"...This is a good chance for you. Don’t miss it. Take the fifty," Blackie said with an unyielding tone.
Woodie tilted her head thoughtfully, then tweeted in her clear, crisp voice:
"Since you’re sweet and always kind to , Woodie reluctantly accepts the proposal. But I have one condition."
Blackie smiled, amused.
"Na it."
Woodie’s eyes glead mischievously.
"Those three brothers of mine—" she pointed her wing at the hovering woodpeckers, "—they picked on before, siding with the others. I want to teach them a lesson. I want to fight all three of them at once. Can I?"
Blackie paused, considering it seriously.
Then he nodded.
"Go ahead. But wait until they’re done with their ranking battle. It’ll be soon."
He couldn’t bla her.
They had picked on their little sister. It was ti they learned a proper lesson.
John, observing everything from his seat, grinned widely.
Excitent buzzed through his veins.
Yes! That’s it! Watching battles like this is pure joy.
Hmm... maybe after today’s disciple induction, I should organize regular battle competitions—weekly, monthly, yearly tournants. It’ll drive their growth faster, sharpen their instincts. Plus, I’ll learn a lot from observing their magical evolutions.
In his mind, he was already concocting a foolproof plan—a grand blueprint for a battle-hardened, elite clan.
anwhile, in the sky, the skirmish among the three woodpeckers reached its end.
A pecking order was clearly established.
The one who always stuck close to Blackie erged victorious, panting but triumphant.
"Alright, Woodie, you can fight them now," Blackie said, voice stern.
He then turned to the three brothers and added coldly,
"You three were clearly wrong for bullying our little sister. Now, get ready—and try not to get your butts kicked too badly. Good luck."
A trace of anger undercut his words.
The three woodpeckers visibly tensed up.
They had heard about Woodie’s strength and magical talent... but now, facing her head-on? It was a whole different story.
Still, they couldn’t back down.
One by one, they ignited their innate skills:
Iron Wings Skill — thick gray tal encased the first brother’s wings, gleaming with a cold sheen.
Ground Spiker / Graphite Wings Skill — the second’s wings were layered in jagged, dense graphite, sharp enough to cut the air.
Copper Wings Skill — the third’s feathers turned a rich burnished orange, humming with earthy resilience.
They flapped their heavy wings, tal grinding faintly against the air.
John leaned forward, laughing.
"Hah! A battle of tals versus wood! I’ve been anticipating this!"
His voice bood over the clearing.
"Alright, listen up! You have full permission to use all your powers—BUT," he raised a stern finger, "you only have three minutes. Not a second longer. Understand?"
The three tal-armored woodpeckers nodded grimly.
Woodie simply smiled sweetly.
And the battle began.
She whistled once, crisp and bright.
At the tip of the mountain, the giant tree—guardian of the summit—began to shake, as if awakened by her call. Its thick leaves rustled and branches swayed wildly, brimming with excitent.
She whistled again.
This ti, hundreds of roots erupted from the ground, each as thick as a king cobra, their expandable tails coiling and lashing. Without hesitation, they shot toward the three woodpeckers like javelins.
The three peckers sensed the danger instantly and dodged with sharp reflexes, narrowly evading the first barrage.
But it was only the beginning.
From all directions, the attacks ca—spear-like thrusts, wide sweeps, whips from the sides and back. The roots multiplied, budding new offshoots until their numbers swelled into hundreds. A tangled web of deadly strikes filled the air.
The three woodpeckers’ eyes could no longer keep up with the blinding speed.
They relied purely on instinct and the faint sounds of the roots slicing through the wind to dodge.
Even so, the sheer volu overwheld them.
Roots began to scratch them, lash across their bodies, so even landing direct, bruising hits.
Three minutes... felt like three agonizing years.
They prayed for the tir to end.
"Brothers! Her skill’s too overwhelming! Dodging alone won’t cut it! Let’s join forces and attack the roots directly!" one pecker shouted.
The others didn’t hesitate.
Whether it was a botched plan or not, they had no luxury to ponder. Their butts were literally on the line.
They moved.
Wings coated with tal, they slashed at the incoming roots, covering each other’s blind spots.
At first, their defense was clumsy.
But soon, their movents synchronized—seamless, fluid.
Together, they ford a moving iron phalanx.
John, watching from afar, nodded appreciatively.
A breakthrough.
In the face of overwhelming odds, they had found synergy.
He glanced at Woodie—his sweet, naive pecker—and couldn’t help but grin.
Woodie puffed up her cheeks in frustration.
Her roots weren’t thrashing them as easily anymore.
She chirped angrily, complaining to the giant tree.
As if understanding her grievance, the massive tree shuddered violently.
Even John felt the tremor in the ground beneath him.
Maybe letting them all use their full power wasn’t such a good idea after all.
Luckily... the ti limit was almost up.
All the roots froze mid-air—pausing as if the entire world held its breath.
The three woodpeckers finally had a mont to breathe.
But they knew—it was the calm before the storm.
Suddenly—
Spiked cones began to sprout from every root, hundreds of them, sharp and deadly.
They matured in an instant.
The tree shook once more and fired the cones in a relentless barrage from every direction, turning the sky into a deadly rain.
"Shit! She’s gone completely overboard! No choice—use everything!" one pecker scread.
Without delay, he roared:
"Iron Wings Law: Second Law—Iron Sphere Wall, activate!"
Burning all his reserve mana, the pecker unleashed his trump card.
An enormous iron do sprang up around the three woodpeckers, sealing them inside.
The sky rained spikes.
Each impact hamred against the iron wall, sending sharp, chiming echoes across the mountaintop.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
The relentless battering filled the air. The relentless battering filled the air. Everyone could see the iron do was barely holding the volley of attack coming from the roots.
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