Chapter 88: Silver Wolf's 76 Game Accounts! It's Over!
Elio let out a long, weary sigh. Being able to see the threads of destiny was a blessing and a curse—a true love-hate relationship. Life, even for the leader of the Stellaron Hunters, was never easy.
"Should I be heading to the Luofu now?" Blade's raspy voice broke the silence. The immortal swordsman shifted his weight, his fingers twitching near the hilt of his cracked blade, practically vibrating with a suppressed, anxious energy.
Beside him, Kafka leaned against the wall. A faint, anticipatory gleam danced in her magenta eyes.
Elio had promised her something irresistible. The chronic inability to feel fear—a psychological void that had plagued her for her entire life—might finally find its cure on the Xianzhou Luofu. Born on the Stellaron-contaminated soil of Pteruges-V, specifically in the ruined sector known as New Babylon, Kafka was a product of her environment. The humans who grew up in that blighted wasteland naturally lacked the very concept of terror. Kafka was no exception.
"Go on, then," Elio said, offering a slight nod. "I wish you a smooth journey." As Blade turned to leave, Elio glanced around the dimly lit room. "Where is Silver Wolf?"
"She took a little detour to the Herta Space Station," Kafka replied, elegantly smoothing the pristine cuffs of her blouse. "Supposedly, a certain Aether Cartridge caught her eye. She mentioned something about borrowing it for a bit of research."
Elio closed his eyes, letting his consciousness drift along the branching paths of the future. A moment of silence passed.
'Hmm...'He opened his eyes, entirely unbothered.'It is just seventy-six of her game accounts getting permanently banned. The person herself is physically fine. Not a big problem.'
Somewhere in the cosmos, a certain hacker was destined to scream at her monitors.
"It is a huge problem! That is the most serious problem in the universe!"
"No! My seventy-six max-level accounts!"
"Elio, you hack! Why didn't you warn me earlier?!"
"It's over! My life is over!"
...
Meanwhile, amidst the biting chill of Belobog's Overworld.
Cocolia stood motionless before the frosted glass door of the Everwinter Workshop. The freezing wind whipped at her elegant coat, but the Supreme Guardian barely registered the cold. Her expression was a tangled knot of guilt, nostalgia, and hesitation. She lingered there for a long, agonizing minute.
Finally, drawing a steadying breath, she reached out and gently pushed open the door. The chime above rang out, a sound both painfully familiar and distantly strange.
"Hello, welcome to the—" Serval looked up from her workbench, wiping grease from her cheek with the back of her hand. Her practiced, professional customer-service smile froze instantly. The wrench in her grip slipped, clattering loudly against the metal table.
Memories crashed over the mechanic like a suffocating tide. She had spent the last few days agonizing over how to find a chance to confront Cocolia, to demand answers. Never in her wildest dreams did she expect the Supreme Guardian to simply walk through her front door.
"Serval... have you been well?" Cocolia asked softly. In her hands, she held a sleek, carefully maintained electric guitar. She offered her estranged friend a tentative, fragile smile.
Down below, Bronya was already taking charge of the Underworld's affairs. Cocolia had absolute faith in her daughter's ability to handle the transition. But up here in the Overworld, Cocolia had her own burdens to bear. There were people she needed to face. Apologies she owed.
Before coming here, she had sought Leon's permission to reveal the truth to Serval. The enigmatic man had merely laughed, waving a hand dismissively. 'Do as you please,'he had told her.'Letting Serval in on the script might actually make things more entertaining.'
"I'm... fine," Serval managed to choke out, forcing a stiff smile onto her lips. Yet, no matter how hard she tried to maintain eye contact, her gaze kept dropping to the instrument in Cocolia's hands. "I didn't expect to ever see that again. Not after all these years."
Her voice trembled slightly, carrying a heavy mix of emotions—a tangled web where sorrow and relief blurred together.
"Yes," Cocolia murmured, her thumb gently tracing the polished neck of the guitar. "I still remember our days at the Military Academy. We were quite famous back then, weren't we? The academy's biggest troublemakers."
A genuine, wistful warmth entered Cocolia's eyes. "Always locking ourselves in the lab, tinkering with all sorts of bizarre inventions. We called it exploring the infinite possibilities of new technology. And this guitar..." She held it out slightly. "It was the birthday gift I gave you. You drafted the blueprints, and I brought it to life."
The nostalgia tasted like ash in her mouth. The tragic irony was not lost on her. After the Stellaron's whispers had corrupted her mind, Cocolia had personally orchestrated Serval's expulsion from the Architects' Technology Division. Back then, Serval's brilliant mind had begun uncovering the truth behind the Stellaron—a threat the manipulative entity controlling Cocolia simply could not allow.
"So... what? You are planning to return it to me now?" Serval crossed her arms, her heart pounding against her ribs.
Just yesterday, she had caught herself daydreaming. She had foolishly fantasized that if the Stellaron's crisis was somehow averted, maybe she and Cocolia could mend their fractured bond. But to have the Supreme Guardian appear in her shop the very next day, offering an olive branch? It felt too perfect. Too sudden.
'Could this be another trick? Is the Stellaron playing games with me?'
