This was the , a Grade-3 alchemical construct. And it was hunting.
Ten paces. Five. Two.
"You're going into the press, whether you like it or not," Qingzi muttered, holding the wriggling, pale gourd against the counter.
She looked down at her hands. They were no longer the hands of a starving girl. They were the hands of a harvester.
"I prefer a more... efficient method." She produced a small, intricate device from her sleeve—a manual press made of a strange, silver metal. She placed the fruit inside and pulled a lever. A stream of golden liquid poured into a crystal goblet, catching the dappled sunlight.
This was the , a Grade-3 alchemical construct. And it was hunting.
Ten paces. Five. Two.
"You're going into the press, whether you like it or not," Qingzi muttered, holding the wriggling, pale gourd against the counter.
She looked down at her hands. They were no longer the hands of a starving girl. They were the hands of a harvester.
"I prefer a more... efficient method." She produced a small, intricate device from her sleeve—a manual press made of a strange, silver metal. She placed the fruit inside and pulled a lever. A stream of golden liquid poured into a crystal goblet, catching the dappled sunlight.
