Teacher by day, Farmer by passion

Ace lifted his hand.

Thumb and index finger joined.

The other three fingers outstretched.

A gesture ancient and arrogant.

His cloak rippled behind him like the banner of a rising god.

"I've been wanting to do this," he said, voice low, thick with power.

"Well… say this."

Amon narrowed his eyes.

There was a shift.

No—a surge.

Ace's aura didn't just flare—it expanded, rising like a tide, pressing against reality itself.

It was like watching a storm gather not in the sky, but within a man.

Amon's slitted pupils thinned.

"So this… this is what it means to be a Son of Fate?"

The air crackled with qi.

"Not bound by rules," Amon snarled, teeth bared, claws twitching like blades thirsting for flesh.

"Then so be it. I'll defy the heavens!"

With a roar, he launched forward, clawed arms spread like a demonic bird of prey.

But Ace—calm, unmoved—murmured:

"I am no longer the weak one."

He brought his joined fingers to chest level.

A tiny pulse of green soul energy danced between them.

Then—

FWOOSH!

A beam of radiant verdant qi burst forth, spiraling like a corkscrew of spring and life. As it stretched outward, it twisted into shape, blooming into something surreal and absurd:

An apple.

But not just any apple—

It was gargantuan, glowing, humming with the energy of eternal growth, of ripeness without decay.

> Verdant Dao: The Path of Eternal Harvest — Second Form: Bear Fruits.

Amon's arms tensed.

The tendons along his forearms bulged, writhing beneath the fur like snakes beneath silk.

Then—

SHHHNK!

With a sound like bone scraping steel, three obsidian-black claws burst out from the back of each hand.

They didn't extend like weapons from a sheath.

No.

They tore through him.

The skin along his knuckles split open, not with blood, but with glowing cracks of spirit energy—like molten fault lines erupting from his bones.

Each claw emerged slowly, dragging glowing trails of qi behind them, as if being forged in real-time by some inner beast that refused to be caged.

They weren't sleek or surgical. They were brutal, curved like scythes, with jagged ridges along the sides that caught the light—and threatened to catch flesh just as easily.

Amon didn't flinch.

Instead, he growled, low and guttural, as the pain of transformation surged through him like wildfire—and was ignored.

The claws clicked into place with a final metallic thrum, their edges humming with barely-contained power.

It was like nature itself had grown tired of elegance…

…and chosen violence instead.

He slashed the apple mid-flight.

SPLORCH.

It cleaved in half—

Only for the halves to pulse—

And explode like ripe fruit left too long under divine pressure.

BOOOOM!

Amon was engulfed in a blast of verdant energy and syrupy golden mist.

He was flung backward through the sky like a comet of fur and confusion.

And when he hit the ground, it shook.

Dust burst outward. Snow melted in a radius.

Worse still?

The shimmering juice from the exploded apple—

—stuck to him.

Sticky. Heavy. Gummy.

It clung to his limbs, gumming up his movements, gluing him to the earth as though the planet itself was claiming him.

"What… is this?!" Amon snarled, tugging at the substance as it refused to yield.

Ace simply tilted his head.

Still holding the same hand gesture, he slowly raised it again.

"One fruit wasn't enough?"

His lips curled into a half-smile.

"Let's go for a basket."

BOOM!

Another beam.

Another fruit.

BOOM!

Then another.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

The sky became a fruit stand of destruction.

Glowing apples. Swirling peaches. A pear so large it cast a shadow on the mountainside.

Each one burst on impact like divine grenades, unleashing sticky explosions of harvest qi—colorful, flavorful, and absolutely annoying.

Amon was pinned under syrup and bark-like bindings of spiritual vines, twitching as his pride drowned in what smelled vaguely of cinnamon.

Ace chuckled softly.

"Verdant Dao… doesn't just nourish life," he said, his voice calm, "It overwhelms it."

He lowered his hand slowly.

Ace stood still.

Snow settled softly across the battlefield, momentarily peaceful.

Behind him, Amon lay half-buried in fruit pulp, qi residue, and shattered pride.

Ace didn't even look back.

He raised his hand.

SNAP.

The sound echoed like a divine punctuation.

And then—

BOOM!

BOOM! BOOM!

Fruit-shaped bombs detonated in perfect succession, cratering the ground where the Spirit Tiger rested.

Each explosion sent shockwaves rippling through the valley, shaking trees, tossing snow into the air, and flattening craters deeper than graves.

Ace lowered his hand.

"...With that taken care of."

His voice was quiet.

But even the wind paused to listen.

He turned away, cloak fluttering, and gazed into the distance.

The thunder of fruit-blasts still echoed across the peaks.

But Ace's eyes had already shifted beyond the shattered battlefield, to the war that still raged below.

Now… now came the real fight.

Somehow, in defiance of all logic the small village nested under the sect's protection had fended off a million troops.

It should've been impossible.

But now the impossible had a name: Grand Elder Akha.

Bald head gleaming with cold sweat, she stood in the heart of the formation circle, hands flickering with seals faster than mortal eyes could follow.

Every second, she rewove spiritual threads, reinforcing barrier after barrier, stitching the sect house shut like a god closing heaven's doors.

"No one enters," she muttered, "Not until the will of the heavens themselves collapses."

Around her, sect elders rampaged.

Flashes of light, elemental storms, roars of beasts, collapsing spirit walls—all merged into a chaotic symphony of war.

"We're holding…" Akha whispered, her breath hitching.

"At least we're—"

A tremor ran through the ground.

She froze.

Her pupils dilated.

Horns blared. The enemy stirred.

Across the ridge, dust clouded the horizon as a mighty procession approached, sunlight glinting off golden armor and war banners woven with phoenix feathers.

At the front rode Queen Arlen—

Spear in hand, helm crowned with thorned crystal.

Her silver-white hair whipped behind her like a comet's tail, her eyes sharp enough to cut steel.

"To those who dare invade our lands," she called, her voice resonating across the mountain pass, "you'll face the wrath of the Falmuth Kingdom!"

She thrust her spear skyward.