Walking out of the graveyard, Damian savored the power of the Psychic Energy Web.
The Psychic Energy Web is an exceptionally peculiar ability. Using telekinesis and Cosmo, it can siphon all an opponent's energy—kinetic, thermal, electrical—convert it for one's own use, and boost one's strength, speed, and endurance with it.
In battle it's mostly deployed via fists and close combat. This boxing can even siphon Cosmo to feed oneself.
Isn't that the Saint Seiya version of the Star-Absorbing Art?
And Tarantula's finisher, the Wolf Spider Web Punch, can fire invisible energy shots that pass through matter to directly strike the body; upon impact the shots turn into countless energy webs that bind the enemy while draining all their Cosmo to fuel the user.
A ranged version of the Star-Absorbing Art!
When fighting Tarantula, he'd found the skills interesting.
Now it was more than interesting—this was on par with a Gold Saint finisher.
Only, the Psychic Energy Web doesn't just need telekinesis; it needs high-intensity Cosmo to show its might.
The purer and deeper the Cosmo, the stronger the drain.
Tarantula's Arachne never showed the technique's true power. His telekinesis was decent, but his Cosmo was way too weak.
So the finisher never reached its potential.
In contrast, for him it was absolutely adding wings to a tiger.
His Cosmo was already Seventh Sense at its peak. Siphoning a Gold Saint's Cosmo wouldn't be an issue—and the stronger the Cosmo, the higher the intake.
All told, this skill really does rival a Gold Saint finisher.
Now he really wanted a test subject.
"Senior Brother Damian? Welcome back!"
Just as he neared the gravekeeper's quarters, a sweet voice called from the stone house.
Damian blinked. A sweet little loli appeared before him.
Button nose and big eyes, rosy and plush, lashes long, features as delicate as a doll—those limpid eyes full of purity and innocence.
Anyone's first thought would be "so cute."
Yes—this loli cute to the extreme was Pansy.
Hell.
Didn't I just send you away?
Aren't you supposed to be trying to open the box? What are you doing back at the graveyard?
Want to watch your senior brother have a psychotic episode?
"Senior brother, senior brother—welcome back."
Cassios came out after her, ugly face wreathed in smiles, cheeks ruddy, practically blooming.
Looked like he and Pansy got along.
Seeing Cassios spread his arms to hug—
I absorb!
Damian set a palm on him and directly used the "Star-Absorbing Art," knocking him out cold, drawing just a bit of Cosmo and stamina.
Cassios's Cosmo talent was trash—barely Bronze Saint level at best.
Pansy, who had been playing cute, stiffened, stopping in her tracks.
Crap!
Since returning, Damian's "illness" seemed worse. Why was he looking at her like a hungry wolf?
"Pansy, why are you back?"
Damian smiled and reached out to rub the little loli's head, seemingly affectionate.
"I-I'm just staying here for now. Other places in the Sanctuary aren't convenient."
Pansy forced a smile.
But goosebumps rippled over her.
She could feel that weird look and killing intent off him.
"Oh? So you've decided to become Marin's disciple?"
Damian kept tousling the loli's pup head, like kneading a big meatball, turning her sleek black hair into a mess.
"I-I choose to become Ms. Shaina's disciple."
Pansy answered, trembling.
Afraid of getting hit!
She didn't know if this cracked-brain senior brother wanted to get rid of her.
"Since you so want to be Shaina's disciple, I'll test you to see if you're qualified."
Damian said solemnly, "Question one, listen carefully."
"The wise and mighty Hero Ding is wounded and bleeding. With every breath he loses thirty-eight drops of blood, but someone is treating him and with each breath he regains twenty-one drops. The wise and mighty Hero Ding has a total of 5,888 drops of blood. If it runs out, he dies. Question: When does the wise and mighty Hero Ding die?"
"Uh, uh, uh…"
Pansy was stunned. Who's Hero Ding? You?
What kind of question was that? She said, puzzled, "Shouldn't we stop the bleeding first, then heal?"
"Wrong answer!"
Thwack!
A hard knuckle rap cracked onto her forehead. Her little head wobbled side to side; she bared her teeth in pain, eyes welling.
"Question two, listen carefully."
"The wise and mighty Hero Ding is fighting a demon. They're fifty paces apart. The demon, wielding a magic blade, charges at five paces per breath—but he's wounded and slows by one pace every eight paces. The wise and mighty Hero Ding, wielding a salted fish, charges at three paces per breath. Question: When does the wise and mighty Hero Ding die?"
Pansy's mouth twitched. "Why is the wise and mighty Hero Ding wielding a salted fish?"
Ow!
Another knuckle rap, dead center. Pansy clutched her head; crystal tears pooled in her big eyes and her little face twisted in grievance.
"Question three, listen carefully."
"The wise and mighty Hero Ding wants to marry Pandora, but Pandora demands a dowry of one hundred kilos of gold. The wise and mighty Hero Ding can't afford it and has to sell blood to raise money. Then he discovers Pandora flirting with another man. Question: When does the wise and mighty Hero Ding die?"
Pansy gaped. "Senior brother, what kind of questions are these? What grudge do you have with the wise and mighty Hero Ding? Why do you want him dead so badly?"
"And why marry Pandora?"
No sooner had she finished than another knuckle rap landed. Pansy fell silent as tears streamed.
Sob, sob… sob…
She hadn't expected this psycho of a senior brother to start in the moment they met, completely unreasonable.
What kind of "questions" were these—just pretexts to hit her.
A snake‑spirit maniac is a snake‑spirit maniac.
Help!
I'm not staying in this graveyard.
Pansy rubbed her head—three obvious lumps.
She was sure if she stayed, an endless hell awaited.
With Damian the flower‑trampling fiend, there'd be no good days. It wouldn't stop at knuckle raps; who knew what "group jump" and "group poop" improv would come next.
But just then, a cultured, magnetic voice murmured at her ear: "Pansy, I'll ask again—whose disciple do you want to be?"
"It's okay—just answer seriously."
Damian's voice was filled with indescribable gentleness and tolerance. "Say what you need to say to your senior brother. I won't blame you, and neither will Shaina."
"Choosing Marin as your teacher is fine, too."
As he spoke, he patted the loli's head—pure doting.
He flipped faces faster than a page.
Pansy ventured, "Then… I choose Marin as my teacher?"
Damian's smile vanished. He said coldly, "You know how I deal with traitors."
"I knew you were a little traitor. Get that butt up!"
"No!"
Seeing him about to pounce, Pansy reflexively used the Hypnosis God Art—black light flared in her eyes.
This time she had to hypnotize him—make this muscle‑headed senior kill himself on the spot.
Damian immediately sensed a faint, strange ripple from her.
He clutched his belly, turned away, and sighed, "Did I eat something bad? Why do I feel like I'm about to fart?"
Yes—breath to the core, intestines writhing… the Jet Warrior prepared to transform.
Seeing that butt aimed at her, Pansy shuddered—memories of the last face‑full were branded into her soul.
"Waaah—help!"
She spun on her short legs and streaked out of the graveyard.
Damian didn't chase. Watching the long‑haired loli's retreating figure, his gaze was deep.
He had no idea what the little brat had been up to while he was away; hopefully she wouldn't pull anything in the graveyard.
Looked like he needed a mind‑control finisher to counter her—ideally Saga's Genrō Maōken, or a Phoenix Genma Ken to clash head‑on.
He couldn't be "Jet Warrior transforming" every time, could he?
(End of Chapter)
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