Her posture stiffened. A sharp, defensive vigilance flared in Serval's eyes.
Cocolia caught the subtle shift in her friend's stance immediately. "You... already know about the Stellaron?"
Then, she remembered the recent intelligence reports from the Silvermane Guards. Leon had already made contact with Serval. In truth, Cocolia had never stopped caring; she had secretly monitored Serval's movements for years, specifically instructing the Guards to keep a protective, watchful eye on her old friend's daily life.
"The threat of the Stellaron has been completely resolved," Cocolia said softly, her voice carrying a weightless relief. "It was handled yesterday. By a certain... benefactor."
An image of Leon's smug, teasing face flashed through Cocolia's mind. Despite the solemn atmosphere, the corners of her lips involuntarily curled upward into a breathtakingly beautiful, fond smile.
"Hmm?" Serval raised a skeptical eyebrow. Something was definitely off about Cocolia. The Supreme Guardian looked entirely too relaxed. Radiant, even. It was a stark contrast to the icy, burdened ruler she had been for over a decade.
Still, Serval was not about to buy the resolved story so easily. If the Stellaron was truly dealt with, why had that strange group of outworlders acted so cautiously yesterday? And more, why were the Silvermane Guards currently tearing the city apart in a massive, highly publicized manhunt for the Astral Express Crew?
The lockdown and pursuit were so aggressive that even someone buried in a workshop all day couldn't ignore the blaring alarms.
Yet, the mention of a benefactor made a specific face surface in Serval's mind. Leon. The man had certainly left a lasting impression. His absolutely absurd, logic-defying unique skill of repairing complex machinery by violently whacking it with a baseball bat had completely shattered her lifelong understanding of mechanical engineering.
"She is telling the truth, you know."
A lazy, amused voice echoed through the workshop. Without any warning, Leon materialized right beside Cocolia, leaning casually against a nearby workbench. "I took care of the glowing cancer rock. Cocolia is just playing her part in the script right now."
Did anyone really think Leon would miss out on the dramatic reconciliation between the Supreme Guardian and the rockstar mechanic? He had been lurking in the shadows, happily eating metaphorical popcorn for the last ten minutes.
"Gah!" Serval jumped back, nearly knocking over a stack of gears. "Where did you come from?!"
Ignoring the mechanic's shock, Cocolia turned to the young man and offered a deep, incredibly respectful bow. "Benefactor."
"Of course it is true," Leon chuckled. He lazily waved his hand.
Instantly, a sphere of pulsating, golden-black energy phased out of Cocolia's chest, hovering obediently above Leon's palm. The dreaded Stellaron.
[Master...] a telepathic, sickeningly fawning voice echoed in the room.
The entity sounded utterly traumatized. Last night, for reasons it still couldn't comprehend, Leon had casually tossed it into some terrifying, pitch-black dimensional void. It couldn't see, couldn't hear, and couldn't corrupt a single thing. The isolation had terrified the cosmic cancer into absolute submission. It was just thankful to see the light of day again.
Serval sucked in a sharp breath, her eyes widening to the size of saucers. She stared at the glowing orb, completely dumbfounded by its pathetic, bootlicking tone. When she had secretly researched the Stellaron years ago, it had radiated an aura of apocalyptic malice and overwhelming arrogance.
Now? It sounded like a groveling sycophant begging for table scraps.
With another dismissive flick of his wrist, Leon shoved the Stellaron back into its pocket dimension.
[Wait, Master, please do not—] The entity's pathetic plea was cut off as it vanished into thin air.
"You... you really are..." Serval stammered, pointing a trembling finger at Leon. She was completely at a loss for words. This was the apocalyptic culprit that had buried their entire planet in eternal ice? It was just too pathetic to look at!
Swallowing hard, Serval forced her brain to reboot. "Okay, fine. Let's say the problem is solved. Then why in the world are the Silvermane Guards still hunting down those Express crew members like they are public enemies?"
"Ah, that." Leon smirked, reaching into his coat. "Because the script demands it. Here, take a look."
He casually tossed a bound stack of papers onto the workbench. Serval picked it up hesitantly. As she flipped through the pages, her eyes widened. Her own name was plastered all over the upcoming scenes. Her role in this play was surprisingly significant.
"So... let me get this straight," Serval muttered, her tone dripping with helpless amusement. "All of this—the manhunt, the tension, the grand escape—is just following a script? And the entire goal is just to train those newcomers?"
She rubbed her temples. The existential crisis of Belobog, a struggle for survival spanning seven hundred years, had been casually hijacked by this man and turned into an elaborate training ground. It was infuriating, baffling, and yet undeniably hilarious.
Still, as she read through her designated lines and actions, she had to admit one thing: the script was terrifyingly ingenious. If she hadn't been shown the truth right now, she would have naturally reacted exactly as the pages predicted. She would have hidden the crew, helped them bypass the blockade, and rebelled against the Guards. The script mapped out her personality and rebellious style with frightening accuracy.
"Aren't you a bit too familiar with my style?" Serval lowered the script, looking Leon up and down with a highly suspicious expression. A cunning, teasing light flashed in her striking blue eyes. She leaned across the workbench, a smirk playing on her lips. "Be honest with me. Have you been secretly studying me?"
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