. In his mind, it was intolerable that years of desperate effort couldn’t match what a genius achieved in a year or two.

To put it in internet slang, Doronto had the classic "swear to turn my inch-long blade into a longsword and kill all the rich and handsome" mindset—the loser’s revenge fantasy.

Whatever Doronto’s state of mind, driven by jealousy, his gaze toward Link became as cold as death, and he was already devising ways to torture Link to death to relieve his hatred.

Doronto indulged in these fantasies, unaware that his murderous intent had already been sensed by Link. Even at a distance, Whitewing could discern the growing bloodlust and warned its master to be careful.

Though Link didn’t understand why Doronto’s intent to kill was so strong, he had no intention of sitting idly by. He, too, was ready to kill—he would show no mercy to those who wanted his life.

At last, when Doronto had fantasized enough, he made his move. After a signal from his two companions, he stepped out, blocking Link’s path and sneering, "Well, well, boy. We meet again."

Feigning surprise, Link asked, "You? Why are you here?"

Doronto’s sneer deepened. "Why? Can’t you guess? Did you forget what I told you last month? I said I’d come back for you!"

Link narrowed his eyes. "You dare cause trouble on the Father God’s territory? Aren’t you afraid of divine punishment?"

"Bah!" Doronto spat, his face full of contempt. "Don’t give me that crap about your so-called Father God. I’m not like those other fools you’ve duped—I don’t believe gods exist. Today, I want to see if your god can save you!"

With that, Doronto drew the broadsword from his back and brought it down on Link. At the same time, the other two assassins from the Temple of the Mad God launched their attack from behind, the three of them converging on Link.

Doronto’s outburst had only been a distraction to catch Link’s attention, coordinating with the other two for a surprise attack.

Their plan was sound and would have succeeded against most targets—unfortunately for them, their target was Link. Under Whitewing’s surveillance, Link knew their every move.

Facing their assault, Link remained calm and decisively invoked Fire Armor, instantly shrouding himself in a faint crimson aura.

As their weapons struck the red aura, they burst into flames that leapt back toward their wielders. The three attackers panicked—none of the mages they’d encountered had defenses like this, and they had no idea how to respond. Instinctively, they dropped their weapons.

Unbeknownst to them, this was exactly what Link wanted. The moment their weapons hit the ground, Link unleashed Fire Burst at Doronto. As an instant-cast spell, Fire Burst was all about speed. Link thrust out his right hand, and a fireball shot forth like a cannon shell, striking Doronto’s face in the blink of an eye.

Doronto’s face erupted in flames. Screaming in agony, he staggered back, clearly out of the fight. The three-pronged encirclement was broken.

The other two assassins were horrified. That Link could use offensive magic, and so powerfully, was beyond anything they’d imagined. They’d known he could use a bit of healing and mental magic, but those were completely different from attack spells. In the world of Solakon, offensive magic was as forbidden as firearms in China—it was contraband. Most first-stage mages wouldn’t even know such spells.

In a small town like Kinko, an offensive mage was unthinkable. But Link had just upended everything they thought they knew, wielding not only unfamiliar fire magic, but two spells whose power was formidable enough to be a master mage’s trump card.

"How can Neil Night possibly command such powerful magic? Who taught him?" the two Mad God cultists wondered. But they had no time to think. As Link chanted, a fireball the size of a rice bowl formed in his right hand—if it hit, they’d be flayed alive.

At that moment, their will to fight collapsed. All they wanted was to escape and warn their superiors about Link’s true strength. Against someone skilled in both martial arts and high-level magic, any plan they’d prepared would come at a terrible cost.

But as they turned to flee, Link had no intention of letting them come and go as they pleased.

Just then, a vast shadow swooped down from above. The two looked up in terror as a huge white bird dived, the wind from its wings stinging their faces.

They’d never seen such a massive white bird, and the sudden attack shattered their morale. With their fighting spirit gone, their strength plummeted. Whitewing swept between them, buffeting both with a gust of wind and sending them flying in opposite directions.

The two assassins tumbled to the ground. Seizing the moment, Link released his fireball. The basketball-sized inferno slammed into one of them with a roar.

This was far more powerful than the instant-cast Fire Burst. Flames engulfed the assassin’s upper body, his screams chilling his companion to the bone.

The other assassin looked back at Link in terror. To him, Link was no priest, but death incarnate.

Paralyzed by fear, he scrambled desperately to escape, but Link gave him no chance. At Link’s mental command, Whitewing struck, its massive talons sinking into the assassin’s throat, tearing it open in a spray of blood. Eyes wide, the assassin convulsed and died.

With one assassin down, Link turned to the other, who was still ablaze. At last, this one managed to muster his internal energy to disperse the fire, only to look up and see Link already upon him. Link struck from a distance, sending a piercing finger strike that punctured the man’s throat, who collapsed, clutching his neck, eyes wide in shock.

In less than twenty seconds, Link had killed two late-stage first-level martial artists.

Staring at their corpses, Link’s heartbeat raced uncontrollably. This was the first time he’d truly killed with his own hands. Before, he’d only used the Confession spell to force enemies to take their own lives—not the same as personal action. This time, the blood was on his hands.

Killing did not feel good; he didn’t like it. Whether as Neil or as Link, he’d never even killed a chicken, much less a person. The emotions swirling within him were complicated.

"You damned little bastard! Damn you!" A venomous voice snapped Link from his daze over the corpses. Turning, he saw Doronto glaring at him, half his face hideously burned.

Fire Burst wasn’t as powerful as Fireball, but its explosive force had mangled one side of Doronto’s face, leaving it a mass of charred flesh—a sight out of a horror film.

Seeing Doronto’s hateful expression, the guilt and revulsion Link had just felt evaporated. He understood now: he had to adapt to killing. In this world, as long as he remained the leader of his faith, conflict would be unavoidable. Even if he refused to kill, others would try to kill him. He lacked the power to change the rules of the world, so he could only adapt.

If Doronto and his kind attacked today, then when the Church of the Father God grew stronger, even greater threats would come. He would have to become used to killing, and grow ever stronger.

"In a way, isn’t this brutal religious world like the martial world of a wuxia novel? Just another kind of ‘jianghu,’ isn’t it? Funny—I never thought I’d be a player in such a world. But I can’t say I dislike it…"

After pondering for a while, Link found himself smiling. He was never one to be content with the status quo; he craved challenge. Before crossing over, he had neither the chance nor the power. Now, both were his, and his ambition stirred. Today, with clarity, he finally understood his true pursuit.

It wasn’t to become a god, nor to make the Church of the Father God omnipotent. He simply wished to realize his ambitions, to accomplish something he wouldn’t regret, provided he could keep himself and those around him safe.