Chapter 56: The Young Fox Who Defies a Hundred

This brief moment of obstruction was enough for Vinigo to escape. Glonz felt his hands empty, and when he regained his senses, Vinigo was already behind him.

“Go on, you bastard,” Vinigo said with a light laugh.

Glonz had no time to turn around; the immense inertia propelled him forward, and Vinigo, at the same moment, collided with him, altering his trajectory ever so slightly…

It was enough. That inconspicuous deviation sent Glonz crashing headlong into the howling tornado, which swept him up, his screams fading as he vanished.

Perhaps he was torn apart, perhaps flung hundreds of meters away—who cared?

Back on Lamen’s back, Haney’s cheerful, untroubled smile instantly eased Vinigo’s heart. He patted Haney’s head and said, “Let’s go back.”

“Is everything settled?” Haney looked around. “It seemed a bit too easy.”

“Mm, the power of the Lamb’s Cry sect isn’t actually so weak, but it looks like they didn’t put much effort in,” Vinigo replied.

“So that means we can safely reach New Sophig Town!” Haney laughed. “I really miss that place.”

“Miss it, do you…” Vinigo scratched his head. “I suppose I do, too.”

Another thunderous crash echoed. This time, Vinigo saw clearly—it was Sophie’s handiwork.

She stood upon the water, her face solemn, wielding her great sword to summon a furious gale that slashed through the side of the wooden boat, carving a massive gash along the waterline. Under the pressure, the crack soon burst open, flooding the hull.

What Vinigo and the others heard was the sound of the hull breaking and splintering as water rushed in.

“What a violent girl,” Vinigo murmured.

“I’ll be sure to tell Sophie, you know,” Haney said, squinting her big eyes, giggling.

“Let’s go check ahead,” Vinigo whistled, and Lamen swam forward. Lamen’s speed wasn’t fast, but in the sky, there were almost no obstacles—flying in a straight line made most places seem close.

“Haney, you said earlier everything was too easy, right…” Vinigo said suddenly. “I fear you may be right.”

“What is it?” Haney blinked and asked.

“Go back and report. Their goal was to trap us. The real feast comes next.” Vinigo shoved a flight card into Haney’s hand and said quickly, “Tell them to prepare for battle.”

Below, hundreds of meters away, a vast crowd of Lamb’s Cry cultists was gathering.

The cult had few strengths; their greatest asset was sheer numbers. Now was their time to show it. Among the lower-class poor, the cult’s vision of a unified happy world had great appeal.

Thousands of Lamb’s Cry cultists.

Clearly, most were ordinary peasants, but after some special conditioning, they possessed significant fighting power, especially when their numbers reached such a scale.

Vinigo sighed, patted Lamen, selected a backpack from the gear hanging beneath its belly, and slung it over his shoulder.

“It’s war!”

Role selected, analysis complete… reconstruction begins. Level 5 Alchemist, completed.

“Main skill: Basic Alchemy. No secondary skill. Support skill: Preparation. Passive skills: Increased Accuracy, Increased Action Speed.” Vinigo muttered, “Selection finished, time to work.”

The basic alchemist class wasn’t strong in combat, possessing only basic alchemy, but it used little mercury and specialized in items.

Yet, choosing this class had one advantage—all alchemist weapons were various alchemical substances, guaranteed to inflict blindness, adhesion, paralysis, or other negative effects if they hit.

Preparation allowed Vinigo to switch equipment flexibly in battle, crucial for his tactics. The increased accuracy, combined with the Wheel of Sharpshooters, let him reach a high hit rate—an essential foundation for his strategy.

The action speed boost didn’t improve movement speed, but rather increased the number of actions he could take per unit time—in other words, the speed of his movements.

Prepared, Vinigo leaned forward and leapt from Lamen’s back, diving down.

One against thousands—when had Vinigo become so fearless?

He simply didn’t want the enemy to have their way. Whatever they intended, he would disrupt them first—that was Vinigo’s mindset.

