Chapter 789: Taming the Mischievous Sarkaz W Only Needs One Sentence
"Hello, everyone. Long time no see."
Ren offered a casual wave as he greeted FrostNova and the rest of the gathered operators.
Patriot, towering and imposing as ever, steadily lowered his massive head in a silent, respectful greeting.
"Ren. It has been a while," FrostNova replied, offering a slight, cool nod.
Before anyone else could speak, a certain erratic mercenary decided to make her presence known. W sauntered forward, her slender, spiked tail swaying lazily behind her in a hypnotic rhythm. She leaned into Ren's personal space, flashing a dangerously charming, razor-sharp grin.
"Oh, little brother Ren," she purred, her voice dripping with teasing affection. "I wonder... did you miss me more, or FrostNova?"
FrostNova's pale brows instantly knit together. The temperature in the room seemed to drop a fraction of a degree as she leveled an icy glare at the mercenary. She had no idea what W was trying to accomplish, though it was obvious the Sarkaz was deliberately trying to stir up trouble just for the thrill of it.
Ren remained completely unmoved by the woman's mischievous, chaotic personality. He didn't step back. Instead, he leaned forward, closing the distance until his lips were mere inches from W's pointed ear.
His voice dropped into a quiet, private whisper. "Do you want to see Theresa?"
The effect was instantaneous.
W's teasing smirk froze. Her crimson eyes widened drastically, her pupils shrinking to pinpricks. The breath hitched in her throat.
That single name acted like a key, violently unlocking a vault of distant, buried memories she had tried so desperately to lock away.
Theresa.
The visionary founder of the Kazdel mobile city. One of the original architects of the Kazdel Military Commission. The creator and supreme leader of the Babel organization. She was the absolute ruler of Kazdel, the Sarkaz Demon King. To countless infected and outcasts, she was simply known as the Sarkaz's only true monarch.
During her reign, Theresa had poured her soul into her people. She had championed medical care, pushed for widespread education, and fiercely developed urban infrastructure. She had stood at the front lines, leading the Sarkaz to repel foreign invasions time and time again, all while achieving miraculous successes in diplomatic negotiations.
In W's mind, the image of Theresa remained pristine. She was kind. Benevolent. Approachable. Compassionate to a fault. She had dedicated her life to alleviating the suffering of ignorance and the agony of Oripathy for every Sarkaz she could reach. This was a queen who would openly weep, showing deep sorrow over the plight of a single, insignificant old worker from Londinium.
Yet, as a leader, she possessed a terrifyingly decisive, far-sighted, and battle-hardened edge. Her insight, her shrewd wisdom, and her overwhelming power were the exact reasons countless Sarkaz citizens willingly and fiercely bowed to her as their Demon King.
W had been one of those who willingly submitted.
In truth, the letter 'W'was not her original name. Her true name was a secret known only to herself. She had inherited the moniker from the original'W', an old comrade of the Sarkaz mercenary Hoederer. During the bloody Kazdel civil war, the original W had sacrificed herself in a botched operation. The current W, driven by a twisted sense of resolve, had scavenged the dead woman's equipment, tracked down Hoederer, and attempted to assassinate him.
Instead of killing her, Hoederer had accepted her into his ranks. From that day on, she was 'W'.
While serving in Hoederer's mercenary group, they had taken an escort mission from Babel. It was a disaster. W and Ines were ambushed by a horde of overwhelmingly powerful enemies. Both women were severely wounded, fighting back-to-back in a desperate counterattack to break the encirclement. Outnumbered and bleeding out, they were trapped.
Then, Babel arrived. Theresa's forces tore through the enemy lines and pulled them from the brink of death.
When a heavily bandaged W finally awoke in the medical ward of Rhodes Island, she met Theresa. Through their brief interactions, W found herself entirely captivated by the monarch's sheer charisma, developing a deep, unshakable respect for her. She abandoned her old life, choosing to remain within Babel as Theresa's fiercely loyal subordinate, eventually striking up a friendship with another Sarkaz named Scout.
Hoederer and Ines had chosen a different path, leaving Babel to operate strictly as contracted mercenaries.
Then came the assassination. Theresa fell, and W's world shattered. She fled Babel, her path twisting and turning through blood and betrayal until she arrived at her present state.
W had fully believed that Theresa's name would remain nothing more than a cherished, painful scar etched deep within her heart.
But now, that name was ringing in her ears.
Ren had just casually implied he had seen Theresa.
But that was impossible. Theresa was dead.
