The sky was peaceful again.
A floating cloud platform lazily drifted above the ruined battlefield. Atop it, Gale stood in an apron.
Yes—an apron.
Flicker lay nearby, sprawled across a silk pillow, tail twitching in vague satisfaction.
"Alright, Flicker," Gale muttered, flipping a sizzling cut of Prime Beast steak over an open flame. "We robbed some poor, hardworking adventurers blind. What's next? Open a food truck?"
Flicker didn't respond, of course. She never did.
But her nose twitched at the smell. Slight approval.
"Mmm. See? Told you this thing would taste better than it looked. Prime Core Steak à la Goku. You don't get this on Earth."
He sprinkled crushed Frostleaf, followed by a fine dusting of Ground Salt—both rare herbs he had shamelessly yoinked from a noble's pantry months ago. The scent was divine. Thick, meaty, spiced with something that probably broke six culinary laws of alchemy.
Flicker finally moved. Her head rose, eyes sharp now.
"Too late," Gale warned, flipping a bite-sized cube into his mouth. "Chef's tax."
Flicker launched a cold glare that could probably freeze magma.
"Oi, I made that food for you," Gale grinned. "You gonna bite me over one cube?"
She inched closer anyway. A paw landed lightly on the table. A direct challenge.
"Oh no," Gale said dramatically, holding up a fork. "Is the little snow goblin trying to bully the cook?"
Flicker opened her mouth, ever so slightly. Just enough for a gleam of teeth.
"Right, right. Guest first."
He slid a fresh piece onto a smaller plate, presented it with a napkin and bow. "Here you go, Your Majesty."
Flicker inspected it. Then, with the air of an empress judging a peasant's offering, took the bite with impeccable grace.
Two seconds later, her ears twitched in bliss.
"I know, right? The fat content in Prime Core meat is insane. I could bottle this as perfume and people would cry."
Silence stretched for a moment. Only the sound of meat sizzling and wind whistling past the cloud-edge.
Gale leaned back, sighing.
"You know… this is nice. No nukes, no meetings, no drones stalking me every night."
Flicker flicked her tail once, then twice. She approved.
"Still," Gale muttered, flipping another slice, "I'm not here just to chill. The 'Silver Frost Coalition'... there's something I want from them. Something buried."
He stared out at the endless sky.
"But not today. Today, we eat stupidly expensive meat, drink stolen wine, and bully people from the sky."
The fox let out a small huff of air that might have been laughter.
They clinked their cups—well, Gale clinked, Flicker ignored—and resumed lunch.
Far below, another salvage team quietly revised their career plans.
It had been almost three months since he left the village. A lot had happened along the way, most notably earning him the title "Robber with BigStick" through his hard work over the past few weeks. Of course, it was mostly just for fun; he never actually killed anyone. Not because he couldn't bring himself to, but simply because it wasn't necessary. A "little beating" that left them with thirty-six fractures and life-threatening injuries certainly didn't count.
At first, he'd thought he was just a little stronger than average, but he was very wrong. Most people in this world couldn't use Spark as easily as he could. Moreover, the elements they could control were limited by their talent and resonance. The most common use of Spark was "Enhance," which was typically restricted to making things a bit harder, sharper, or smoother. For combat or crafting artifacts, more than basic "Enhance" was needed—it required elemental infusion.
For instance, an Enhance-type ability with Geo infusion would make something two times harder and stronger than normal usage, with similar effects for other elements. Want to run faster? You'd need to be proficient in both the Enhance type and the Anemo element. And so on.
To understand Spark, there are three core types: Create, Manipulate, and Enhance. While basic Spark usage is common. If we use previous world standard it would be akin to a student graduating school—achieving true flexibility and proficiency is a matter of immense time and hard work, with mastery levels progressing like academic degrees, from graduate to bachelor, master, and even PhD. Guilds and similar associations rank users from C to EX based on their proficiency and power.
Beyond these, there are special Spark types called Prime and Genesis. These are exceptionally rare and unique to individuals, purely a matter of being born with them, or bloodline inheritance and not something that can be gained through effort. Prime Spark is generally incredibly powerful and grows alongside its user, though it vanishes after the user's death. Genesis Spark often features two or more stages, with advanced forms typically requiring a Phantom Key—a unique, personal catalyst whose method of acquisition varies wildly (some find it eating, some sleeping, others through immense trials or even death). Genesis users can usually sense their specific requirements, and Phantom Keys can be passed down if the recipient has a similar Genesis Spark type, a method royal and noble families often use to preserve their strategic resources and combat power. The completeness of the inheritance depends on the recipient's Spark control; otherwise, they'll receive a fragmented key that needs nurturing.
While Prime and Genesis users are generally superior to average Spark users, simply possessing one doesn't guarantee absolute dominance. A user proficient enough in combining and tinkering with the three main Spark types can still play a huge role and even overpower these rare individual
But Gale? He could use all the elements imaginable, proficiently. Not to mention his control over Spark energy was as natural as breathing. So, yeah, he was pretty overpowered now. In a one-on-one fight, he practically outclassed most fighters and professionals including Prime type and Genesis type spark user.
And so, this scene unfolded: a lazy man who'd discovered his road to becoming a billionaire lay in Frostveil Grove, a forest teeming with natural resources. It was a bustling hub for salvage guilds, treasure hunters, adventurers, and merchants, making it Gale's personal gold mine where he could "dig" (or rather, rob) his riches. No matter the world, money was universal, and for a broke—and over-broken—powerhouse, a little bullying was perfectly acceptable, right?
