Under the uncle’s pitch, Filo tested eighteen different weapons. All unique, but one thing in common: freakin’ bizarre!
By the end, the Flying Axe seemed tame. The later stuff blew Filo’s mind.
A sword that self-detonates? A flashbang that hurts you ten times worse than the enemy? Glasses with X-ray vision that blind you after three uses? Boots that charge three hours for one minute of speed?
Thanks to the uncle’s hyped intro, these weren’t dreams but stark reality.
If Filo hadn’t cut him off, she’d bet he had even weirder gear.
After much ado, they bought three sets of [Super Gear]—yep, the three-hour-charge, one-minute-use stuff.
At least for that minute, it was legit, even solid.
“Master, for that minute, it hits about level 100 gear standards,” Bingpo said, eyeing her set.
If not for Master, she’d never wear this junk. Dragon scales were their best weapon and shield.
Why so many human dragon-slayers? Fame’s one thing, but dragon parts? Pure treasure. Top human gear often mixed dragon scales.
Bingpo and Chiyan in Super Gear looked like iron lumps wrapped in plastic—kinda goofy.
“Barely passable,” Bingpo muttered. Three sets cost one gold coin—cheap, at least for her.
Filo’s crew left the shop. The uncle and his daughter waved from the door.
“Make my gear famous! Do it, and next time, 50% off!” the uncle shouted, hands cupped like a megaphone. Filo’s group sped up.
Ten seconds later, they were gone from his sight.
“They bolted fast… but something’s off, like I forgot something…” the uncle mumbled, pinching his chin.
Up in the loft, three “batteries” for the Super Gear sat on a table.
Too late now—Filo’s crew was long scared off.
“Bah, whatever! I never screw up. Back to forging my dragon-slaying blade,” he said, stomping inside.
His daughter stayed, laughing awkwardly.
Hope next time Dad’s crafting’s normal… and you don’t come back to complain…
She sighed, helpless about her dad.
Meanwhile, Filo’s crew, like Tang Seng’s pilgrimage, hit the road.
Filo wasn’t Tang Monk, though. No Sun Wukong or Sha Wujing here. Piggy Zhu Bajie? Maybe.
Filo dragged the dozing panda. Not heavy, but lugging it was a hassle.
“Bingpo, hold this guy for a bit,” Filo said, turning.
“Uh, Master, let Chiyan! She loves these critters!” Bingpo dodged, passing the panda duty.
Chiyan did like the cutie, so she was game.
While the panda snoozed, Filo and Chiyan did a “handover ceremony.” Done, Filo exhaled, feeling refreshed.
“How far’s the main city?”
“About a thousand kilometers,” Bingpo guessed, no map in hand.
Using her dragon length, wing-flap acceleration, and time spent flying over the main city in dragon form, she ballparked it.
No math whiz dragons, but one slayer’s loot had a scroll: Three Years of Practice, Five Years of Exams.
Bingpo mastered it in her free time, even picking up extra knowledge.
Jealous… that brain’s too OP…
Filo tapped her own head, sighing.
“If I were that smart…” she mused. With that IQ, she’d build auto-bots for laundry and cooking, then lounge, legs up, playing her own games.
…Bit off-topic.
Filo’s brain ran wild sometimes—normal for a salty fish. Not brain-dead, just idle. Even sleeping, she dreamed. Once, she was a Super Saiyan, brawling Frieza for 300 rounds. Goku and Vegeta? In her dream, they went Super Saiyan but just cheered “666” like hype-men.
Back to reality, Filo’s crew trudged on. Night fell, and they hit a mountain peak.
“Let’s stop here. Set up camp, crash for the night,” Filo told Bingpo and Chiyan.
“Got it!” They sprang into action. Five minutes, tops, for a temp shelter.
In those five minutes, for max salty fish vibes later, Filo rolled up her sleeves, found a spot, and punched.
Bang!!!
The ground caved. Cracks spiderwebbed from her fist.
Dense blood threads cleared the debris. Filo raised a hand, palm aimed at the pit.
A blood-red speck formed, gushing Holy Spring water like a waterfall. Xiao Lin’s core, the level-seven Holy Spring, was back!
“Ha~ Hot spring time~ This life’s too…” Filo started.
“Big Sis, we got a problem!” Xiao Lin cut in.
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Tftc!