Steampunk Era: Mad Abield
Chapter 318 - 220: World of Conflict (Part Two)_3

Chapter 318: Chapter 220: World of Conflict (Part Two)_3

Malin gave Jessica a finger snap, "Alright, sit here and watch Maya’s match."

At that moment, a messenger from Faye landed on Malin’s head, and he glanced at the communication note the messenger had brought for him from Faye.

"Faye’s father has returned," Malin said to Jessica. "Looks like I’ll need to find a place to sort out my food and lodging tonight."

"Our king has returned earlier than expected," the old Bishop said as he pulled out a pocket watch and glanced at it, then meaningfully looked at Malin, "Speaking of which, I’ve always disbelieved that you and the child Faye would end up together, I thought you were nothing more than a shield to her. Now it seems, I was mistaken."

"No, I am indeed her shield," Malin laughed in reply, "I am her shield, her longsword, her dyke, her lover, we walk together, supporting each other."

"You young people do speak beautifully, even an old thing like me gets envious." The old man laughed as he looked towards the mentor Amet Serk, who also smiled a bit awkwardly, "Young people do like to speak more elegantly."

"It’s just a common appreciation," Malin smiled and noticed that the battle on the field had already ended: "That team is quite remarkable. Where are they from?"

"From the Northern Province, the teams from the Baim and Katov regions, close to the northern front lines. Their apprentices have the most practical experience," the Archbishop mentioned this team with pride: "I come from there myself. The apprentice teams from the churches of the Baim and Katov regions have always been made up of the most trustworthy children in the entire Union."

Malin fell silent for a moment—his meaning of the most trustworthy was not self-praise. Within the Church of the True God, those deemed most worthy of a deity’s trust are usually the most fearless in sacrificing themselves.

The subsequent matches were somewhat dull; not just Malin, but the other mentors also found them hard to watch. Finally, when the lower-grade apprentice teams came on stage, they started to perk up—the lower-grade apprentices were usually even worse than the middle-grade ones, but precisely because of this, the glimmers of talent the children showed were valued more by the mentors. The hopeful future was exactly that.

The first few rounds even surprised Malin—this time, the lower-grade team from the Goddess of Harvest was almost entirely made up of first-year students. Although they should have no competitive strength, whenever a child demonstrated their abilities and talent, Malin would consider just how dazzling their future performance might be.

Take the recent half-dragon half-blood for example—dragons were extremely rare in this world, but that didn’t mean there were none left. Some draconic clans still existed, and this lad was one of them. His resistance to spellcasting was not bad, he could take several flame rays in succession without harm, other than burning a few holes in his clothes.

"That’s your sister? She doesn’t look much like you," the old man said as he watched Maya’s team from Carterburg take the stage and turned to size up Malin: "Though you are both half-bloods, I really can’t find any commonality between you."

Malin watched his sister walk onto the stage and said, "My sister and I are Mr. Gaiate’s foster son and daughter. Speaking of which, did mentor Amet Serk tell you about my sister’s prowess with lightning arrows?"

"Mentor Amet Serk did mention it, I think it was just rapid firing," the old man said.

Malin watched the opposing team spread out their formation in recognition of Maya, an obvious spellcaster, showing his appreciation—at least they understood that grouping together in front of a spellcaster was one of the most foolish mistakes one could make in their life.

Then he saw his sister Maya slap down a Resonant Array before the fight began—a third-level spell formation, a necessity for casters preparing to unleash spells from a stationary position, each spell enhanced by the Resonant Array gained extra damage and the ability to pierce spell resistance.

"A first-year who knows a third-level spell, this little one is quite impressive, it’s just a pity she’s a child of a different faith, otherwise I’d quite like her to convert... What’s that?" The old man said, watching as Maya’s lightning arrows fired off like a repeating crossbow—more than twenty shots in a breath—electrifying the already scattered team till they were crisp on the outside and tender on the inside. He turned to mentor Amet Serk, "Is this what you meant by... mastery?"

"Yes, didn’t I tell you?" Mentor Amet Serk said with an innocent face.

"I... In all my years, I’ve never seen such mastery!" The old man was both angry and anxious, "What if the children are hurt!"

As he said this, the stunned audience on the bleachers saw the kids get up.

"It’s fine, I prepared a bracelet made from a World Tree Sapling for my sister. The lightning arrows she shoots are converted into positive energy, and though they are still a bit electric, they won’t kill anyone. And because of the healing effect of positive energy, they won’t injure anyone either," Malin was explaining when he heard an excited voice from the platform, seeming to be a child surprised at being healed by the lightning arrow.

"...You truly are a child blessed by the divine," the old man said, looking at Malin with a complicated expression.

Malin smiled and then reached out to pull his sister onto the bleachers.

"You did well, my sister," Malin patted Maya’s head as the little leopard laughed twice idiotically and then took off the World Tree Sapling wristband composed of Lorrin and handed it back to her brother.

"Now with this kid, our lower-grade team has become the strongest team in the diocese contest," the old man sighed from behind.

In response, Malin felt a bit regretful—if the old man knew Malin before him was eligible to compete, the middle-grade team from the Goddess of Harvest would be the force that could dominate this contest.

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