Chapter Sixty-Three: The Spring of the Devouring Wolf

Chapter Sixty-Three: The Spring of the Devourer

Assuming the proper stance, aiming at the bullseye, Old Li confidently squeezed the trigger. A thunderous crack echoed, but the distant wooden target didn't so much as tremble, as if mocking someone's overconfidence. Unwilling to accept defeat, Old Li fired five more shots in quick succession—ta, ta, ta, ta, ta—yet only one bullet found its mark.

Witnessing this, Yun Yang instantly regained his confidence. It wasn't that he was unfit to handle firearms; the gun itself was the problem. At this moment, Old Li realized something was amiss. He set the rifle down on the table and began to inspect it. Rotating his wrist, he swiftly disassembled the weapon.

He removed the barrel and peered through it, checking for any warping. It appeared straight enough; perhaps the issue was with the rifling. Upon closer inspection, Old Li did discover a problem. The rifling inside was severely worn, likely due to the rifle's use as a training weapon by many before.

"The rifling is nearly gone; it's almost a smoothbore now. No wonder it's so inaccurate," Old Li remarked, noticing Yun Yang's gaze and deciding to offer some comfort.

"The rifling's worn out? Doesn't this thing use blanks?" Yun Yang asked, puzzled. Could blanks really wear down the rifling?

"It does use blanks, but the rifling still wears over time," Old Li replied matter-of-factly, having heard about this from some soldiers.

"What kind of bizarre principle is that? This is beyond my knowledge," Yun Yang admitted helplessly, utterly confused.

An unnamed, barren star system.

Originally housing only a single planet, this star system appeared desolate, yet it was destined to be recorded in the annals of several civilizations. It had become a colossal interstellar battlefield; the Devourers, along with three subordinate civilizations of the Angelic Civilization, had concentrated their forces in this nameless system.

Some civilizations had already lost their planets in this war—devastation that even interstellar societies could scarcely endure. With all the Angelic warriors engaged against demons and male angels elsewhere, the Devourers and the Giant Wolves could, at least on the surface, match the subordinate civilizations in open conflict. There were even signs they were being suppressed, for under the protection of the Justice Order, the populations of these subordinate civilizations were ten times that of the Devourers’ side.

Yet, due to their beliefs and love of slaughter, the Devourers boasted unparalleled combat talent and, with technical support from Death God Karl, had become a top-tier spacefaring civilization. Their weaponry far surpassed that of the Justice Order’s protected subordinates, especially in terms of planet-destroying ordnance. Apart from nuclear weapons, the Angelic subordinates had nothing capable of dealing real damage to Devourer flagships, forced to whittle away at their shields bit by bit.

This was not without the consideration of Holy Kesha; these subordinates resided within the Angelic Nebula. As the dominant civilization of the known universe, the angels understood well the wisdom of not letting others sleep securely beside their own bed. So long as the angels offered protection, there was no need for their charges to possess even greater weaponry. Pursuing happiness in life was far preferable.

The Devourers, as a militaristic civilization enamored with death, would unleash their planetary weapons without restraint if unchecked. This was why this star system was chosen as the battlefield.

Warships traversed the system along predetermined orbits, rarely colliding unless at the very end. Densely packed warships, small craft, and drones all surged toward a metallic mill, where multicolored laser beams danced, missiles left long smoky trails, and the wreckage of ships already ravaged by explosions drifted amidst the chaos.

As both sides clashed with fervor, a squadron of large mechs detached from the Devourer fleet, following the warships into the fray, seemingly inconspicuous. Yet, within ten minutes of entering the battlefield, these unremarkable mechs inflicted the loss of more than a dozen battleships on the subordinate civilization alliance.

Left with no choice, the alliance deployed their own super warriors, for losses at such a rate were unsustainable—they had to strike down the Devourers’ elite forces. Twenty first-generation super warriors and one second-generation, all mass-produced with enhanced physical and sensory abilities, stepped onto the battlefield under the watchful gaze of their commander.

"You are the treasures of our civilization. Accomplish your mission, but preserve yourselves as best you can. Understood?" the Supreme Commander called out to the assembled warriors.

"We guarantee mission success!"

"Move out!"

Watching the neatly arrayed super warriors depart, the commander sighed with worry. "You still don’t understand..."

Aboard the Devourer’s flagship, King Devourer Sihou sat in the command hall, surveying the battlefield. Observing the numerical superiority of the enemy warships gradually constricting his own airspace, Sihou promptly ordered those blessed by Death to enter the fray and claim the glory that was theirs.

