"Master, what have I done to deserve your special attention? Why don't you just forget me? There's no future for us."
— The Ancient One.
"No, wait—I'm so scared I'm stammering," Loren said, his voice trembling. "What I mean is… I'm just a nobody. Not someone important. You really don't need to go to any trouble on my account."
Loren wore a long face, secretly lamenting that being singled out by a Sorcerer Supreme was anything but good fortune.
The real problem? His current strength was laughably limited—he stood no chance against her at all. And that made everything far more dangerous.
"Little one, you're quite humorous," Ancient One said with an almost playful lilt. "But you don't need to fear me. I won't harm you. I'm simply… curious about you."
As she spoke, she took a single step forward—and in the blink of an eye, she stood directly before Loren.
Before he could react, she stretched out her right hand and struck toward his chest.
Lawrence—Loren, rather—jolted in panic and instinctively tried to dodge backward. He knew exactly what that strike meant: it was the Soul-Slapping Palm, a technique that could forcibly separate soul from body on contact.
If struck, he'd lose control of his physical form instantly. But that wasn't even his greatest fear.
What terrified him was the mismatch between his soul and body. If the Ancient One saw that disconnect, she'd immediately know he was a time traveler—and once exposed, he'd have no way to defend himself.
So under no circumstances could he let her palm touch him.
His expression turned grim. He lowered his stance, coiled his muscles, and prepared to bolt the moment her hand neared.
But he'd gravely overestimated himself—or worse, underestimated her.
Just as he braced to flee, his body froze mid-motion, locked in place by an invisible spell. Panic surged through him. He couldn't move an inch.
Then, with quiet inevitability, Ancient One's palm slammed into his chest.
Despair flooded Loren's face. "Oh no—we're going to be found out!" he thought, squeezing his eyes shut, bracing for the wrenching separation of soul from flesh.
But… nothing happened.
He stood there, fully embodied. No out-of-body sensation. No spiritual detachment. His soul remained firmly anchored within his form.
Confused, he opened his eyes, glancing around as if doubting his own senses. But the truth was undeniable—he hadn't been affected at all.
Relief washed over him. Of course. His system must have anticipated this. It had already installed countermeasures to shield his soul from detection.
That was the only explanation. Against the full might of the Ancient One, no ordinary being could resist the Soul-Slapping Palm—unless protected by something equally powerful.
Even Ancient One looked stunned. When her first strike failed to extract his soul, she struck again—firmly, but not cruelly—against his chest.
Still nothing.
She fell silent, her gaze sharp and unreadable as she studied him.
Seizing the moment, Loren exaggerated a cry of pain, launching himself backward as if blasted by raw force. He tumbled across the yellow sands, limbs splayed, face twisted in theatrical agony.
"Master! I've never wronged you—why did you suddenly hit me? That slap hurt so much!" he wailed, clutching his chest.
Ancient One stared at him, her expression shifting from confusion to dry amusement. This kid… is putting on quite the act.
She'd struck him precisely because her magic couldn't pierce his veil.
As the Sorcerer Supreme—holder of the Time Stone—she could normally see through all illusions, destinies, even time itself. Yet whenever she tried to peer into Loren's future, only a hazy black mist appeared. Nothing clear. Nothing certain.
That anomaly had unsettled her. So she'd resorted to the Soul-Slapping Palm: a last-resort method to inspect a soul directly.
And it had failed. Twice.
In this world, only two possibilities could explain that:
1. Loren was far stronger than he appeared—feigning weakness.
2. Someone at least as powerful as her had already shielded him.
Either way, rash action was no longer an option.
She lowered her hand.
But the moment Loren went flying, his companions—his wives—flushed with fury. Without hesitation, they drew their weapons and charged the Ancient One, hoping to overwhelm her with numbers.
Ancient One sighed. Celestial-level power wasn't something mortals could brute-force.
With effortless grace, she flicked her wrist and struck each of them with the same Soul-Slapping Palm.
And again—nothing happened.
Their souls didn't budge. Not a flicker. It was as if they were hollow shells… or worse, artificial constructs.
Ancient One's eyes narrowed
. Her brow furrowed in genuine disbelief.
What in the multiverse is going on here?
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