Archer waved his hand with a nonchalant motion, as if shooing away a fly.
Two subordinates in black standing in the shadows of the corner immediately stepped forward, grabbing Corona by his arms on both sides, preparing to drag him out.
However, Corona's will to survive erupted at that moment.
He was already someone whose physical fitness far exceeded that of an ordinary person, and years of field missions had polished his muscles to be as hard as rock.
"Get lost!"
With a low growl, Corona jerked his shoulders violently, and a surge of immense strength erupted. The two well-trained Team Rockets Superiors were actually thrown off by him, stumbling and crashing into the wall.
He didn't run away; instead, he used both hands and feet to scramble pathetically toward Archer's feet, where the expensive leather shoes were right before his eyes.
He couldn't care less about his dignity, grabbing Archer's calf as his upturned face was covered in sweat and fear.
"Lord Archer! Give me another chance! I'm still useful! I can still serve you!"
His voice was hoarse and filled with desperate pleading, like a dying stray dog.
This unsightly display, however, caused a hint of disgust to seep into Archer's already cold eyes.
What he looked down upon most were these useless trash who had nothing left but humble begging after losing everything.
Giovanni said he was reckless; looking at him now, he wasn't just reckless, he was simply stupid.
Archer didn't speak; he didn't even have the interest to lower his head and look at him.
He just raised his eyes and cast a glance toward the door.
There was no anger or killing intent in that gaze, only a pure, impatient command.
Heavy footsteps rang out.
It wasn't the crisp sound of leather shoes treading on a marble floor, but rather a weightier footstep of muscle and power.
The shadows at the doorway were filled by two massive figures, causing the light in the room to dim.
It was two Machamp. Their skin reflected an oily sheen under the lights, and their four thick arms hung at their sides. Every muscle looked as if it were carved from granite, filled with explosive power.
Corona felt the pressure behind him. He turned his head stiffly and met the emotionless red eyes of the Machamp.
Fear instantly gripped his heart.
He wanted to beg for mercy, wanted to say something, but it was already too late.
One Machamp reached out with two arms and easily clamped down on Corona's shoulders.
Those palms were massive, like two iron pincers, with fingers sinking deep into Corona's muscles.
"No..."
Corona only had time to spit out one word.
"Crack!"
The tooth-gritting sound of bone fracturing rang out in the silent room, exceptionally piercing.
It wasn't just one sound, but two.
Both of Corona's shoulders were crushed simultaneously. Intense pain flooded all his nerves like a tide. He couldn't even let out a complete scream; only a wheezing sound of escaping air came from his throat as his body slumped down like a pile of mud.
The two Machamp remained expressionless as they dragged his body—which had completely lost the ability to resist—away like a stray dog that had just been beaten to death, turning to leave.
Corona's heels left two wet streaks on the smooth floor. Soon, the sound disappeared behind the heavy door.
Dead silence returned to the room once more.
The smell of Corona's sweat and the aura of fear still lingered in the air, but Archer acted as if nothing had happened.
He took a clean glass from the wine cabinet and poured himself half a glass of whiskey, the amber liquid swaying gently in the glass.
At that moment, the door was pushed open silently.
A dark shadow flashed in, moving swiftly and noiselessly, as if he were originally part of the room's shadows.
The newcomer was dressed in a black tight-fitting combat suit and wore a mask, making his appearance unclear.
Walking to the center of the room, he knelt on one knee, the entire process making not a single extra sound.
Holding his wine glass, Archer walked up to him, looking down and scrutinizing this new tool.
After a long time, he finally spoke slowly, his voice steady without a hint of emotion.
"From now on, your code name is Night."
"Take Corona's place."
...
The sky over Petalburg City looked as if it were covered by a damp gray rag, and even the wind carried a cold, musty smell.
In front of the Gym, several pitch-black League advanced sedans were parked silently, their glossy paint reflecting distorted, lifeless clouds.
The residents of Petalburg City didn't often see this kind of car; it represented power, and it also represented trouble.
The apprentices inside the Gym were exceptionally quiet today; even the shouts from daily sparring had vanished.
They huddled in the corners of the corridors like a flock of startled Hoothoot, peeking toward the depths of the Gym with eyes mixed with awe and unease.
The uninvited guests had already entered.
Leading them was a middle-aged man named Sen, a high-ranking official from the League Inspection Department.
He was slightly portly, and his abdomen would sway slightly when he walked. However, his well-tailored suit and the gaze of someone long accustomed to being in power, viewing all things as subordinates, made him look like a mobile bureaucratic statue.
Three Trainers followed closely behind him, two men and one woman, like three emotionless combat machines, their steps synchronized and their auras terrifyingly steady.
The wooden floor of the Gym made dull 'thud, thud' sounds under their leather shoes, each one striking the hearts of the apprentices.
One of the men, named Drak, had a Charizard that had not been returned to its Poké Ball.
This fierce-looking big guy was deliberately keeping its mouth half-open, with a low roar rolling deep in its throat. Its vertical pupils swept across the surroundings, and its hot breath made the air in the corridor grow restless.
The wooden walls seemed to let out faint groans under the high temperature.
The Noctowl of another Trainer named Cenk stood silently in the shadows of the Gym's eaves, showing only a pair of eyes glowing yellow in the dimness, like two Will-O-Wisps, motionlessly overlooking the entire training hall and monitoring every corner.