Within half an hour, the Death-Blessed tactical squad had achieved staggering results. Each of the fifteen blessed warriors could dispatch a battleship in under thirty minutes.

But before Sihou could savor the victory, a squad of warriors clad in gold and red armor engaged the Death-Blessed. With the advantage of surprise, the super warriors eliminated a squad and three mechs. Their elation was short-lived, however, as the remaining mechs quickly adapted, abandoning the escort ships to hunt down these super warriors, now seen as dangerous foes.

Through a mixture of sacrifice and teamwork, after seven close-combat deaths, the blessed managed to eliminate the mechs that had dominated for nearly an hour.

"King, all blessed warriors have returned to Death God Karl’s embrace," a Devourer reported.

"I see," Sihou replied.

Gazing at the silent squad of super warriors amid the wreckage, Sihou contemplated whether to take the risk himself once more. In his last encounter with the black-armored warrior, he’d been unsettled by the man’s uncanny abilities and hadn’t performed to his potential. After much simulation over several days, Sihou now believed he had a real chance to kill the black-armored foe.

All he needed was to decapitate him when his speed was restricted—there was no need to analytically deconstruct his body data. Death by disintegration or decapitation was still death; he just hadn’t performed to his best.

Looking at the gold-and-red armored super warriors before him, Sihou activated the Void Engine, defining their speed.

Watching the super warriors move in slow motion, Sihou felt an intoxicating sense of omnipotence. He became ever more certain that he’d failed to perform last time; the engine possessed the reaper’s power to suppress angels.

Such a perfect opportunity to slay the most beautiful being in the known universe had been wasted because of a mere black-armored foe. The thought made Sihou pound his chest in regret, already considering when next he would seek vengeance.

He sat down at random, brought all the super warriors hidden behind cover before him, and slowly spoke from the ground.

"You super warriors, I once saw you as mighty, able to kill me with ease. My long-standing fear of you made me miss a chance to taste true glory. I now understand how hard it is to analyze your bodies—I suffered for it last time. So this time, true to my ancient passions, I will simply destroy you physically."

Finishing these words, incomprehensible to the super warriors, Sihou drew his newly installed greatsword and approached the first super warrior.

"Farewell." With that, blood gushed from the wound, slowly crystallizing into ice and floating in the air.

With each kill, Sihou’s mood soared. He was intoxicated by the sensation of slaying super warriors, as though a serf had finally seized the right to sing his own song.

As Sihou immobilized the super warriors, the subordinate civilization alliance commenced emergency rescue efforts, attempting to teleport their treasures home through spatial wormholes. Yet the super warriors’ data was immense and ever-changing; at best, the stored data served as a reference.

As Sihou approached the sixth super warrior, wormholes suddenly materialized beneath the doomed warriors. Grasping hands reached through and pulled them inside before death could claim them.

Gazing at the severed arm he’d just cut off, Sihou felt no anger. He knew someone was watching him, using some means to observe his actions.

He brandished his sword in a triumphant downward slash, then returned in high spirits.

In stark contrast to Sihou’s delight, the alliance’s Supreme Commander was flushed with rage, his lips quivering, nearly coughing up blood. These super warriors were the very foundation of three civilizations, and in a single battle, they’d lost more than half. How could they go on fighting?

Weren’t the Devourers merely an interstellar civilization? How could they possess such beings—almost the equal of angels? No, stronger, for even angels could not control another’s speed.

With this new experience, Sihou gleefully ordered the use of the Ravaging Tide to end the battle. As the enemy fled in panic, he gave no order to pursue, choosing instead to return to the Solar System and seek further trouble with the angels and the black-armored foe.

A king’s dignity could not be sullied—least of all that of Sihou, who now considered himself Karl’s second-in-command. He was determined to carve the black-armored warrior who’d frightened him into pieces to soothe his resentment.

Meanwhile, Yun Yang, now marked for vengeance, was speaking with the Eldest Elder from the safety of a secure house. To obtain a genetic backup for the Power of the Galaxy, the Eldest Elder had several reasons, but upon learning Yun Yang sought to become a flying unit to better clear enemies in the sky, he readily agreed.

This call was made out of necessity; Yun Yang had not wished to trouble the weary elder, but he had little choice—Gao Xiaolun didn’t know where the genetic backup was either.