After that, the boy said, "Man, I think I really overdid it today. If the guild finds out, I'm done for. What do I do… what do I do… hmm, idea! How would anyone even know? If someone powers up here but still can't go anywhere else, then no news will get out. But if someone gets out, then we'll all get caught."
He looked down at the lower world hanging below like a sphere of dim light. Above it, the broken bridge floated—two halves drifting apart, unstable, dangerous. He took a breath, focused, and increased his size. Muscles stretched, bones adjusted, and in a few moments he was large enough to reach both ends at once. He grabbed the left end in one hand, the right in the other. The bridge parts vibrated, throwing off thin arcs of energy. He tightened his grip and brought them together, inch by inch, until the edges aligned.
"Steady," he muttered.
He pressed the ends into place and held them there. Locks along the edges clicked. The structure settled. A faint glow ran across the length of the bridge as stabilizers synced. The shaking slowed, then stopped. He let go and watched. The bridge stayed together. He nodded once to himself.
Then the thought hit him: "If people leave, will they die instantly? No… I'll have to make this more stable."
He didn't want to push too far, but leaving it half-done would be worse. "For that, I'll have to play a little with the world principles," he said, more to steady his own nerves than anything else.
He reached toward the lower world and touched its underlying rule-set. He didn't rewrite anything big. He only adjusted what needed to be adjusted: a slight correction to how energy circulated, a small increase in durability so sudden changes wouldn't break the balance, and a minor fix to reduce stress around the bridge's anchor points. As soon as he did, the world responded. The spiritual qi rose, not wildly, not in a burst, but in a controlled, steady way. Rivers ran calmer. The air felt fuller. The strain that had been building around the connection points eased.
"I've increased the size, but for everything to function properly, the core quality also needs to improve."
He moved closer to the world's core. It pulsed faintly—stable, but a little dull. He didn't want to swap it or rebuild it; that would be obvious. He needed a quick boost, just enough to handle the new load. He cut his finger, let a single drop of blood fall, and guided it into the core. The change was immediate. The core brightened and smoothed out its rhythm. Flow became cleaner, loss reduced, and the whole system ran more efficiently.
The cut stung, but he ignored it. He reset what he had touched so there would be no obvious marks. He removed stray signatures, cleaned up fluctuations, and let the world settle back into its natural motion. The bridge remained stable. The qi level held. Nothing screamed for attention.
He exhaled. "All right, everything's done. Now no need to worry— even the guild won't know anything."
He believed it halfway. He'd done enough field work to know the guild could trace anything if they really wanted to. But the adjustments were minimal and precise. It should pass as a normal fluctuation. He relaxed his shoulders.
Right then, a heavy pressure pressed down from nowhere, like the air itself had tightened. The space beside him cracked open, a thin jagged line spreading into a dark split. From the cracked space, a voice spoke, calm and clear:
"Wocheng, you've grown very bold—to destroy a lower world like that."
The word "destroy" hit him hard. Sweat formed on his forehead. He turned toward the crack, even though there was nothing to see but darkness inside it. He answered quickly, trying to keep his voice even. "Senior, what are you saying? As far as I know, nothing happened."
The voice replied, dry and unimpressed, "Oh, I must have 'fool' written on my forehead, right? So I'm supposed to believe whatever you say?"
Wocheng swallowed. "No, that's not what I meant…"
"Then stop the drama," the voice said. "I'm giving you one last chance: reach the guild quietly right now—otherwise I'll come myself. Understood?"
There was no shouting. No threats beyond what was necessary. That made it worse. It meant the decision was final.
Wocheng nodded, even though he knew the voice didn't need to see it. "Okay, senior."
The cracked space closed without a sound. The pressure lifted. The void returned to normal. The world below continued to spin, steady and quiet.
He looked down once more, making sure nothing else was slipping out of place. The bridge held. The circulation held. The core remained strong. He had done what he set out to do. He also knew the guild wouldn't ignore it. They never did.
He wiped the blood from his finger, healed the cut with a touch, and let out a long breath. "Exactly what I was afraid of… now there's nothing I can do."
He didn't waste time with excuses. He didn't try to erase more traces or run in circles. He closed his eyes and said, "Dimensional Drift."
A portal opened in front of him, neat and controlled, just large enough for him to step through. Inside was the familiar corridor that always connected to the guild's domain. He stood there for a second, making sure he felt steady. No more fixes. No more tweaks. No more chances.
He stepped into the portal. The edges folded around him, and the opening sealed shut behind him.
The corridor was quiet. His footsteps echoed softly. He didn't look back. There was nothing to look back at—only a lower world that was now stable, and a choice that had already been made. He adjusted his clothes, straightened his posture, and kept moving forward. He would report, listen, and take whatever came next.
Whatever happened, at least the world wouldn't collapse. The bridge would hold. People wouldn't die because he hesitated. That thought didn't make the path easier, but it made it clear. He kept walking toward the guild.