"He has unleashed his ball of spirit fire. This is not good..." The captain thought to herself, her heart hammering in her chest. Her body stood frozen, as though bound by invisible chains of fear. Her senses sharpened, every detail of the unfolding scene searing into her mind, but her limbs refused to move, locked in place by the overwhelming pressure of the situation.

She watched in helpless awe as the black-clad cultivator floated effortlessly above the charred deck of the magic ship. Three radiant balls of spirit fire swirled menacingly around him, their violent flames dancing in the air like living entities, eager to strike.

"So this is the power of three balls of spirit fire... I am completely outclassed. There is no way I can fight against this..." The captain's thoughts grew bleak as she felt her own strength waver. The heat radiating from the black-clad cultivator was unbearable, pressing in on her, making her feel small, insignificant in comparison. The brilliant flames circled him with an almost mocking grace, their raw energy contrasting sharply with her own diminishing Nascent ball of spirit fire.

She tried to focus, to keep her concentration, but with each passing second, her sphere grew dimmer and smaller, as though consumed by the oppressive force of the cultivator's flames.

The black-clad figure, seemingly amused by her futile resistance, hovered above the wreckage, his expression one of smug superiority. He did not immediately strike; instead, he relished the moment, allowing her to marvel at the terrifying beauty of his mastery over the flames.

He felt an almost uncontrollable urge to cross his arms over his chest, to bask in the glory of his own power, but at the last moment, he reined in the impulse, a thin, calculating smile playing at the edges of his lips.

His feet hovered just above the charred deck of the ship, his presence like a dark cloud, casting a shadow over the entire scene. His aura was suffocating, overwhelming everything in its vicinity.

Meanwhile, far from the center of this deadly confrontation, Grey, who had been violently blasted out of the magic ship, struggled to regain his footing. He leaped and landed precariously at the edge of the ship, his eyes wide with a mixture of shock and dread. The heat from the black-clad cultivator was so intense that it felt as if the very air itself was on fire.

Grey had instinctively wrapped his body in the frosty aura of his Qi, using it to stave off the scorching heat that threatened to consume him. Without the chilling aura surrounding him, he knew he would have already been burnt to a crisp, reduced to nothing but ash. Yet even now, despite the distance between him and the cultivator, the air around him was stifling, pressing down on him like a heavy weight.

His legs trembled, his knees buckling as the oppressive heat made every breath feel like an impossible task. He fought against the overwhelming urge to flee, knowing that if he turned tail now, the black-clad cultivator would come for him next. He couldn't abandon the captain. Not now.

His thoughts raced as he struggled to keep himself composed. He scanned the scene, desperately searching for a way out, a way to counter this seemingly insurmountable power. His eyes flicked toward the captain, still standing motionless under the weight of the cultivator's fiery aura. The captain was like a puppet on the verge of collapse, her nascent ball of spirit fire flickering weakly as it struggled to maintain its form under the suffocating pressure of the cultivator's flames.

Grey knew the captain would not last long like this. If she couldn't regain her focus and strengthen her ball of spirit fire, it would be extinguished in moments. She was on the brink of being overwhelmed. But Grey had no solutions. His flames, though strong, were nothing compared to the raw intensity of the black-clad cultivator's spirit fire. He needed more than just his own strength to stand a chance.

The thought of his sentient Soul Weapon flashed across his mind. The cursed scythe, that terrifying weapon which had nearly decapitated him in their last encounter. Grey quickly dismissed the idea. Even though it was a powerful tool, it was still in the early stages of its Foundation Establishment, and its unpredictable nature made him fear it would turn against him, just as it had before.

"What can I do?" Grey thought desperately. "I'm not strong enough to fight him head-on."

Suddenly, a loud splash broke through his thoughts, followed by the sound of waves being displaced. He looked toward the source, his gaze narrowing in surprise. There, not far from the magic ship, a small, barely noticeable vessel bobbed on the waves—a ship no bigger than a toy.

At the helm was a young girl with pigtails, her face flushed with excitement. Her wide eyes were fixed on the scene unfolding before her, her expression one of naïve wonderment. She seemed utterly unaware of the danger looming over her.

The girl was no older than thirteen or fourteen, her level of cultivation barely reaching the Ninth stage of Qi Accumulation. She had not detected Grey's presence in time, nor had she sensed the growing peril surrounding the captain.

Before she could react, a cloaked figure suddenly appeared in front of her, moving with incredible speed. Grey's heart skipped a beat as he saw the figure deliver a swift blow to the back of the girl's head. She crumpled instantly, unconscious, her small body tumbling toward the ground.

Grey, driven by an instinct he could not fully comprehend, rushed forward, catching the girl before she could hit the deck. His hands gripped her with surprising gentleness, but his face remained hard and cold, the weight of his decision pressing heavily on him.

He scanned the deck once more, his gaze locking onto the black-clad cultivator who was still floating above them.

"I have her in my arms," Grey called out, his voice filled with an edge of defiance that surprised even him. "If you harm the captain, I'll end her life."

He spoke the words with the conviction of someone who had no other option. The threat felt strange on his tongue, almost foreign to him. But he had no time to second-guess himself. He knew the cultivator would not hesitate to strike, and he had to act now, no matter how improbable his words might sound.

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