"You..." W choked out, her voice trembling, stripping away all her usual manic bravado.
Just as she opened her mouth to demand answers, Ren raised his index finger, pressing it gently against her lips.
"Don't ask too many questions," he murmured, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Come find me tonight."
A few feet away, Kal'tsit narrowed her eyes. "What... are you two talking about?" she asked, her sharp gaze flicking between the two who had clearly just exchanged words without making a sound.
"Nothing," Ren replied smoothly, turning his attention back to the room. "Aren't we supposed to be discussing serious matters? Let's just start directly."
Kal'tsit gave W a long, calculating look. The usually chaotic and loud Sarkaz had instantly become terrifyingly well-behaved, stepping aside with a dazed, hollow expression on her face. Deciding not to push the issue, Kal'tsit gave a slight nod.
The group moved to the large conference table, taking their respective seats.
Only Laurentina remained standing. The silver-haired Abyssal Hunter bypassed the empty chairs and walked gracefully up behind Ren.
"My Lord," Laurentina murmured, her voice a soft, melodic hum. "Would you allow Laurentina to massage your shoulders?"
Ren casually leaned back. "My Lord? That title really isn't suitable for me. From now on, just call me Ren."
"Yes, Ren."
Laurentina's crimson eyes lit up with genuine delight. Taking his relaxed posture as tacit approval, she placed her hands on his shoulders, her slender fingers expertly kneading away the tension in his muscles.
None of the others sitting around the table found Laurentina's subservient attitude problematic. How could they? Ren was the man who had casually cured her late-stage Oripathy, pulling her back from the brink of absolute physical and mental dissociation. If any of them put themselves in her shoes, they knew they would likely be just as fiercely devoted to him.
It was just a shoulder massage, after all.
A heavy silence settled over the conference room.
Kal'tsit turned her head, fixing her gaze on the young Cautus sitting near the head of the table. "You speak."
"Eh? Me? Me?"
Amiya's long rabbit ears shot straight up in surprise. She fidgeted in her seat, looking nervously between the imposing figures around her. "Ugh, but Dr. Kaltsit, wouldn't you and the Doctor be more suitable to handle this?"
Her lack of confidence was obvious.
Kal'tsit's gaze sharpened into a piercing stare. "Amiya. You are the leader of Rhodes Island."
Amiya's heart gave a violent jolt.
The reminder hit her squarely in the chest. She forced herself to sit up straighter, taking a long, deep breath to steady her racing pulse. The hesitation in her eyes slowly burned away, replaced by a firm, unwavering resolve.
She looked directly at the man sitting across from her. "Mr. Ren," she began, her voice earnest and heavy with desperate hope. "Do you really have a way to cure Oripathy patients?"
The entire room seemed to hold its breath. Every single pair of eyes locked onto Ren.
Yes, they had seen three miraculous instances of his healing already, but they couldn't be entirely sure if those were isolated cases with special circumstances. They needed to hear the absolute truth directly from his mouth.
"Yes. And it's very simple."
While the greatest minds and warriors of Terra held their breath in agonizing suspense, Ren answered with the casual indifference of someone discussing the weather.
To him, it truly was just a matter of a single thought. Let alone curing the infected across the entire planet, he could make the very concept of Originium cease to exist in this universe if he felt like it.
"Really!!!"
The confirmation struck the room like a physical shockwave.
Blaze, Gravel, and several others violently pushed their chairs back, leaping to their feet. Their faces were flushed with overwhelming excitement, their eyes wide with disbelief and raw joy.
A confirmed method to cure Oripathy.
The weight of those words was staggering. Rhodes Island was filled with countless operators and patients suffering in agony, their bodies slowly turning to crystal. Anyone who had ever witnessed the horrific pain of an Oripathy flare-up would give anything for a cure.
"Quiet!"
Kal'tsit's voice cut through the rising clamor like a scalpel. She remained perfectly seated, her calm demeanor forcefully re-establishing order in the chaotic room.
Amiya, who had been half out of her seat, ready to jump for joy, was metaphorically pressed back down by Kal'tsit's stern glare.
Kal'tsit noted the immediate shift in Amiya's posture. She was far from satisfied with such a highly emotional, unstable display from the public leader of Rhodes Island.
"Amiya," Kal'tsit said, her voice dropping into a low, warning register. "You seem to be celebrating far too early. Ren... he hasn't actually said he will help us."
Amiya's entire body stiffened.
The cold water of reality washed over her. Oh. That's right.
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