“There's no point in saying all this now.”
Jack sighed, his hands tightening on his knees, yet he seemed quite unconcerned. Though born in Landon and having received a proper aristocratic education, he genuinely didn't understand what a “scumbag” was. However, from Elias's disdainful gaze and subtle tone, he could tell it was definitely not a compliment.
“My father, I don't even know if he's dead or alive right now.”
Jack's expression was tinged with sorrow, a pale, self-mocking pallor appearing on his fair face.
“Even if he is alive, he's probably better off dead.”
Elias nearly spat out his drink right then and there. He gave the Landon young man a thumbs-up.
“You're truly filial.”
Elias praised him sincerely; this paragon of filial piety was of such high purity, it was truly “filial to the point of power.”
“So, that thing hanging around your neck is purely decorative...”
Elias stared at the strange pendant, adding the plain truth:
“No, not even decorative. It's a pure burden.”
“Who's arguing?”
Jack immediately agreed.
“My mother told me that this thing constantly absorbs the host's spiritual energy accumulation.”
“From my maternal grandfather's generation until now, it has never been able to release anything, not even once.”
“That's certainly useless then.”
Elias offered an objective assessment. This thing was like a spiritual Pixiu that only took and never gave, accomplishing nothing but making its host dizzy every day.
But he rubbed his chin, staring at the pendant for another moment, a strange glint flashing in his eyes. After all, this item had a direct connection to God's Domain; even if it was a dud now, it was still a strategic reserve on the level of a nuclear weapon.
Elias leaned closer, raised an eyebrow, and lowered his voice, probing:
“So, what if I snatch it right now and take it somewhere far enough away?”
“Say, I throw it onto another continent across the ocean, or simply bury it hundreds of meters deep in a cave.”
“If it's thousands of miles away from you, wouldn't it stop draining your spirituality?”
“Wouldn't your bloodline curse be indirectly cured then?”
Jack listened, then looked at Elias with a strange expression.
“Mr. Rockland, are you perhaps unaware that the Moon Lord pathway has a spell called 【Moon Aperture】 at Scale Four?”
Elias's eye twitched violently. It was that damn academic gaze again, belonging to the knowledge-monopolizing class. He felt his self-esteem mercilessly crushed by this aristocratic prodigy.
“I'm a bumpkin, I don't understand, alright?”
Elias said grumpily, giving up entirely and leaning back against the chair. Why did this kid have academic discrimination too? Was this the contempt of the Velen aristocratic class?
Jack coughed awkwardly, then quickly and earnestly explained:
“This spell can establish a small passage, using a medium, to any location.”
“Don't tell me, this thing can grow legs and run back on its own?”
“It's not that complicated.”
Jack shook his head.
“It doesn't need legs at all.”
“It can automatically open a 【Moon Aperture】 using the spirituality stored within it from generations of our family, and return directly to me.”
“???”
Elias was utterly stunned this time. He stared wide-eyed at the unremarkable pendant, thinking, Holy crap.
These days, even leeching pendants knew how to live off their ancestors? So this thing was cursed equipment, soul-bound, un-unbindable, and came with a one-click return-to-city skill?
“Alright, it's ruthless, I'll give it that.”
Elias gritted his teeth.
“What about that ancestral gun you have?”
“What are its characteristics?”
“It can't just shoot me dead on its own, can it?”
If all the old items in this kid's family could act on their own, it would be better to generously give them back to him and let him suffer the consequences.
“Not that one.”
Jack shook his head.
Elias immediately relaxed, his tense shoulders loosening considerably.
“Its effect is 'a miss is a hit'.”
The Landon young man answered candidly, his clear eyes showing no concealment.
“What kind of strange ability is that?!”
Jack explained with great patience.
“In short, it can't hit enemies. No matter how accurately you aim, it won't hit them.”
“As long as you pull the trigger, the bullet will definitely fly past the target you're aiming at.”
“But it can amplify the probability of certain specific events occurring.”
“For example, if you shoot at an enemy's head, the bullet will graze past his ear, absolutely unable to directly wound him.”
“But a thousandth of a second later, that stray bullet might just hit a distant steam pipe, causing it to burst and the expelled high-temperature steam to scald the enemy to death.”
“Or the bullet might ricochet precisely off a wall, severing the chain of an overhead chandelier and crushing the target to death.”
“What the hell?”
Elias's eyes widened again. This wasn't a flintlock pistol; this was clearly a causality weapon! Metaphysical marksmanship, the most lethal.
“It's a supernatural relic.”
Jack emphasized, his tone carrying a sense of pride in his family's heritage, but he quickly deflated and threw up his hands.
“The only drawback is that it requires very powerful bullets.”
“And I don't have any.”
The Landon young man candidly admitted his impoverished reality: “Ordinary lead bullets have very poor attack effects, and the probability of events it amplifies becomes minuscule.”
“Understood.”
Elias stood up.
“Your honesty is refreshing, kid.”
Elias smoothed out the wrinkles on his clothes and extended his right hand to Jack.
“Here's to a pleasant cooperation.”
Jack was startled for a moment, then, flattered, quickly stood up and clasped Elias's hand tightly. Their hands intertwined in the air, forging a fragile trust.
“However, I must warn you, Moon Bay is about to become very unstable.”
Elias's smile vanished, his tone becoming deep and stern, a heavy sense of crisis flashing in his dark eyes.
“A storm is coming, and every powerful figure caught in it could crush us into paste with a flick of their wrist.”
“Remember your promise from earlier: when I tell you to leave, you leave.”
Jack was awed by Elias's cold and serious gaze. Without hesitation, the Landon young man nodded solemnly:
“Alright...”
Meanwhile, twenty nautical miles away, at the Coast Hotel in Hastings Port.
Inside the luxurious top-floor suite, the light was dim, and faint figures were reflected in the massive glass windows. Ms. Cecil stood by the top-floor window, overlooking the city that had suffered a sea beast attack. What met her eyes was a shocking scene of devastation; the once bustling port was now eerily silent. In the distance, broken piers could vaguely be seen extending helplessly into the undulating black-blue sea, and a few warehouses burned down to charred skeletons still emitted lingering smoke. Along both sides of the streets were dense, lifeless temporary relief shelters for disaster victims.
And along the railway line not far away, cranes from Chester Works were dismantling old tracks and re-laying them, adjusting their direction. Suddenly, the space beside her rippled violently without warning, the air twisting and refracting eerily. Immediately after, her teacher, Roland T. Orphal, appeared abruptly from beside her, holding a half-eaten biscuit.
“I've made some inquiries for you.”
The old man casually popped the biscuit into his mouth, clapped the crumbs from his hands, and said somewhat playfully:
“Prince Edric has made his move.”
“Wayland Capital will likely have a tough negotiation with the Council over the firing clearance issue.”
Ms. Cecil shook her head and turned around.
“That probably won't stump Thomas Wayland.”
“He's a clever man, and clever men are the most prone to madness.”
“And he's already mad, teacher.”
Rate on N.U.
