Chapter 28
Chapter 28
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Translator: True Detective
Chapter: 28
Chapter Title: Guessing Games in the Forest
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Ten minutes later, in the forest arena.
The rocky beach was a total mess, scorched bare stone belching plumes of blue smoke into the night.
Dean pried open the white mecha giant "Mystic Ice" with Crimson Chaos. The cockpit was blasted to pieces, but luckily the pilot was unharmed—just scared half to death. His legs gave out as he climbed out, and he tumbled down the mecha's hull in a clattering heap.
Claire was badly injured. Dean found a mat and laid it on the ground, helping him lie down. His battered face was a far cry from his usual arrogant swagger. Even someone as good-natured as Dean felt a twinge of schadenfreude, but then he remembered Claire had gotten this way protecting his teammate and quickly suppressed it.
"Go ahead and laugh if you want," Claire rasped. "I can tell."
Dean kept a straight face and said nothing.
"You've got a good technician, that's all. Without him, would you even be standing here right now? Pot calling the kettle black."
Claire fell silent for a moment, then couldn't resist prodding again. "You're just lucky as hell, dragging an Omega onto the battlefield with you. No way I'd ever do something like that..."
"Will you shut up already!" Dean slammed down the towel. "If you don't want treatment, get lost. I sure as hell don't want to deal with you!"
Claire drew a sharp breath, ready to fire back, when Gavin arrived carrying the med kit. "What are you two arguing about?"
They both clamped their mouths shut at once.
"You're not kids anymore—can't you behave? We don't even know when the next group will show up." Gavin shoved the med kit into Dean's hands and pointed at Claire. "Treat him. I'll check on the mecha."
Dean's face fell. "There's another group coming?!"
Gavin waved him off without looking back and walked away.
Tournament rules forbade bringing healing pods; this med kit could only do basic wound care. With his chest bound in a splint, Claire sat limply by the fire, its embers crackling softly.
Dean stalked around grim-faced, packing up gear, while Gavin sat cross-legged some fifty meters away, engrossed in a tablet as he fine-tuned the neural lock on Mystic Ice.
"You know," Claire couldn't help opening his mouth again, "who marked him anyway?"
The question hit Dean's sore spot. He exploded, "I don't know! And it sure as hell wasn't you!"
"Of course not. You don't know? You've been guarding him like a mother hen, practically following him to the bathroom, and you still don't know who marked him?"
"None of your business!"
"Tch, like hell it's not. A single Omega concerns every Alpha out there." Claire's eyes darted around, then he whispered, "Someone from the academy?"
Dean hesitated. "Probably not."
"That's what I thought. The strongest Alphas at the academy are all on the mecha team, and none of their pheromones match what's on him. So... the military?"
"No way. Even the military..." Dean trailed off, his face clouding with doubt.
Claire knew he'd grown up in the military, with ties to plenty of generals. He perked up. "Got any leads?"
"I'm thinking... no, no, it couldn't be—"
Dean wavered, but Claire kept pressing. Finally, Dean cracked. "Rumor has it... His Majesty the Emperor dropped by the academy that day..."
They stared at each other, then Claire burst out laughing.
Dean shook his head with a chuckle, finding it ridiculous too. After a while, Claire braced against a rock and staggered to his feet. Gazing at Gavin's distant silhouette, he steeled himself. "Guessing won't get us anywhere. I'll ask him myself!"
Dean knew it was pointless but relished the chance to see his rival flop. "Yeah! Go for it! Ask him!"
Claire wheezed after every few steps but finally reached Gavin's back. He sat ramrod straight, gaze icy cold, focused intently on the tablet, fingers flying across complex formulas and commands.
An arc longsword was jammed into a nearby rock crevice, its blade whining mournfully in the night breeze.
For some reason, Claire lost his nerve and changed the subject. "How's Mystic Ice?"
The white giant lay sprawled on the nearby rocky beach, armor shattered, body smeared with soot, severed wires sparking faintly from its joints and neck.
"Not enough tools to fix the mechanical damage right now," Gavin said absently, sketching a circuit diagram on the screen. "I'll tune the neural lock first so it can reboot... No fighting for the next couple days. Get a pro technician to repair it properly once we're out of the forest."
Claire hesitated, then sat beside him, pretending nonchalance while sneaking glances.
Gavin ignored him.
"Ahem." Claire cleared his throat, but at the last second switched topics again. "You said earlier there's another group coming..."
"Kidnappers."
"Right, right, the kidnappers. Any idea where they're from? Stellar Military Academy?"
Gavin stayed silent.
"Rumor is their principal Daina's a real sleaze. Always fighting us for the league title. Lost his shit this year and cooked up this dirty trick—daring to screw with me!" Claire punched the ground. "If my firepower wasn't crap, I'd beat him so bad his own mom wouldn't recognize him!"
The rant laid bare a classic Alpha trait: I'm the top Alpha, so I'm the best. If I lose, it's always some external bullshit—being outmatched? Never.
Gavin disagreed inwardly but kept it off his face. He shut the tablet, grabbed the longsword, and headed for Mystic Ice.
"What're you doing?" Claire asked warily. "Already fixed?"
Gavin didn't turn. "Mm-hmm."
He stopped before the steel giant's massive head, gripped the blade tight. Blood dripped from his fist into a groove on the mecha's skull—the external port for the physical neural lock.
A flash of light pulsed at the port, then the blood vanished, sucked clean in seconds.
Lost in teenage brooding, Claire didn't bother checking. Staring at Gavin's lone, upright figure by the fire, he finally mustered the courage. "Gavin, there's something I want to ask you—"
"Not the academy or the military." Gavin cut him off without turning, mockingly. "Enemy at the gates, situation unclear, and you two are gossiping away. Tough mental game."
