Mech: Shattering of the Galaxy Chapter 1551 - 67: Stop Dreaming

From the western edge of the village, that lion-like man's roar surged skyward, even managing to drown out the fierce cries of the Star Beasts nearby.

"How could the White Armor Tribe's Hero be ambushed and struck down!"

Boom!

Boom!

Explosions erupted in rapid succession, like thunderous cannon fire.

Glancing over, Nuonuo could discern at least a dozen figures sent hurtling through the air, accompanied by spurts of crimson blood painting the sky.

The conflict in the western sector of the village instantly escalated into a furious inferno.

Meanwhile, a mere hundred meters beyond the tribe's main gate, Alva, his muscular frame drenched in blood, forcefully shoved aside an Iron Armored Mountain Beast that had been charging him. He turned his head sharply.

"Clan Leader!!"

"Uncle Isaiah!"

"Our Esteemed Clan Leader!"

A chorus of a thousand voices cried out in unison.

"Hold the line here! I'm going to aid him!" Alva bellowed with rage, charging towards the west side of the village.

He moved like a rampaging bear, each colossal stride leaving behind depressions over two meters wide in the earth.

Thump, thump, thump!

The rhinoceros-hide war drums of the White Armor Tribe pounded with a relentless, thunderous rhythm.

Every soul, young and old, man and woman, passionately cheered on the warriors defending their home.

...

"Isaiah, that savage beast has lost all reason. Everyone, focus your attacks on him, wear him down until he's utterly spent,"

"Quickly, reinforcements are approaching from the other flank... Ah!"

A warrior’s massive Greataxe descended with brutal force.

Wielding a Bone Gold Battle Axe, Alva bisected a Red Stone Warrior attempting to ambush Isaiah from behind, sending hot blood spraying meters into the air.

"Uncle Isaiah!"

Witnessing over a dozen bloody gashes marring Isaiah's body, Alva's eyes blazed, and he lifted his head, a ferocious expression contorting his features.

"You scum of the Red Stone Tribe, I am your opponent."

"You whelp, such wounds are nothing, hahaha." Isaiah let out a wild laugh, casually yanking a Crossbow Bolt deeply lodged in his shoulder. With a swift, reversed swing, he crushed another assailant, momentarily stunning the Red Stone Tribe warriors with his indomitable presence.

"Lord Basham, he is far too formidable, showing no signs of weakening whatsoever!"

Observing that over eighty of their comrades had been slain or incapacitated within mere minutes of engagement, one warrior could no longer bear the strain.

Basham's gaze, filled with malice, remained concealed at the far edge of the fray. He had even disguised his voice using a Bull Horn when he spoke.

Upon seeing another five clansmen brutally cut down, Basham forcibly suppressed his seething hatred. "The ambush has faltered, retreat! Our Crossbow Arrows are poisoned; we shall return tomorrow! I want Isaiah to watch in utter despair as his people become our thralls."

The Bull Horn sounded once more.

Isaiah and Alva, locked in their brutal combat, simultaneously sensed a slight easing of the pressure surrounding them.

"Uncle Isaiah, return to the village first. I will hunt down Basham," Alva declared, his gaze fixed on the distant, sprawling sea of tall grass, a deep-seated hatred burning within him.

"No." Isaiah's strong hand clamped onto Alva's shoulder. As he prepared to speak, he suddenly coughed out a mouthful of blood, tinged with a purple hue.

Isaiah's complexion rapidly shifted to an unnerving ashen-white. He looked at Alva's youthful visage and gently shook his head.

Alva's mind gradually cooled from its fiery anger as he surveyed the chaotic battlefield.

At a rough estimate, the Red Stone Tribe had suffered at least sixty casualties, while their own White Armor Tribe had lost twenty warriors...

Ten more were grievously wounded, barely able to remain standing.

"Let's fall back!"

Alva choked back the words, emotion catching in his throat. Supporting Isaiah's sturdy frame, he charged back towards the village like a force of nature.

"The Clan Leader has been struck by a poisoned arrow! Fetch the antidote immediately!"

"Miss Nuonuo, possessing wisdom as profound as the stars, please save Uncle Isaiah."

Noticing the increasingly pronounced ashen-white color spreading across Isaiah's face, Nuonuo bit her lip and nodded resolutely.

"My medical knowledge is somewhat limited, but I do possess a vial of serum. Uncle Isaiah, you must persevere."

"Heh, I won't die." Isaiah managed a weak chuckle, laughing until his powerful body finally gave way, slumping forward.

"Clan Leader!"

"Clan Leader."

...

...

Two hundred thousand kilometers from the vast, untamed edge of the Black Storm, the aft section of a colossal, prism-shaped warship was now shrouded within a multitude of enormous spore-filled bubbles.

Standing upon the mobile observation deck, Job and Luke, two elite members of the Saint Luo Clan known as High Purity, intently observed the gently quivering spore bubbles. Finally, the anxiety etched on their faces began to recede.

A full eleven hours had elapsed; all the spore repair bubbles had completed their maturation cycle. Now, only one final hour remained.

With the basic engine repairs completed by the cultivated nanobots, escape from this forsaken location was now possible.

Captain Job, a man of tall and slender build, continuously stroked the crystal ball situated atop the column-shaped control panel with a single hand.

This diminutive observation platform, spanning approximately five meters in diameter, ascended and descended around the warship. The more he observed, the deeper the ache in his heart, yet Job managed to quell his distress, focusing on his vessel and meticulously calculating the necessary Xiling for its restoration.

[This will likely require... fifty million... no, at least one hundred fifty million Xiling. My heart... Merciful heavens!]

Job’s normally handsome features were contorted in anguish, the volatile Saint Luo blood seeming poised to erupt from his eye sockets. The sheer scale of the warship directly correlated with the astronomical repair expenses.

In the Saint Luo Universe, Xiling served as the ultimate hard currency!

For the common folk residing at the lower strata of society, a single Xiling could sustain them for two full days.

One hundred fifty million Xiling represented an almost unimaginable sum... Alas!

A sigh, laced with unwillingness and helplessness, escaped Job’s lips.

He had no alternative; this warship was his sole possession.

The Wind Chaser symbolized the pinnacle of his achievement as a member of the High Purity.

Vice Captain Luke rubbed his forehead, his expression one of weary resignation.

While he too felt the sting of the financial burden, his perspective was more pragmatic than Job’s. As long as the warship's core structure remained intact, the funds could eventually be recouped.

"Sigh, this suddenly reminds me of that pursuit notice from Cameron’s garrison... 300 million Xiling," Job murmured in disbelief, standing beside him.

"Enough, snap out of it and stop daydreaming. We need to verify the precise coordinates first before entertaining such notions," Luke retorted.

"Do you honestly believe a target of that caliber would obediently remain stationary, awaiting the military’s arrival? The true intent behind an S-level notice is for us to corner the target, which is laughable. We can barely afford to provoke a target even with an A-level notice," Luke interjected impatiently, cutting off his companion's solitary contemplation.

"Not to mention the infinitesimal, trillion-to-one chance of even detecting it," Luke added.

Having spoken, Luke redirected his attention to assessing their warship.

However, after a few moments, Luke found it surprising that Job offered no complaints or response. Instead, his arm was gripped with surprising force.

The distinct sound of jaws clenching together echoed near his ears.

"What is it you’re doing!? Job!" Luke protested, turning to face him.

Then, upon witnessing the direction of Job's transfixed, open-mouthed stare, Luke's own expression utterly froze. He promptly slapped himself across the face.