Excuse Me

Two speedboats raced across the Pearl River, their roaring engines echoing far across the empty waters.

On the trailing vessel, a thuggish man with a face full of scars gripped the railing anxiously, his curses torn apart by the river winds:

"Damn it, we'll burn through all our fuel at this rate! Old Kuai, let me shoot out their engine!"

The man called Old Kuai, steering the boat, didn't even glance back as he snapped coldly,

"Shut it! You want to throw a party for the cops with that piece of junk? We're mercenaries, not suicide soldiers. Know your worth."

The scarred man flushed red and slumped back into his seat, still muttering under his breath.

Amid the chaos, the man at the stern remained silent.

He ignored his companions' bickering, his focus entirely locked onto the shrinking silhouette ahead.

The stench of churned river water mixed with diesel fumes filled the air, but he didn’t seem to notice.

Slowly, he raised his hand, palm aimed at the fleeing target.

The air seemed to solidify around his fingers, the temperature dropping sharply.

"Air Pump!"

An invisible surge of compressed air erupted from his palm, crossing the dozen-meter gap in an instant.

Where the force passed, the turbulent waves smoothed unnaturally, leaving behind an eerie trail of calm water.

The rear of the lead speedboat jerked violently as if struck by a sledgehammer, veering sharply to the right.

Xia Zhi, already near exhaustion, had no time to react to this supernatural attack. A scream tore from her throat as she lost control.

The speedboat carved a wild arc across the river before slamming into a moss-covered embankment.

"SCREECH—!"

The ear-splitting scrape of metal and splintering wood drowned out the engine noise. Half the vessel lodged into the muddy bank, shuddering violently before the engine died completely.

"Holy hell, that’s way better than a gun," the scarred man blurted, gaping at the scene.

The man who had used the ability slumped weakly against the boat, merely waving a hand to signal they finish the job.

The impact had nearly shattered Xia Zhi’s already spent body, but she forced herself to stay conscious, gripping her empty gun tightly.

She raised the barrel, aiming shakily at the approaching figures.

The scarred man looked her over with open disdain, his Mandarin rough and accented:

"Quit the act. I’ll bet that gun’s empty."

His gaze lingered on her briefly before shifting to the unconscious little girl beside her. Greed flared in his eyes.

Why the employer wanted the kid alive didn’t matter.

All he cared about was the millions waiting once he delivered her.

Dismissing Xia Zhi, he stepped past her and reached for the child.

The moment he got close, Xia Zhi pulled the trigger.

"Pfft."

No muzzle flash. No gunshot. Just the faintest whisper of displaced air.

An invisible bullet tore through the chamber and pierced the man’s heart.

His greed froze mid-expression. He glanced down in disbelief at the bloody hole in his chest before collapsing, lifeless.

But Xia Zhi’s face paled further.

Her psychic ability—condensing bullets and firing them silently—was one of her deadliest tricks.

Effective when it counted. But now, she had nothing left.

"Son of a—!"

Old Kuai reacted instantly, raising his pistol and squeezing the trigger.

Click.

The hammer struck empty air. A misfire.

Xia Zhi’s heart sank. She couldn’t muster a second bullet. All she could do was watch as he cleared the jam.

She knew the moment his gun worked again, she was dead.

Old Kuai yanked the slide back. A live cartridge ejected, clattering onto the deck. He took aim at her forehead.

Click.

Another misfire.

"If the next nine rounds all jam, I’ll let you live," he growled, face twitching.

He racked the slide again. And again.

Click. Eject. Click.

Fresh bullets rolled across the deck like discarded toys, his gun reduced to a useless hunk of metal.

By the ninth attempt, veins bulged on his forehead.

"GODDAMMIT!" He hurled the pistol aside and snatched the dead man’s gun.

One gun malfunctioning? Fine. But two?

Click.

The sound seemed to explode inside his skull.

"This is some cursed sh—"

The silent man on the boat finally spoke. "Not cursed. Someone’s interfering. She might be a dual-ability user. Use a blade!"

Old Kuai lunged, drawing a combat knife from his boot. The steel flashed toward Xia Zhi’s throat—

And froze mid-air, as if hitting an invisible barrier.

"Correct. Someone is interfering." A calm male voice cut through the tension. "But it’s not her. It’s me."

Xia Zhi lifted her heavy eyelids. A middle-aged man in a polo shirt stood before her, his features oddly blurred.

With a flick of his wrist, the thick mooring ropes on the boat slithered to life, coiling around Old Kuai and the others in an instant, binding them helplessly.

"Who... are you?" Xia Zhi forced out the words, but the man only offered a gentle reply.

"Rest now. You’re safe."

Exhaustion swallowed her, and she blacked out. The mercenaries slumped unconscious too.

Lin Mo’s spiritual sense swept over them—especially Xia Zhi and the man who’d manipulated the air.

Their common trait? Abnormal psychic energy.

He never expected supernatural abilities in this world.

And the reason? Excessively strong mental power allowing control over certain elements.

[Host is mistaken. These individuals possess special spiritual roots. Their psychic energy merely channels those roots without cultivation.]

Well then. So "superpowers" were just diluted spiritual roots.

"System! What about me? What’s my spiritual root?"

The system’s scoff echoed in his mind.

[You? Sorry, Host has zero spiritual roots.]

"...Never mind."