With godlike talent from the start, how did he become invincible?

Chapter 613 Going Alone to Slay the Alien Race

Three thousand five hundred alien races of level 70 or above. Even if they stand still and let you attack them, your mana bar won't be enough.

But Lin Tian is no ordinary player.

He stood on the ridge, looking down at the orc camp in the valley.

Then he raised his right hand.

Palms down.

Fingers slightly bent.

【Divine Realm - Gravity】

The air began to distort.

The fallen leaves in the valley were the first to react.

They were lying quietly on the ground, occasionally turning over in the night breeze.

But now, the wind has stopped, and the leaves are moving on their own—first rolling in the same direction, as if being dragged by an invisible thread, then getting faster and faster, turning from rolling to gliding, and from gliding to flying.

Gravel followed closely behind, withered grass was uprooted, and layers of soil were scraped up. At first, there were only a few scattered pebbles, clattering against the ground, but later it turned into a gray-brown torrent, carrying everything heavier than air, and surging wildly towards the center of the camp.

The soldiers in the orc camp finally sensed that something was wrong.

A wolf rider was squatting by the fire gnawing on a roasted lamb leg when suddenly the dire wolf beneath him stood up abruptly.

This wolf rider had fought for ten years and ridden this dire wolf for seven, and he had never seen it like this before—its limbs gripping the ground tightly, its nails digging into the soil, and a series of low whimpers coming from its throat, as if it were crying or pleading for help.

"What's wrong with you? Hey! What's wrong!" The wolf rider patted the dire wolf's neck, trying to calm it down.

But the dire wolf completely ignored commands.

These war companions, raised from infancy, are extremely loyal and have a strong fighting spirit. They have faced human cavalry charges on the battlefield without flinching.

But now, its pupils have shrunk to pinpoints, its muscles are tense, and its tail is tucked between its two hind legs—this is the most primal fear response of a wild beast.

It wasn't because they saw something terrifying, but because they instinctively sensed a threat beyond their comprehension.

That is the primal fear of those at the top of the food chain, etched into the genes of every living being.

"What's going on?!"

A commotion began to rise in the camp.

A shaman was performing a routine ritual in his tent when the bone staff in his hand suddenly began to tremble violently.

He thought it was a warning from the spirit of his ancestors, so he immediately closed his eyes and tried to communicate. But the next second, the tent canvas began to creak and groan—the ropes used for securing it snapped one after another, the stakes were pulled out of the ground, and the entire tent seemed to be torn off the ground by an invisible hand, spinning and flying toward the center of the camp.

The shaman opened his eyes in fright and, without thinking, instinctively cast a spell to freeze the person in place.

The light of the spell flashed on him for a moment, then burst like a bubble.

Ordinary spells are like paper shields.

He could only watch helplessly as he and the wreckage of the tent were dragged toward that irresistible center point.

The Minotaur war beast also rose from the ground.

These colossal creatures, standing over three meters tall and weighing nearly a ton, possessed strength and physique far exceeding that of ordinary beastmen. Their thick nostrils flared as they sniffed the unusual scent in the air—the smell of blood? No.

Residual magic? Yes, but so faint it's like an illusion.

A minotaur tried to steady himself, his four thick hooves digging deep into the mud, carving four deep furrows in the ground.

But its body was still moving.