Shock after shock rippled through the onlookers.
But it wasn't from You Ying's damage numbers—those were terrifying, yes, but understandable. What truly shook them was what happened after.
Wang Xian's health bar was still half-full.
That meant one thing: his HP had to be over 15,000.
Between his overwhelming defense, high attack power, and now this absurd pool of health, Wang Xian's stats were completely at odds with what his panel showed.
"This... this isn't a mage. This is a monster!" someone whispered.
"Go ahead and act like a cheat character," You Ying muttered, unable to hide the bitterness in his voice.
He didn't try to attack again—he couldn't. The assassination skill he used was his class's ultimate: a guaranteed critical hit, fatal under normal circumstances. But it came with a price. After using it, he entered a temporary weakened state—drastically reduced stats, no offensive capability.
Which meant he was a sitting duck.
"Open? Sure," Wang Xian replied with a smile. "Then I'll act like one."
He flicked his staff lazily. A small fireball burst from the tip, striking You Ying in the chest and ending what little life he had left.
[You Ying has been killed.]
"Guess you're not the only one with a trump card," Wang Xian said coldly.
He turned his attention to the remaining assassins. "You can go keep him company."
With a wave of his hand, five black fireballs spiraled outward—[Nether Fireball].
–1014–984–941–1052–1071
None of them were high numbers, but they didn't need to be. The assassins had less than a thousand HP each. All five dropped instantly, their bodies hitting the ground like dominoes.
The rest froze.
You Ying was dead.
Their teammates were dead.
Before they could even decide whether to run or retaliate, Wang Xian turned, eyes narrowing.
Four more spells flew from his staff—Wind Blade, Thunderbolt, Ice Thorn, Water Orb—striking four invisible figures mid-flee.
Each hit found its mark.
[Assassin has been killed.]
Four more down.
"You... you monster," someone muttered under their breath.
"Donor... this massacre is—sinful! Sinful!" cried the monk, folding his hands in sorrow.
Wang Xian rolled his eyes.
He didn't need to explain. The monk's grief wasn't about morality—it was about lost opportunities. He hadn't reached any of the dying assassins in time to count their deaths toward his Buddha quest.
Wang Xian turned to the others, tone calm and casual.
"Well then... I think I'll be taking that."
He pointed at the descending star, now just under a hundred meters above the ground.
It was slowing as it fell, no larger than a horse cart. A cosmic vision, yes, but clearly not a real celestial body. Just like the "meteor" that had granted Cheng Yao her hidden class—it was a delivery system for something much more important.
The others hesitated. No one answered.
"Anyone object?" Wang Xian asked again.
Silence.
Not because they didn't have opinions.
They had plenty.
But facing someone who could wipe them out with a flick of the wrist?
Silence was safer.
"Well, no answer means agreement. Thanks, everyone," Wang Xian said with a radiant smile.
The crowd wanted to punch him.
He was strong.
He was smug.
He was shameless.
But there was nothing they could do.
They could only watch as the star finally reached the ground and hovered there, glowing faintly.
Wang Xian stepped forward.
Just as he reached out—
Shing!
A cold sword aura sliced through the air, striking him in the back.
–0
Wang Xian's hand stopped inches from the star.
He was frozen.
Not in pain—but physically. Paralyzed.
He turned his head, eyes narrowing.
Jian Twenty-Three.
The so-called gentleman of the battlefield. The man who hadn't objected earlier.
"You waited until now to strike?" Wang Xian said, voice low. "Didn't say a word when I asked. And now you pull this?"
Jian Twenty-Three stepped forward, sword in hand, an apologetic smile on his lips.
"Apologies. Truly. But that star is a mission target for us. We won't kill you. But we can't let you take it."
He walked past Wang Xian toward the star.
And then he screamed.
Doubling over, Jian Twenty-Three dropped to the ground, curled into a ball.
Wang Xian calmly lowered his leg from the kick.
"You... you had to try and be cool, didn't you?" he muttered.
The moment he'd been frozen, Wang Xian had checked the status of the skill. It was controlled by relative strength—the greater the difference in power attributes, the shorter the control.
And Wang Xian's strength stat?
Absurdly high.
So the freeze lasted maybe a second.
Long enough for Jian Twenty-Three to think he'd won.
And short enough for Wang Xian to kick him in the softest spot imaginable before he could grab the prize.
Jian Twenty-Three collapsed in agony.
Wang Xian shrugged.
"I didn't want to go for the jewels, but you were asking for it."
He gave a mental nod of approval to himself.
Then, with no one left to interfere, he turned again to the star.
And reached out.
Whoosh!
Whoosh!
Two more air-tearing sounds echoed behind him.
Wang Xian froze—again.
Someone else was coming for the star.
And the game... wasn't over yet.