In the magical world, true flight only begins at the Sixth Level.
Once, Empress Medusa—the Great Empress of Death—had also dared to dream of touching the heavens and uncovering the land of the gods.
But the sky was simply too far away.
"According to historical records," Grantham mused, "Empress Medusa once reached the very limits of the sky. Just like the deepest underground, it was around thirty thousand meters from the surface."
Grantham sat on his throne, brows furrowed in contemplation. His tone was cautious, thoughtful—he knew the risks of chasing divinity.
"Even for Medusa, flying that far was exhausting beyond measure. She reached thirty thousand meters, hovered along the ceiling of the sky for a short while, then was forced to descend from sheer exhaustion."
That had been the limit of even a legendary figure like her.
"But I'm not her," Grantham said confidently. "Back then, she lacked the means. But I have the Hanging Gardens of Babylon. It can fly indefinitely. I will be the one to break through the ceiling of the sky."
With his witches gathered respectfully at his sides, Grantham stood atop the alchemical marvel of his creation. He looked up into the endless sea of blue and whispered to himself:
"If there are gods above, then there must be a gap—somewhere in the firmament. That gap is the doorway to the land of the gods."
...You're thinking too much.
A sky gap?
No such thing.
Xu Zhi was at a loss for words.
From their perspective, Xu Zhi was a colossal being ten thousand meters tall. The sky, thirty thousand meters high, was merely three times his size—a vast but finite ceiling enclosing the world.
There was no real sky, no underground. No exit. No gods. Just a lie on top of a lie.
If they failed to find any irregularity, then his whole story would fall apart. The gods in heaven? The divine realms? It was all fabricated—just a sandbox game in his orchard.
So if they were determined to find a "gap" in the heavens...
Then Xu Zhi would give them one.
In his yard, he calmly wheeled out a massive black industrial fan, plugged it into a power strip, and aimed it toward the air above the sandbox.
"Fortunately, I planned ahead," he muttered. "I did leave a gap in the ceiling... but now I'll blow everything away with this."
By my will, the wind of the heavens shall descend! Any mortal who dares approach the divine threshold shall be cast back to earth!
The divine wind... came from a giant electric fan.
The "portal between worlds"? Just a white PVC pipe buried in the ground.
It was funny if you thought about it.
Kingdom of Babylon, Year 429
The Hanging Gardens of Babylon had spent five months skimming the ceiling of the sky, descending three times to refuel. By now, they had explored more than half the known heavens.
In the ancient Sumerian era, explorers had taken decades riding the swiftest beasts just to reach the world's edge.
Now, Babylon could survey the entire sky in a little over a year.
All thanks to the wonders of alchemy.
All thanks to the Hanging Gardens of Babylon.
Proof that technology was productivity—and knowledge, power.
On this day, Grantham stood at the edge of the flying fortress, gripping the guardrail as he gazed into the endless blue.
Then he saw it.
"What... is that?"
Far off in the distance, the air twisted violently. Transparent currents surged together to form a monstrous, spiraling tempest.
Even a kilometer away, the enormous alchemical ship was trembling under the storm's might.
"Your Majesty!" cried the witches in alarm, rushing to his side.
Grantham laughed wildly, the wind pulling at his robes. "Seven months of searching... and I've found it! So it's true! A gap in the sky! Beyond that storm—lies the realm of the gods!"
Gripping his staff in one hand and a shield in the other, he stared deeply into the whirling chaos ahead.
Behind him, the witches exchanged worried glances.
"Your Majesty," one of them whispered. "That storm is... too dangerous."
"Yes," Grantham replied, eyes never leaving the storm. "It is terrifying."
Even from this distance, its sheer force was enough to make one's breath catch. To enter it would be suicide.
But he clenched his fists, fire in his eyes.
"I've come this far—how can I retreat now?"
He was at the peak of the Sixth Level. But unlike Medusa, his talent was limited. He couldn't reach the Seventh Level, and he knew it. He had no illusions.
His strength lay not in cultivation, but in science.
In alchemy.
He had never even developed his own spells—still relying on the ancient magic of the Three Witches.
And yet...
Wearing the alchemical avatar of "Grantham," he could rival even a peak Level Seven. He was now as powerful as Gilgamesh, the greatest hero in history.
"When Hermes, the God of Wisdom, descended," Grantham whispered, "he said Gilgamesh held the power of a Demigod... That means I do too. Maybe I really can cross this storm. Maybe I can reach... 'Achilles'—the land of the gods."
His heart surged with ambition.
He turned to his followers.
"Wait here."
With that, he leapt into the sky.
Each step forward was like walking up an invisible staircase, ascending toward the roaring storm above.
BOOM!
The storm howled.
"Today, I—Grantham—come to seek an audience with the gods of heaven!"
CLAP!
Invisible winds slashed at his flesh like scythes, tearing at his alchemical body. But still, he advanced.
"Your Majesty!"
"He's become so powerful!"
The witches cried out in awe behind him.
Xu Zhi, watching from afar, frowned slightly.
"He's stronger than I thought," he muttered, uneasy. "This fan isn't your average household appliance. It's industrial-grade—cost me over 20,000 yuan. I was saving it to simulate a biblical apocalypse..."
The wind could flip open a dictionary and blow it clean across the yard.
And this little ant was actually resisting it?
Xu Zhi's expression turned serious.
"Second gear."
He clicked the remote.
The fan roared louder, its force now enough to strip leaves from trees and knock over furniture.
And yet...
Tread.
Grantham stepped forward again.
"I am Grantham! I transmigrated into this world and became the Emperor of Alchemy! I've never lost once! What is this 'Path to Heaven'—what are foreign gods—to me!?"
His voice thundered through the heavens. Magic flared all around him as he unleashed spell after spell:
"The Guardian of Spring!"
"Wind Barrier!"
"Invisible Aura!"
"Death Barrier!"
A kaleidoscope of colors lit the sky. Grantham gritted his teeth, gripping his staff tight.
Tread.
Another step.
"In this world—no one can stop me. Not even the gods!"
Xu Zhi clicked the remote again.
"Fifth gear."
BOOM!!!
The fan unleashed its full power.
A typhoon-level gale exploded outward, strong enough to uproot trees and send benches flying.
Grantham could endure no longer.
BANG!
The storm crushed him. The Emperor of Alchemy plummeted from the sky, battered and broken.
Panicked witches scrambled to cast spells and catch him mid-fall.
Lying there in their arms, Grantham's face was twisted with disbelief.
"To think... after all I've achieved... I would fall here today."
He looked up at the eternal storm, eyes filled with sorrow.
"I am invincible in this world. Yet I can't even step into the land of the gods."
He could sense it now—this was no ordinary wind.
"This isn't just a spell... It's some world-class alchemy. The storm has a seemingly infinite power source. It could blow for thousands of years without fading."
He was nothing to them.
An ant.
In the eyes of the gods, he was a speck of dust—a fleeting mortal whose entire life would pass in the blink of an eye.
Weakness is the original sin.
"If I can just reach Level Eight—the Mythical realm—I might be able to do it. I might finally cross that storm."
Grantham's fists clenched.
He turned away, his silhouette heavy with despair.
"But first... I must reach the Seventh Level, like Medusa."
Excerpt from "The Spear of Witchcraft"
In the year 429 of the Kingdom of Babylon, Emperor Grantham took the Hanging Gardens to the heavens in search of the gods. He reached the Eye of the Storm—Gigantes—but was repelled and could not cross into the divine realm.