Three days.

It took the sickle weasel three full days to make up its mind: it was going to follow the new arrival. Follow the newborn beast.

This was an extraordinarily dangerous plan that could get it killed at any moment. Under normal circumstances, the sickle weasel’s temperament would never allow for this. But curiosity eventually won out over fear. Even at the cost of its life, it needed to understand — how had that newborn beast stolen its Berserk Scythe-Wind and Lightning Cross-Kill? Those techniques had taken it a thousand years of research to develop. Even their creator had needed a thousand years to perfect them. However intelligent the newborn might be, could she really learn them in a single glance?

Once that burning curiosity had taken hold, the fear of death lost some of its grip.

After three days of mental torment, the sickle weasel set out.

Cautiously, it retraced its path to the battlefield.

Using that spot as its starting point, it followed the trail in the direction its senses pulled it strongest.

What it found along the way surprised it considerably. Not far from the battlefield lay a scattering of fallen wild magical beasts — not powerful ones, just ground-level herbivores, the basic food source of Beast Valley.

Yellow deer, gazelles, and other creatures at ground-level or below lay dead across the terrain.

Their deaths were varied in nature, but most bore the mark of a Lightning Cross-Kill.

The sickle weasel could confirm one thing: the technique here was at a fledgling level. It could kill ground-level beasts, but against a peak Sky-rank Level 6 Toad King, it wouldn’t so much as scratch the skin. Yet three days ago, it had watched this same newborn use a single cross-slash to slice Toad King’s lips open and cut through that formidable tongue. The sickle weasel had been completely honest with itself: it couldn’t have done better than that.

That was precisely what had stunned it.

The problem was — what it was looking at now bore almost no resemblance to what it had seen that day. The technique was rudimentary. The execution was rough. Any experienced observer could tell immediately that this was the work of a beginner. The energy traces were unstable and uneven. When the strikes had separated beast skulls, the cuts weren’t clean — some sinew and tissue remained. Messy work.

But then — who had done this?

The arrogant new arrival? Impossible; the challenger’s own power was sealed. Though there was one exception: if beast and master acted as one, borrowing the master’s hands to strike. That was permitted. But it couldn’t exceed the war beast’s own capability range — the master was only an auxiliary will.

The mystery deepened. If this clumsy beginner’s technique was from the newborn — then who had produced the version that had wounded Toad King?

The sickle weasel pressed on.

More discoveries. Further ahead, the fallen beasts shifted in character — more carnivores, fewer herbivores.

It hadn’t paid much attention at first. But looking at enough of them, the pattern became undeniable. Examining the evidence more carefully, reading the full field of signs, the sickle weasel arrived at a startling conclusion:

The newborn had improved.

Dramatically.

The Lightning Cross-Kill that had been clumsy and imprecise at the start had, within barely ten kilometers of practice distance, become fluid and natural. Of every ten kills examined, only one or two showed any flaw. Among every hundred kills, one or two were outright perfect.

And the targets were getting harder — carnivores instead of herbivores, more dangerous, more difficult to kill cleanly.

By roughly fifty kilometers out, looking at the bodies on the ground, the sickle weasel felt genuine shock. Now only a tiny fraction weren’t perfect kills. Everything else was flawless. Switching places with the newborn, the sickle weasel could perhaps bring more raw power to each strike — but in speed and execution, it couldn’t do better. In the space of a short practice run, this complete beginner had caught up to the technique’s creator.

What level of intelligence did a creature need to accomplish that?

At the hundred-kilometer mark, dead beasts became rarer.

The dramatically improved beginner appeared to have shifted away from active practice toward internal comprehension. No more kills to mark the trail.

But through careful examination, the sickle weasel found a few new targets. What had been killed now weren’t the common ground-level beasts scattered everywhere — they were powerful Sky-rank magical beasts. And these kills were ultra-perfect instant kills.

The sickle weasel could certainly produce ultra-perfect instant kills itself. In fact, this was a secret technique it had spent three thousand years developing. In all of Beast Valley, no living being knew of it. It had never used it in front of anyone — it was a reserve card, a last resort kept entirely private.

The newborn had never seen it used. How had she learned it?

The sickle weasel felt dizzy.

If the Lightning Cross-Kill had been something others could have taught from elsewhere, it might have explained that away. But this was impossible. In all of Beast Valley — in all the Heavenly Realm — only the sickle weasel used this technique. At minimum, no one else attacked this way.

So how had a technique never demonstrated in front of anyone been stolen?

With this headache-inducing question pressing on its mind, the sickle weasel followed the trail to a lakeside location roughly two hundred kilometers from the original battlefield.

The new arrival and the newborn were right there ahead — and training.

Not against living targets anymore. Against the lake’s surface.

The newborn, who seemed to have grown slightly larger, swooped down through the air with her scythe-arms extended.

A cross-shaped instant kill of such flawless precision that the sickle weasel felt genuine, heartfelt admiration emerged in the sky — and was reflected perfectly down onto the lake’s surface. Silently. Impossibly clean. The lake split open in a perfect cross. Even if the sickle weasel had made the same attempt, it could not have done better.

This ultra-perfect instant kill was not something that could be executed casually at will.