As for danger… Against thousands of rabble, if he couldn’t win, he could still escape, couldn’t he?

“Let’s start with this… lime powder.”

Lime powder was a byproduct—a waste—from Vinigo’s refined mercury, and he had plenty on hand, easy to use. He swooped above the cultists and flung it out, enveloping the enemy in a white haze.

From this distance, Vinigo could see clearly—the cultists were protecting something at the center. There was a circular clearing, where several mysterious figures in hooded robes were busy.

“A large magic circle? Are they planning to attack with this?” Vinigo wondered.

Though he pondered, he didn’t hesitate. He stepped half back, raised his left hand, and unleashed an airflow.

The gust swept the lime powder across a whole group of cultists, provoking a chorus of screams.

“Preparation.” Vinigo quickly switched his right-hand equipment to a bottle of instant adhesive and hurled it.

The airflow from the sky turned what was once a meter-long attack into a medium-range area attack. The adhesive stuck a ring of cultists around him—they couldn’t approach, blocked their companions, and became Vinigo’s shield.

“Get down! Get down!” shouted a senior cultist, but clearly his subordinates lacked discipline and intelligence—only a few responded amid the chaos.

“Preparation.” Vinigo swapped back to lime powder, flinging it again.

After two rounds, the area was ringed with blinded enemies. Vinigo calmly advanced, raised his left hand, and struck.

With the airflow’s instant acceleration, his left hand shot out like a bullet. To protect his fingers, he wore homemade claws modeled after mantis fist practitioners’ weapons, enhancing his strikes.

A single point—blood burst forth. He was quick; even the sighted cultists couldn’t easily block him, let alone the blinded majority.

The heavy use of lime powder was simply to avoid being surrounded. Otherwise, even with the help of the sky, Vinigo would still be in peril.

A soft sound—Vinigo nimbly jumped aside, dragging a cultist who was rubbing his eyes to shield himself. A flame struck the man’s chest, igniting his clothes and sending him screaming.

“Such weak power, no wonder it’s so crude…” Vinigo grunted.

Advanced cultists had gained spell-casting abilities through special means. Though they could quickly learn a few attack spells, their strength was unimpressive.

Vinigo guessed it was some sort of brain modification, allowing them to command the elements with mental power, but clearly, their foundation was biochemical and genetic manipulation—they knew little of magic, and this was the extent of their capabilities.

“Preparation.” Vinigo shook his right hand and instantly swapped weapons.

Powerful chili powder—inducing uncontrollable coughing and disrupting the enemy’s actions.

Four waves of traditional alchemical attacks were enough to turn the cultists around Vinigo into wooden stakes. Now, he was relatively safe.

Role reset, reconstruction begins!

The greatest benefit after having the sky was that Vinigo retained some combat strength even after resetting his role—no longer needing to wait for absolute safety each time.

“The basic position is established. Next, it’s time for the assault,” Vinigo laughed.

He stretched out his left hand, the airflow in his palm rapidly condensing into a cluster, then blossoming into a series of fine rings wound around his arm.

“Go!”

Blade of Wind: Slicing Fragment.

As for why it was called the Blade of Wind—because that was the name Vinigo thought of the first time he used it. Of course, if you preferred to call it the Wind Saber, Wind Sword, or Wind Fruit Knife, it made no difference.

It simply cut through anything in its path with a sharp, faint whistling like steel wire. Whatever the name, it wouldn’t enhance its power or diminish its range, would it?

Countless wind-forged threads shot out toward the nearest enemies and those farther away not affected by adhesive or chili powder.

Thud, thud, thud… Muffled sounds rang out, like raindrops on banana leaves, but with none of the poetry—only a heavy scent of blood.

No matter how you prettify it, the Blade of Wind was still a killing skill.

“Brother Fox, we’re here, too!” Haney’s joyful voice came from overhead. A ripple of divine power swept across the battlefield.

All the actors were now on stage. The performance time had come! Vinigo laughed aloud, raised his arms high, and flung open the curtain!