Chapter 13: Liu Zhi’s Preparations

Liu Zhi’s sudden charge drew the attention of the fish-man who was beating the drum. The moment he saw Liu Zhi, a glimmer of joy appeared in his eyes, and he gurgled out, “Kill him and reclaim the secret key to the Golden City!”

The fish-man standing guard before the drummer glanced back. “Prophet, the situation now—”

“Don’t worry about me, Anut. Go seize the secret key to the Golden City for me. The sea will resound with your name!”

The burly Anut nodded to the drummer, raised his coral trident, and shouted, “Take down that human!”

In the next instant, all the fish-men stationed there raised their weapons and charged toward Liu Zhi. Their movements were far more coordinated than those who had previously assaulted the warship; it was clear they had received professional training. Within a few steps, they shifted from a square defensive formation to a triangular assault array.

Liu Zhi could tell these were elite troops. This explained why the drummer dared to block Tortuga’s defensive fleet—if they were allowed to charge, even if Tortuga’s forces prevailed, their losses would be enormous.

But right now, Liu Zhi had no time to worry about Tortuga. The charging fish-men were less than fifteen meters away, and at their speed, they would reach him in under half a minute.

The enormous fish-man was accelerating even faster. Liu Zhi judged that he couldn’t withstand a single blow from him; to defeat him, he would have to rely on speed and constant evasion.

But the big fish-man was well aware of this. He had brought out all his forces specifically to limit Liu Zhi’s space for maneuver.

Wishful thinking!

Liu Zhi cursed inwardly, pulled the backpack off his shoulders, and shook it open—inside was packed full of quicklime powder.

To keep it dry, Liu Zhi had wrapped the lime tightly with all sorts of parchment. After several days, the lime remained unaffected.

Now, he tossed the entire bag upward, and with a downward swipe of his curved blade, a cloud of white powder scattered below.

Then, Liu Zhi pointed his blade forward.

“Extraordinary ability: Gale!”

With those words, a sharp pain shot through his head, and a powerful wind surged from behind him, sweeping up the quicklime powder and blowing it toward the charging fish-men.

Liu Zhi’s mental strength was his greatest attribute—already at a level of 3.2, three times that of a normal person. The gale’s force and range were thus tripled, instantly enveloping all the elite fish-men.

Including the giant fish-man, every one of them was covered in quicklime powder. Their bodies began to smoke, as if ignited, even emitting occasional sparks.

The fish-men screamed, rolling in the water in an attempt to use the sea’s power to wash away the lime.

But the quicklime inflicted terrible harm. The seawater washed away much of their protective mucus, and their scales softened and grew brittle. Even if they tried to surface, the wind on their bodies felt like blades cutting into them—a pain akin to being doused in acid, impossible to relieve even with water.

Thus, all the elite fish-men, including the giant, dropped their weapons and howled in the water, unable to summon the strength to fight.

Seizing the moment, Liu Zhi swiftly stepped across the fish-men’s heads, charging toward the drummer.

Before he reached the prophet, Liu Zhi retrieved several specialized tools from the pouch at his waist—devices specifically designed for fish-men.

He had developed these during dissections of fish-men, confirming their remarkable efficacy.

The fish-man prophet also saw the chaos not far away. He knew how badly he wanted Liu Zhi dead—and how much Liu Zhi wished the same for him.

He stomped heavily, and the shark beneath him, bearing the drum, prepared to dive.

Though they were near the shallows, the shark’s swimming speed would far outpace Liu Zhi’s running atop the water.

Moreover, Liu Zhi couldn’t keep running across the surface indefinitely; his extraordinary abilities required leverage and breath.

If the prophet could escape, he might still have a chance to counterattack.

But Liu Zhi had anticipated this. The tool he was now grasping at his waist was meant for just such a scenario.

As the shark prepared to dive, Liu Zhi swung his left hand forcefully, tossing the tool toward them.

What he threw was a lump of dried gel, a substance the fish-men collected from seaweed to build their homes. Others might know of it but would pay it no heed.

This gel was made from a mixture of fish-man mucus and materials they gathered, granting it exceptional waterproof qualities. A thick layer spread on fresh seaweed would keep seawater out of their dwellings.

Initially, Liu Zhi hadn’t thought much of the gel, but during experiments targeting fish-man mucus, he discovered its properties. He realized it was highly flammable, much like oil—once ignited, water couldn’t extinguish it.

No wonder attackers would bombard fish-man villages with artillery first.

Once Liu Zhi identified its qualities, he adapted its formula—removing the fish-man mucus, mixing other ingredients in proportion, and crafting dried gel lumps.

Now, Liu Zhi hurled one directly onto the fleeing fish-man prophet.

Regardless of whether he was a system-designated rival or not, he was still a fish-man, with scales and mucus.

The lump struck him, naturally mixing with the mucus on his body, turning into a pale yellow, jelly-like substance.

The prophet sensed something was wrong. He didn’t know what Liu Zhi intended, but anything Liu Zhi threw must have a purpose. He frantically tried to rid himself of the gel.

But the more he struggled, the more mucus he spread. Soon, his body was completely coated in the pale yellow, jelly-like substance, even emitting a fragrant scent of vegetation.

At that moment, Liu Zhi tossed a burning stick—about the thickness of a finger—right onto the prophet’s head. Then—boom!