Mech: Shattering of the Galaxy Chapter 1589 - 105: Izewende

Alva’s tone was serious, yet his expression radiated a savage thrill.

Without need for commands, every White-armored Warrior in their unit unfurled their blades simultaneously.

"Heh, now it’s our turn. The Beast King’s remains lie deep within the valley ahead, but beware, the area is heavily populated by Star Beasts from the void."

Alva licked his lips and slowed his pace, clearly entering combat readiness. He glanced at Mu Fan with a grin, "Care to race from here to the heart of the Burial Ground?"

"Race how?" Mu Fan inquired.

"Whoever kills faster... whoever claims the most kills!"

A camouflaged Night Lizard launched itself from a rocky outcrop, only to be bisected mid-leap by Alva’s swift backward slash.

The air instantly grew thick with the scent of blood, and a subtle tremor began to emanate from the depths of the Burial Ground.

Mu Fan smirked upon hearing Alva’s challenge, drawing his Curved Light Scythe Blade. As he channeled Ghost Energy, two menacing Moon Blades materialized.

"Then you shall fail once more."

"Heh." Alva scoffed, gripping his shield and axe. His heavy tread struck the ground, propelling him forward like a speeding meteor.

Mu Fan coiled his body, moving with spectral silence, a frigid killing intent hot on Alva’s heels.

It has been so long...

The sheer delight of the hunt!

...

...

"Where are they?"

Within a thriving tribal settlement, at least ten times the size of the White Armor Tribe, a sinister-looking young man lounged in a palatial chamber constructed from Red River Stone. He reclined languidly on an imposing chair fashioned from animal hides and bones, idly manipulating a spherical bone artifact.

His dark hair was meticulously braided.

He appeared to be in his mid-twenties to early thirties, but the malevolent cast of his features made his exact age difficult to ascertain.

Below him, in the grand Red River Stone hall, a gaunt figure cowered, visibly terrified, his lips quivering, unable to form words.

"I inquired... where are they?" the young man asked, his voice soft, making the question even more unnerving.

The pressure intensified with his quiet tone.

Beads of sweat already dotted the tall, thin man’s forehead. He swallowed convulsively, his throat working overtime. "Young Clan Chief... they did not return."

*Creak.*

The bone ball in the young man’s palm ceased its rotation abruptly.

The lounging figure slowly raised his eyelids. "They did not return? Elder Edgewood is also absent… Elder Kemmler of the Black Water Clan, not here either? And your Udan Spearmen…"

Upon hearing this, the tall, thin subordinate collapsed to his knees, performing a frantic series of kowtows that drew blood from his forehead, daring not to cease.

"Then where have they vanished to?"

The young man finally sat upright, casually plucking a grape from a nearby platter and popping it into his mouth.

"I... I have no knowledge."

"Sigh, you claim they all failed to return, yet you stand before me. I can comprehend the elders’ absence… but how could you not even safeguard your own warriors? Tell me… what worth do you possess?"

These words were delivered with deceptive lightness, yet they caused the subordinate’s palms to sweat profusely, his face draining of all color.

He struggled to open his mouth, attempting to offer an explanation, but was cut short by a calm statement from the animal-skin chair: "To orchestrate the disappearance of an entire contingent of Udan Spearmen, Jie Lie, you certainly possess a unique talent."

With a soft exhalation, the young man casually scooped a handful of wild berries from an adjacent dish, consumed them, and turned, walking away with his hands clasped behind his back.

"To all descendants of the eagle, I grant you the privilege of bestowing your own honorific title."

"Young Clan Chief, I beg you, grant me another opportunity…" the man pleaded, his voice thick with desperation, his eyes conveying a world of supplication.

Yet, the young man did not spare him a glance, proceeding forward with arrogant strides, entirely deaf to his subordinate’s plea.

Witnessing this display, the tall, thin man lowered his head in utter despair.

As his head fully bowed, the hopelessness in his eyes contorted into savage desperation.

He refused to perish.

His only remaining family in the tribe was his wife. If he could eliminate the Young Clan Chief now and seize the brief window of chaos to escape, he could sell the intelligence he possessed to other factions for sanctuary.

The Red Stone Clan boasted numerous allies, but there were also those who stood apart from them.

Those were his intended targets!

His mind raced, meticulously crafting his plan, his eyes burning with the zenith of frenzy.

The young man, hands behind his back, continued his leisurely stroll, even letting out a yawn of sheer boredom.

He was merely three meters, then two meters… one meter away from the kneeling subordinate.

At this precise moment, the tall, thin man exploded upwards. His right hand swiftly drew a gleaming white bone dagger, meticulously inlaid with metal, from his waist.

The blade’s edge appeared wickedly sharp, leaving no doubt as to its cutting power.

"Izewende, you forced my hand!"

Oh?

Hearing his name, the young man, Izewende, tilted his head upwards. The dagger was now mere inches from his face.

The tall, thin man could even perceive his own distorted reflection within the other’s pupils.

The Young Clan Chief’s faintly crimson irises…

Wait, the pupils of his eyes are turning a peculiar yellowish-apricot color!?

No, the entirety of his eyes have become apricot yellow!

"Killing you natives brings no burden, heh heh." Izewende's face contorted into a twisted, grim smile.

What!?

Natives?

The tall, thin individual was utterly bewildered by this sudden shift.

He couldn't comprehend the Young Clan Chief's words.

However, he understood the implication behind the Young Clan Chief's tone–– that the other was prepared, or perhaps even intended, to kill him!

But at this range, with his own incredible speed and terrifying explosive power, even reinforcements would arrive too late.

From where did Izewende derive such confidence?

This overwhelming question didn't linger for long; the answer came directly from the source.

A sickening cascade of bone-snapping and joint-twisting sounds emanated from within Izewende. The tall, thin person watched in horror as the very curvature of the other's arm contorted unnaturally.

Izewende's right arm, which should have swung forward with his body's momentum, was now bizarrely bent backward.

And the smile on his face... it stretched from the corners of his mouth, threatening to split all the way to his chin.

This devilish grin nearly petrified the tall, thin person with fear.

Still suspended in the air, the tall, thin person fearfully gasped, "You're not..."

*Whoosh!*

The right arm, forcibly pulled back, then shot forward like a released crossbow bolt!

*Thunk!*

A hand impaled itself directly into the center of the chest, emitting a sound akin to a blade slicing through flesh.

*Crunch!*

Amidst the crisp sound of fracturing bones, the tall, thin person's eyes bulged in disbelief. His entire body instantly stiffened in mid-air, a look of fury frozen upon his face, yet his body would move no more.

This was because half of his spine had been forcibly expelled from his back!

*Thunk.*

The hand was withdrawn.

*Thud.*

The tall, thin person plummeted, lifeless, to the ground.