Steampunk Era: Mad Abield
Chapter 1043: Section 663: Journey to Central South (3)

Chapter 1043: Section 663: Journey to Central South (3)

Having lost their commander, this Khornate force chose to retreat. Their Great Demon commander had died in the champion duel, and the opposing champion appeared extremely powerful—his weapon looked somewhat familiar as well. Under multiple factors, these guys ultimately made the rare decision to retreat—not fleeing, but orderly disengaging from contact.

Of course, those Chaotic Believers and corrupted vessels of pitiful souls were abandoned. The Thainan army stepped out from the protection of the city walls and began to deal with these discarded cannon fodder.

Malin didn’t waste his kindness, since whether it was the believers or the pitiful mortals, their minds had already been polluted by Chaos. The probability of saving them?

There was no probability at all.

Ails was holding the Great Demon’s head, trying to extract the pitiful soul trapped inside. The eyes of the severed head were still able to roll—the soul had been imprisoned by Ails within the head, condemned to a state of truly unable to live yet unable to die.

The Sage’s disciple walked over at this moment, scrutinizing Malin as if to determine whether the figure in front of him was human or a monster. Ultimately, he abandoned his probing gaze in favor of focusing his attention on Ails.

Meanwhile, a bald man approached: "This lich... Sir Malin, are you acquainted with it?"

"Known him for years. I usually invite him over whenever I’m hunting Great Demons," Malin said, then glanced at the bald man and his metal staff: "Are you a Martial Monk?"

"Indeed, sir. We have somewhat tense relations with the undead," the Martial Monk replied unreservedly.

At this moment, Ails had finished handling the soul inside the severed head. He pulled out a Golden Cake and threw the Great Demon’s head at the feet of the Sage’s disciple.

"Young man, you seem pretty young, but your status is quite significant. This head is useless to us—how much is it worth to you here?"

"We have no dealings with the undead," the bald man continued bluntly.

Malin then took out cigarettes made from sacred tobacco and flicked one each to the bald man and Ails.

"Thank you, sir." The bald man sniffed the cigarette in his hand, smiled, and saluted Malin before lighting it up.

It seemed that the Thainan Martial Monks at least didn’t reject such sacred tobacco. This discovery made Malin nod in acknowledgment.

As for Ails, under the resentful gaze of his foe, he snapped his fingers. With ghostly blue flames, he lit the cigarette and took a satisfied puff, his unique lich demeanor on full display.

"Far more authentic than the tobacco I smoked in the North, Sir Malin," Ails remarked.

Ails’ behavior left the bald man momentarily stunned. He glanced at the cigarette in his hand, then at the sacred smoke exhaled by Ails. Finally, when he turned his gaze to the Sage’s disciple, he refrained from voicing any objections about the disciple picking up the Great Demon’s head.

A lich capable of smoking sacred tobacco—before today, he’d have been able to rip off the storyteller’s head for uttering such an absurd tale.

But after today, he feared he might become that storyteller himself.

Nonetheless, Ails’ actions significantly reduced his wariness—after all, a lich who could not be ignited by sacred tobacco indicated that, at least recently, it hadn’t committed any misdeeds.

Moreover, with Malin, a Legendary warrior, offering his backing, it seemed trust might be warranted.

"This thing can be sacrificed to Master Wu—I can give you Gold Ingots. Lich, what’s your acceptable price point?" The Sage’s disciple clearly displayed interest.

Ails turned to look at Malin.

"Sir, what’s your price for the head?"

"Don’t sell it—consider it a gift from me, the host," Malin said, tossing a World Tree fruit to the bald man. "This Sage’s disciple sustained lung damage earlier in life. Grind this fruit into powder, mix it with water twice, and consume—it’ll cure the ailment completely."

Although the bald man was a Martial Monk, his Transcendent status was evident. He immediately understood the true value of the fruit Malin threw to him and expressed his thanks promptly.

"By the way, Sir Malin, how should we handle this Chaos force?"

Ails turned to Malin.

"I told you to support the Northern Kingdom’s army in the northern territory, didn’t I?" Malin asked curiously. Ails’ question clearly hinted at his desire to meddle here instead.

"The Northerners have fought out four regiments by now, but their commander seems confident enough and doesn’t want me to share in the military honors."

Ails’ response made Malin frown slightly, though he could only sigh—having previously agreed on this arrangement with the North’s monarch: "Fine. Pull your army over here and chase down that Chaos force. But if things feel too troublesome, just call me."

"No problem, sir. Though, would your new friends here be willing to let me summon my army here?"

"Archbishop Zhang, I believe that since this lich is unlike any other, and has Sir Malin’s endorsement, it might be worth witnessing the army he commands. After all, it’s been centuries since Thainan last saw a lich army, hasn’t it?"

"Eight hundred years, to be exact. Given that he is Sir Malin’s friend, and so unconventional in his allegiance, I think it’s acceptable."

"Alright, here we go!"

Ails raised both hands. A massive gate of bones burst forth from the soil, and rows of skeletal gunmen wielding firearms began filing out.

As the first ranks appeared, the curiosity on Archbishop Zhang’s face was replaced with solemnity.

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