"..."
Claire flushed crimson, never dreaming Gavin's hearing was sharp enough to catch every word from that distance—and without betraying a hint on his face!
"I—I just—"
"Get some sleep. Big march tomorrow." Gavin sheathed the sword and brushed past, a faint teasing glint in his eye.
"I just..." Claire froze, mortified.
In that instant, he'd wanted to grab Gavin's hand but chickened out. Compared to their first meeting, Gavin had changed—some intangible aura radiated from within, quashing any impulsive thoughts before they surfaced.
What was that aura? Claire puzzled over it.
If it were Dean, he'd dismiss it as posturing. But with Gavin... it was different.
He brooded a bit, then his youthful impatience won out. Grumbling, he yanked a blanket over himself and crashed.
Gavin repaired the mecha and tended wounds, standing vigil till dawn—unaware the Emperor was taking heavenly lightning back at the palace, nearly scared out of his wits.
"What did you say?!" Heinrich demanded incredulously. "What the hell were you doing?!"
Scarface thought he was furious that a squad of elite military agents lost to academy kids. He bowed low. "Your Majesty, calm down. The boys got cocky and underestimated them. It wasn't... We mobilized two armed shuttles on Principal Daina's orders, but the Royal Military Academy faked their participant list. One armed technician could mentally control a C-class mecha from outside..."
"B Team went to subdue the pilot of 'Mystic Ice' and had victory in the bag, but then 'Crimson Chaos' looped back for reinforcements—" Scarface paused, whining, "That armed tech wiped the floor with four or five of ours. I was about to counterattack when I saw who it was..."
Heinrich's temples throbbed. He blurted, "Who told you to take orders from Daina?! Since when is he your boss?!"
Scarface shot back, "Wasn't that you, Your Majesty?! Last time in the study, Daina asked how to rig the first round so Royal Military Academy loses. You said, 'Figure it out yourself.' Then he asked if he could borrow a few men, and you pointed at me: 'Have those guys pitch in if they're free'..."
Heinrich gaped, then remembered it was true.
Heaven and earth as witness, Heinrich juggled hundreds of matters daily—armies marching, billions flowing. How could he recall every offhand remark? State affairs had advisors, but rigging the mecha league? That was off-books, unknown even to closest aides. Who'd correct him?
Daina was a bastard too—twisting "lend a hand" into full command of military agents! Who the fuck did he think he was?
The Emperor's rage shifted to Daina. He pressed, "When did I say that?"
Scarface thought. "Around three a.m. last Friday, after the military briefing?"
"I was asleep!" Heinrich roared, seizing the excuse. "You morons take every dumbass word as gospel! Selective hearing much? Never hear me about cleaning house, but three a.m. chit-chat sticks like glue?!"
Scarface fled to the study door, ears covered. Once the Emperor cooled, he crept back.
"Any evidence left for Royal Military Academy?" Heinrich grumbled. "And where's the team? A whole squad of agents and no captures?"
Bad question. Scarface wailed, "Your Majesty, you know who Royal Military Academy sent out? That technician! The one you marked! One whiff of his scent and I'm jelly, but he's charging right at the front. Seeing him, I just wanted to run faster..."
The Emperor heard nothing.
Thunderstruck, his vision blackened.
"W-what'd he look like?" Heinrich clung to faint hope.
"Too dark to see clear, no time for details. But honestly, his outline was just like Marshal Celia—a teenage version. Scary at first glance." Scarface gossiped, "That really the one you marked? How'd you manage with a face like the Marshal's?"
The Emperor: "..."
His last hope shattered.
"Why'd you even go..." Heinrich muttered dazedly. "Daina says jump and you jump..."
Looking every bit the man whose wife ran off, Heinrich despaired. Scarface watched warily, then ventured, "Want me to take them back now? Slaughter those academy brats and silence them? Your marked Omega won't escape either—bring the full elite squad, and we'll have him trussed up in your bed by tonight..."
"Shut your trap!" The Emperor bellowed, hurling files at his head.
This op failed due to Daina's poor command—arrogant elites versus combat freak Celia? No surprise. But with the Emperor directing, full military might? Forget snot-nosed cadets; they'd hogtie Celia himself and dump him in bed.
Problem was, then what?
Even if he snatched the phoenix this way, would Celia let it slide?
Celia didn't know the phoenix's importance yet. Edna probably goaded him with "beat Stellar Military Academy," so he was clueless about the Emperor's meddling.
No evidence tied the military this time—Celia had no clue about the kidnappers' origins. If it blew up, pin it on Daina and done.
But outright war with Royal Military Academy? No need for Edna's stirring—Celia would spot the Emperor's dirty hands himself. Worst case, he'd suspect the phoenix and find the corpse in the cockpit. How to explain? "Gavin, I love you because you're the Marshal in the cockpit"? Or "Gavin, I love you, and I love this cockpit guy too"?!
Either way, game over.
Fury boiling, the Emperor silently cursed rogue Daina and scheming Edna. Too late now—Celia had clashed with the military and grown suspicious. Any fixes left?
"...M-maybe just silence them all..." Scarface stammered. "Grab Daina, chop him, blame it all on him..."
Heinrich thought, great idea—wanted to do it now! But no phoenix, no autopsy. He reined in the urge to exterminate Daina's ancestors. "No. Wrong time to strike."
"Then—"
"Any move waits for the finals, or it'll look fake." Heinrich paused, turning serious. "Priority is upholding His Majesty's wise and mighty image. Need a way to distance myself from those players in front of everyone. Actually, I've got an idea..."