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“You’re right. Wizards with such great power are indeed a scarce resource. They come at a high price, and... they usually have short-lived lives, like shooting stars, and they either self-destruct or are devoured by the abuse of their demonic power.”
His tone carried a morbid smugness. At the same time, Angron sensed that beneath the intense malice in his heart, a deeper, darker desire surged up like filth.
That was greed for him—Angron's "perfect body" itself.
"Want to make a bet with me, Mr. Tark?"
Tristan suddenly spoke, his calm words like an invisible blade, instantly severing Elon's greedy gaze that clung to Angron. Angron secretly breathed a sigh of relief; the feeling of countless sticky tentacles crawling all over his body vanished instantly.
He suppressed the urge to immediately snap that fragile neck and awaited Tristan's next instructions.
"Oh?"
Elon Tulke finally turned his full attention to Tristan, his pale eyebrows raised high, and a gambler's knowing smile spread across his face.
“In my arena, my luck has always been exceptional, Mr. Tristan. Are you sure... you really want to bet with me?”
The malice in his words was like a tangible poisonous fog, growing thicker and deeper, even emanating from his mental realm and polluting the surrounding air.
Tristan nodded calmly, raising his long, slender fingers and pointing without hesitation to the arena below, still permeated with the stench of blood and residual energy:
"Then let's bet on the winner of this next gladiatorial match. How about it?"
"Ha ha!"
Elon let out a series of cold laughs.
"Mr. Tristan, you're joking! Anyone with eyes can see that the 'wizard' has cornered those good-for-nothings, and victory is assured! Aren't you just handing me a gift?"
"My view is exactly the opposite."
Tristan's voice remained calm and steady.
"I don't think she will win."
Elon Tulke's smile froze instantly. He stared intently into Tristan's unfathomable black eyes, and the temperature in the box seemed to plummet to freezing.
The silence lasted for an unsettling, long ten seconds before a word, tinged with suppressed excitement and ecstasy, finally escaped from deep within his throat:
"Okay! I'll bet! If I win..."
His gaze swept quickly and greedily over Angron once again.
"I don't want him... to stay either."
Although no names were mentioned, the target of those light-hearted pronouns was clear to all three people present.
'Do you accept it?'
A voice, cold and devoid of any emotional fluctuation, yet strangely carrying a hint of seeking final confirmation, resounded directly in the depths of Angron's consciousness—this was a communication conducted by Tristan using psionic energy, a communication that only he could receive.
Without a ripple of emotion, like a pebble thrown into calm water, Anglong nodded slightly, almost without hesitation.
Tristan noticed the movement and nodded almost imperceptibly.
"I accept your bet."
Tristan turned to Elon, his tone still completely flat.
“However, if I win… Mr. Tark, all I want is for those still breathing in the arena to be handed over to me, one by one, for my disposal. How about that?”
Elon Tulke didn't hesitate for a second, as if he had heard the most ridiculous yet most profitable deal in the world, and immediately agreed:
"make a deal!"
In his eyes, this was a sure-fire way to make money. He glanced smugly at the announcer in the center of the arena, who was floating on a silver-gray platform in mid-air. His sharp gaze was a silent urging: hurry up and end this predictable charade!
The host on the floating platform shuddered at Elon's chilling gaze, immediately understanding. He suppressed his inner turmoil, cleared his throat, raised the megaphone, and prepared to announce the already "foregone conclusion" victory to the audience:
"Ladies and gentlemen! After a..."
His voice abruptly caught in his throat. For at that very moment, as the terrifying psychic light emanating from the "wizard" girl dimmed slightly, and the floating platform prepared to lower the cage to temporarily imprison her for the next performance—a cold, resolute glint, imbued with the skill and resentment of a seasoned veteran, shot forth like a venomous fang from the depths of hell, with incredible speed and angle, suddenly erupting from the aftershocks of the raging energy frenzy!
"Pfft!!!"
The dull thud of a sharp blade piercing flesh echoed clearly in the suddenly silent arena.
Chapter 75 Meeting with the Auxiliary Priest
Lin Qi calmly raised his hands, interlaced his fingers, placed his elbows on the table, and used his clasped hands to cover the lower half of his face.
Two people were standing in front of him. The one on the left looked extremely nervous, while the one on the right looked incredibly nervous.
The small office was filled with an indescribable, strange atmosphere. Gawain, who had successfully freed himself from his office chair, stood silently in the corner, coldly watching the three people who remained silent.
After a long pause, Lin Qi finally spoke, breaking the silence that had been lingering in the air.
"Irving, tell me what exactly happened."
Upon hearing his name called, the man on the left reacted. The technical sergeant looked up, his face still bearing an unnatural expression. He took a step forward, meeting the gaze of the Imperial Guard, closing the distance between himself and the current de facto leader of the battle group.
“My lord, this has nothing to do with me. It is Father Tar who insists on meeting you now. He says he has something very important to discuss with you, and this does not represent him, but his Forging World.”
Irving's tone carried a sense of helplessness, as he was well aware of the potential consequences of pausing the game due to his sudden intrusion.
However, since it involves a world of forging, it's not something an ordinary technical sergeant like him can handle alone. Even if he officially becomes a forging master, he still needs to report to the warband commander and obtain authorization before dealing with such matters.
Fortunately, the tactical competition has ended, and the members of the Honor Guard have been selected. The suspension of the individual arena competition has only resulted in the championship position of the warband remaining undecided.
That's good, and we'll receive far fewer training invitations in the future.
