The SSS class adventurer is a divine cleric

It was just past dawn.

Wei Lianfeng had barely begun his meditation when the earth shook.

Not metaphorically. Not Qi pressure. But like some ancient beast.

Real, actual, bone-shaking, ground-thumping impact like boulders colliding.

Then came yelling.

Not in Yunxuan dialect. Not even in any recognizable tongue.

It was guttural, strange, almost lazy-sounding.

"What the hell do you mean we shouldn't rob them!? It was just a suggestion!"

Crash.

"Because they're people, Kaelen. They've buried their dead, and they're probably half-starved!"

Boom.

Sand sprayed into the sky like a geyser.

Wei Lianfeng's eyes snapped open. Huo Mingtai had already grabbed a makeshift club. Bai Yueyin was on her feet, half-limping toward the noise.

And there, just beyond the line of trees.

Then the beach trembled again.

A muffled thud... then sand geysered into the air.

Wei Lianfeng's eyes followed the commotion.

"Is it a spirit beast?" Yueyin muttered, already holding her broken spear.

But it wasn't a beast.

It was two men half-clothed, locked in a furious wrestling match on the shore just beyond their camp. Not Qi techniques. Not weapons. Just raw, brutal grappling like drunk war gods in the sand.

Both were clearly foreigners.

The shorter one, lean and sinewy, had skin that might've been pale once, but now held a golden-brown tan, sun-hardened, wind-kissed. His black hair was tied in a loose tail that whipped around wildly as he twisted his opponent's arm. His movements were light, almost playful like fighting was a game.

The taller one was broader, with a sculpted, athletic build and skin like black marble that had baked under too many suns. His golden hair gleamed even in the overcast light. He looked like he'd been carved by a perfectionist and was deeply, deeply tired of the man currently elbowing him in the ribs.

Neither of them wore robes. Their makeshift clothing was cut from beast leather and sailcloth, sun-bleached and patched. Their energy signatures were blinding, not in scale, but in purity. Refined. Focused. Balanced in a way Lianfeng had never felt before.

Not a single trace of cultivated Qi technique surrounded them.

No footwork patterns. No stance disciplines. No inner domain.

"They're not releasing Qi…" Zhao Shun said, alarm rising in his throat.

"No," Huo Mingtai replied, "they don't need to."

That was the part that chilled them all.

The force behind every strike, every slam of muscle on sand was real. The shorter one ducked and flipped the larger man with brute instinct. The taller one responded with a calm twist and hurled him ten feet through the air into the surf.

All without drawing a weapon.

All without a formation.

Just raw body and will.

Their skin wasn't like any human from their Yunxu continent. Their Qi didn't match any known cultivation realm either, it was too refined, but didn't follow core condensation patterns. More… rough but denser and responsive.

"Who… are they?" Yueyin whispered.

"Who in the thirteen rivers…?" Meng Nian whispered, eyes wide.

"Beasts that wear human form," Meng Nian muttered. "Or worse… natives of the island."

"No," Wei Lianfeng said quietly. "They're human. But not ours."

"Cultivators?" Yueyin asked.

"Foreigners," Lianfeng murmured. "Not like us. Their energy is... internalized. Balanced. They've sealed it away."

"Why?" Zhao Shun frowned. "Who would hide power like that?"

Lianfeng narrowed his eyes.

"Because they don't need it to fight."

"But not just that. They're powerful."

"Are they… playing?" Huo Mingtai asked, baffled.

"They're brawling," Yueyin said. "Over something stupid, I guarantee it."

"They don't fight like we do," Zhao Shun muttered. "Their footwork's sloppy, but every movement is reinforced. There's no cultivation stance… but somehow, they flow like masters."

Wei Lianfeng didn't speak.

He just kept watching, eyes narrowed. Even without formal stances, these two moved like beasts trained in instinct. One with uncontrolled arrogance, the other with disciplined fatigue.

Then the leaner one looked over mid-headlock and waved at them.

"Oh! Hello! You guys okay over there?" he grinned.

A Few Hours Earlier

"Neal," Kaelen had said, eyes gleaming as he tied a string around a stick, "I can feel it. There's fish out there with my name on them."

Neal stared at the crude rod. "You can literally conjure divine light. Why are we fishing with sticks?"

"Because it's more fun this way."

"I hate you."

The two of them strolled along the southern shoreline, Kaelen humming, Neal dragging a bucket behind him and grumbling about saltwater corrosion.

Then they saw it, half-hidden behind the dunes:

A wrecked ship, tents and people moving.

Kaelen squinted. "Campers?"

Neal rolled his eyes. " Idiot, they are survivors of some shipwreck. Look at the ships, does it look like camping?"

Then Neal narrowed his eyes. "Wait, that's a military formation movement, not pirates or sailors. And from their clothes… not from any region I've seen."

He felt for their energy. "Weak. Mid-silver or early Gold at best."

"Perfect," Kaelen grinned.

"No."

"Just a little robbing" Kaelen lighthearted and in a friendly manner dashed towards the tents. "We'll give them half back later."

"Kaelen, no."

"Come on. We need rations. And your fish-finding technique sucks."

"You said there were fish with your name on them."

"And there are. In their crates."

"Kaelen—"

Kaelen vanished mid-sentence, appearing behind a tree near the camp perimeter, whispering: "Let's flank them."

"We're not doing this!" Neal barked, activating his own movement technique and body-checking Kaelen back into the sand.

"You traitor!" Kaelen shouted, flinging a handful of sand into Neal's face. "Who even sides with stupid strangers!?"

"They look half-dead!"

"So they won't fight back!"

Kaelen: "I'm telling you, Neal. They look half-dead and poorly armed. We show up, make demands, take a few rations, no fuss."

Neal: "You've been eating too much sun, Kaelen. You're literally suggesting we rob survivors."

Kaelen: "Survivors with food. That's an important distinction."

Neal: "You're tan and crazy. You weren't this crazy even back in Dawn Academy."

Kaelen: "Blame the sun, not the man. I'm beautifully cooked and morally flexible."

Then the real brawl began. Punches, grapples, low kicks, not lethal, but filled with intent. Kaelen laughed the whole time. Neal grunted and cursed like a man burdened by divine responsibility and a reckless teammate.