“You absolute dunce! You’ve been practicing this pitiful technique for ages and you still can’t get it right — didn’t I tell you what I wanted? I’m not asking you to split the lake open! The lake surface needs to stay still — not one ripple, not one crack, not one split! I want the sky split, not the lake. Do you understand what split the sky means? You’re just a complete dunce. Don’t cry — go practice immediately. If you haven’t completed the objective by the end of today, no dinner!” Yueyang’s exasperated scolding carried clearly through the air.

The sickle weasel, crouching in the undergrowth, reeled.

The Death Reaper Mantis wiped her eyes and went back to practicing — perfect instant kill after perfect instant kill appearing on the lake’s surface, and yet achieving Yueyang’s requirement of splitting the sky while leaving the lake completely undisturbed remained out of reach.

The sickle weasel had no words.

If it weren’t afraid of revealing its location, it genuinely wanted to jump out, grab the young man by the neck, and shake him while demanding he stop being so unreasonable.

This level of performance would have devastated anyone, and he was still calling it inadequate. If she practiced her way to splitting the sky while the lake stayed still — the sickle weasel might as well walk into the lake and drown itself.

Hour after hour. Attempt after attempt.

Night was falling.

When the exhausted Death Reaper Mantis finally produced a sky-splitting cross instant kill — but lost control of the follow-through at the last moment and the lake surface, which had initially remained still, ended up split into four sections — the sickle weasel’s jaw physically hit the ground.

She actually managed to split the sky with the lake barely moving.

“That barely qualifies as passing. A simple technique like this requiring so much practice, and you still can’t control the ending — are you putting any thought into what you’re doing? Fine, rest for tonight. Tomorrow we’re moving on — can’t waste more time on basic techniques. Higher standards tomorrow. The target is drawing two crossed roses in the sky — each petal requires nine distinct spatial fractures, with a cross-rune formation connecting the whole. If you can achieve that, it might actually be useful in combat. Now stop that ridiculous crying-and-smiling — you’re embarrassing yourself. Go eat.”

Yueyang’s dissatisfaction evident, he delivered the scolding, then relented just enough to coax the Death Reaper Mantis back with a gentler tone.

The sickle weasel, still in the undergrowth, pressed its forehead against a tree trunk and began banging it rhythmically, genuinely considering whether a clean death was preferable to this.

It understood the principle of there always being a greater expert beyond oneself. But watching a newborn war beast match thousands of years of cultivation in a few days — and then surpass it — was a blow with very little to cushion the landing.

What truly made it want to end it all was what Yueyang had said.

Apparently the signature technique it had spent several thousand years creating was, in this person’s estimation, a pitiful basic technique. Was there any point in going on?

What kind of being was this young man?

Even a freak had limits. Surely?

“Shhh!”

Not far behind the sickle weasel, a voice: someone on a unicorn horse, gesturing urgently for silence. It was the resident Longma.

The sickle weasel raised an eyebrow. “What are you doing here?”

Longma pressed a finger to his lips. “Same as you.”

The sickle weasel understood immediately. Longma had been following the young man too — but the natural question arose: the sickle weasel had come because the newborn stole its technique. What had drawn Longma?

Longma read the silent question and produced a bitter smile. “The weaving flight pattern — she stole mine. Earlier than yours.”

Everything clicked into place.

That explained how the newborn had danced through thousands of stampeding wild bulls, earthquakes, magma, meteor showers, tornadoes, the porcupine’s assault, and Toad King’s attacks with such fluid ease. She had already stolen Longma’s signature technique — Light-Chasing Dance Steps — from his unicorn war beast. The familiarity of the movements had nagged at the sickle weasel at the time, but the chaos of battle and the drastic difference in form between a unicorn and a mantis had thrown the connection. The newborn had copied the flight techniques and made them her own.

Looking at the Death Reaper Mantis drifting cheerfully through the air above, the sickle weasel could see she had improved again. Her adaptation of the Light-Chasing Dance Steps now looked even more refined than Longma’s original.

Just like with the Lightning Cross-Kill — a few days of practice and she had surpassed the original creator entirely.

For a moment, the sickle weasel genuinely wanted to grab Longma and weep with him.

They were both war beasts. Why did war beasts differ so enormously?

It was just opening its mouth when Longma made a sharp, urgent gesture for silence.

Both of them suppressed their presence and went still. Less than ten seconds later, an enormous shadow blotted out the sky — the Crimson-Eyed Bat Demon, Toad King’s most capable general. Beyond its own power, this creature had used its extraordinary reproductive rate to breed with various wild bat magical beasts throughout Beast Valley, producing nearly a thousand offspring and forming an entire bat army. While not exceptionally powerful individually, sheer numbers gave it enough group advantage to overwhelm most opponents — making it one of Beast Valley’s dominant forces.

“Why are you so frightened?” the sickle weasel asked, genuinely puzzled. It had no fear of the bat demon, and Longma as a resident certainly shouldn’t either.

“I’m not afraid of the bat demon. I’m afraid of that young man.” Longma looked toward Yueyang, eyes carrying a fear that ran very deep. “You’ve only been following for half a day. I’ve followed for three. More than twenty magical beasts and residents have died at his hands. Whoever gets isolated and found — no chance of survival. You don’t understand — he’s a killing machine. Every kill goes toward boosting that tiny war beast of his. He is the death god sent by heaven to pass judgment on all of us.”

“That can’t be — he can’t attack anyone directly!”

“I can’t explain it either. But just watch.” Longma swallowed nervously. “That idiot bat demon — it’s about to die.”