Lin Qi lowered his hands, placing his left hand entirely on the table, and began rhythmically tapping the table with his index finger.
He didn't respond to Owen's words immediately, which made the latter even more nervous. According to the soldiers' private speculation, Lynch was a very easy-going person, but that didn't mean he didn't have a temper. It was just that no one had seen him get angry yet.
Owen felt as if his heart was being gripped tightly by a hand. To be the first among his brothers to anger Lord Lynch...
"Well done, Irving."
Lin Qi suddenly spoke up.
“You should report to me immediately if you encounter any unforeseen circumstances that you cannot resolve. You have done a good job in this regard. There is no need to worry about the military skills competition. It will only delay things for two days.”
The technical sergeant, who wasn't wearing a helmet, had a stiff expression, but his posture had suddenly become much more relaxed. However, he still seemed to be struggling slightly when nodding in response.
Gao Wen watched coldly, without saying a word.
"Then let's hear what Father Tal, the one who proposed this suspension of the match, has to say."
Lin Qi glanced at the red-robed man standing on the right, who had been keeping his head down since entering and seemed to be doing something, and spoke in a flat tone.
“Father Tal, this is the first time we’ve met since I took over Star Claw.”
"Indeed, Your Majesty the Chosen One, praise Omnesiah for allowing us to gather here."
The priest, whose full name was Tal Fetus 09α, responded. His voice was monotonous and cold, and it did not feel like the product of a normal human vocal cord vibration. It was more like an old radio that could not receive channels and could only emit harsh noise.
Like most mechanical priests in one's mind, Father Tal wore a long red robe. The robe was outlined with patterns and lace in silver thread, making it look more beautiful and also indicating the forging world to which the wearer belonged.
A hood was sewn onto the very top of the robe, which the mechanical priest was wearing on his head, concealing the dense network of cables connecting his skull.
However, his face, which had been completely altered, could not be concealed—except for his left eye and a small area around it, the rest of his face had been replaced with cold, mechanical parts, enough to send chills down the spine of an unprepared ordinary person at a glance.
"So... what exactly do you want to report to me, that you're even willing to make me stop the ongoing all-army competition?"
"You should know that I am currently selecting new Honor Guard members. For a chapter, this is one of the most important things besides war."
Lynch's words were unhurried, even conveying a gentle, almost ethereal quality. However, his inner feelings were quite different from his outward demeanor. A sense of unease lingered within him, making him want to immediately move away from the gaze that the mechanic priest was currently giving him.
However, he managed to hold back and looked up to meet the mechanical priest's gaze.
The moment their eyes met, Tal lowered his head. His posture became respectful, and even his cold voice took on a hint of humanity.
"A message, sir."
"What message?"
"SOS message."
Lynch's brows furrowed immediately. He squinted at Tal, observing the guy whose face had been completely altered by cybernetic implants. Then, he raised an eyebrow slightly.
"A distress message... Tell me, where did your distress message come from? The Star Speakers and signal receivers of Star Claw have not received any messages, so I have no way of judging the authenticity of your words."
"Because I am a spy, sir. I was sent to Star Claw by my Forging World to monitor the situation here."
Tal spoke these words without the slightest hesitation. With such a calm attitude, at first glance, one might think she was talking about what kind of engine oil she used to lubricate herself that morning.
But this is not the case for others.
Almost instantly, Gawain and Owen moved in unison. The former activated the disintegration field on his halberd, while the latter reached out, intending to snap the arm of the person he had brought into the office.
"stop."
A voice came and stopped them from doing so.
The halberd, crackling with electricity, stopped at the mechanical priest's torso. A large hand also gripped his shoulder; with just a little force, it could rip the entire arm off.
There was no fear in the only eye left on Tal's face, as if he had anticipated this situation from the very beginning.
“Go on, Father Tal. I’ll give you a chance to explain yourself, so my warriors won’t tear you apart and leave you with only your head before handing you over to the priest for interrogation.”
"Of course, I will explain."
Tal spoke, then extended a hand and tapped his abdomen. Accompanied by the sound of gears turning, the mechanical priest's abdomen opened to both sides like a door, revealing intricate cables and rotating gears.
"This is how I contact the outside world. It's a special electronic communication device that doesn't use subspace but instead uses various relay stations located in and around the vortex to transmit information."
“These transit stations are usually disguised as outposts, mining stations, or like me, a cyborg priest who has undergone special physical modifications and can receive information.”
"Three Terras ago, I received a distress message from a mining station eight light-years away from us."
"They were attacked by the enemy and are now struggling to hold on. However, their original request for help was to the Foundry World where I am, but due to the special nature of the electronic communication device, I also successfully received a distress message, so I found Sergeant Owen and asked him to bring me to meet you."
After explaining where the message came from, Tal closed his exposed abdomen again, while Lynch frowned and began to ponder the other party's motives.
"Then why did you come to me? Do you want Star Claw to send someone to rescue you? Is exposing your spy identity just for something like that?"
Finally, unable to figure it out, he simply spoke up and directly asked the mechanical priest in front of him.
Without any hesitation or thought, Tal spoke to Lynch instinctively.
"The person in charge of that mining station is the prized student of the casting director of Angostum, the casting world I'm in, and if I'm not mistaken, she should also have a very precious, complete STC that has been kept secret all along."
"If we can rescue her and bring her under our command, we can establish a good relationship with Angostum, which would be a win-win situation for Star Claws."
But for Lynch, Tal's words not only failed to resolve his inner doubts, but actually made him even more confused.