Though he might rationalize it that way, Gale still had to be wary of high-level teams. The Spark technology and artifacts they wielded were no joke. With enough powerful artifacts or "prompts," even a kid could bypass traditional limitations and unleash super-tier Spark spells. This world wasn't so different from his old one, even more advanced in some aspects. But, guns were rarely seen unless wielded by a large guild, as their raw materials weren't as cheap or abundant as in his former world. What reassured Gale, however, was that despite its modern fantasy feel, he didn't have to worry about not being able to find "grass". He'd never seen or heard of devastating weapons like nukes. Yet? Who knew, but if they existed, they'd better pray the "Grass Guardian" never saw them. Gale was dead serious; he'd go through any trouble to destroy such a thing if it ever appeared. He wasn't about to let this world be polluted, especially when he had the power to stop it.
Gale was even considering forming a team dedicated to world peace – a group proficient in tracking dangerous, taboo items, spells, and artifacts, either to destroy them or keep them for himself. He was totally not thinking about using them himself. Well, maybe just a little. Although Gale generally disliked destruction, it was undeniably satisfying when he was the one doing it. A little boom and bang wouldn't hurt this world much, right? After all, it was a fantasy world; it had to be much stronger, capable of withstanding such forces. Not to boast, but the inventory of spells Gale could use included tons of taboo ones, comparable to nuclear weapons or even stronger. He'd been itching to use them, just to let things go boom and see the art of explosion.
"Alright, Yoshi, I've decided to create a team dedicated to protecting world peace," Gale announced. "It'll be called 'UN'! Nah... just kidding, that's lame. The team will be known as Oracle." He rubbed his chin. "Well, team name's set. All that's left is to recruit some slaves... I mean, team members!"
His search for such candidates led him to Highspire's central plaza, where a restless crowd murmured under a sky that drifted snow down like confetti for a celebration no one really wanted to attend. The gallows platform, stark and crude, had been set up on the public square, a cold marble fixture built into the slope of the Frostcradle Mountains.
Atop the platform stood a single man, bound in enchanted iron shackles, his coat torn, his white hair ruffled from days without grooming. His breath misted softly in the cold air.
Rune Val Kane—Spear of the Wind, famed Anemo-type Spark user, undefeated in duels, destroyer of walls, accidental intoxicator of cities… was about to die.
"Any last words?" the officiator barked, stepping forward, scroll in hand.
Rune opened one bleary eye and coughed. "Yeah... never trust an alcohol that smells like victory and burns like betrayal." He then muttered, "Death sentence, huh,"
It hadn't been his fault. Not entirely. So what if he'd decided to refine his new "Dry Tempest Special" right next to the city's main aqueduct? So what if a couple dozen barrels had tipped over because a bird startled him? And so what if an entire city district spent two days dancing naked under the moonlight while sobbing about their lost cats and exes? The Archon—he just didn't appreciate true culture.
"Uncivilized bastard," Rune grumbled.
In summery, He dumped super-alcohol into the city's main aqueduct, and now even the dogs were still hungover.
The Primarch had spoken clearly: "Such lawless indulgence warrants death. By Spark and Order, Highspire must remain sober."
Rune had expected to escape easily—he always did. But the Dry Tempest Special, his newest creation, had a flaw. If the brewing process went beyond 120 hours, the alcohol didn't just intoxicate.
It debuffed.
The crowd stirred as the executioner approached. A heavy guillotine shimmered with a dull, enchanted gleam.
Just as the executioner lifted the blade—
"STOP."
A voice rang out. Light and clear, almost amused.
Everyone turned. Including the guards.
A man stepped forward through the crowd, utterly out of place.
Golden boots. Lazy cloak. Ridiculous fox mask with a toothy grin painted on it. And beside him, a pristine white fox with eyes like glassed winter storm.
He held a stick that is too large for his body.
"…Who the hell are you?" a guard barked.
The man tapped the mask with a single gloved finger. "I go by many names. Some call me the Wandering Cloud, others, the Gourmet Thief. But for today—" he struck a ridiculous pose "—I am Sun Goku of the SpankGodAss Faction! Here to rescue this fine alcoholic!"
"...What?" Rune blinked.
"What?"
The white fox yawned.
The guards didn't move.
Until Gale raised a single hand—and snapped his fingers.
That was when the sky cracked. A beam of pure, searing blue light surged down from the clouds, spiraling with wind and shimmering flames, striking the ground just behind the gallows. The earth trembled. Snow exploded upward in a perfect column.
People screamed. Even the Archon, seated in his high balcony, half-rose from his crystal throne.
Rune stared, eyes wide.
It wasn't a real spell. Not really.
But no one knew that. The real culprit, Flicker, from her perch beside Gale, blinked once—and reality bent just a little. The illusion was too real. The blast left a seared crater, complete with melting frost and shrapnel that shimmered like enchanted debris.
Gale leaned in and whispered to a guard, "Wouldn't want to know what the next beam hits, would you?"
Guards fell back instantly. One even ran.
Others might not know, but Rune clearly knew who did it. He whistled, still tied up. "Y'know, I think I might be in love."
"Sorry, she is taken," Gale replied casually.
Flicker rolled her eyes.
Moments later, Rune's shackles were undone by an invisible blade of wind—Gale's work. Rune stumbled forward, barely catching himself.
"I thought I was hallucinating again," Rune muttered.
"Nope. You're just drunk and useless. But you're funny," Gale said with a grin, helping him down the stairs. "Welcome to Oracle."
"Is that a cult?"
"Nah. We don't worship anyone. We bully them instead."
Rune laughed—then hiccuped. "I think I'm in."