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ArabicArknights: Soul Knights of Terra — Chapter 49
Chapter 49: Since Things Have Come to This, Let’s Eat First
Hoederer and his mercenary squad hurried toward the fading echoes of the explosion, their boots crunching over scorched earth. As the dust settled, two silhouettes emerged from the haze. Vera walked in front, her stride even and unhurried. W trailed closely behind her.
Hoederer’s lone visible eye immediately swept over Vera. After confirming their employer hadn’t sustained a single scratch, his gaze shifted toward the Sarkaz explosives expert.
That single glance made the veteran mercenary freeze in his tracks.
Normally, W practically radiated a manic aura, her face perpetually stamped with a desperate need to broadcast I am dangerous. Now, her head hung low. She followed silently in Vera’s wake, her steps measured. Her posture could only be described as submissive—a word Hoederer never thought he would associate with the chaotic mercenary.
He looked back at Vera, his voice laced with caution. “Are… are you alright?”
“I’m fine.” Vera waved a hand dismissively. “Just had a simple spar with W to stretch my muscles.”
The surrounding mercenaries exchanged bewildered glances, their eyes darting between the calm employer and the strangely quiet Sarkaz. Slowly, realization dawned on their faces, followed quickly by a rare glint of sympathy.
You just had to provoke her, didn’t you? Now you’ve learned your lesson.
Sensing the collective weight of their stares, W snapped her head up, glaring back with vicious intent. Her lips parted, and the sharp intake of breath signaled the arrival of a classic, venomous Sarkaz curse.
Yet, just as the first harsh syllable formed on her tongue, her voice caught. She swallowed hard, her throat bobbing as she choked the insult back down. As if suddenly remembering her place, W shot a fleeting, almost nervous glance at Vera before dropping her gaze to the dirt once more.
The mercenaries stood frozen.
Big Sister… she actually tamed W!
She even cured that toxic mouth of hers?!
Hoederer watched the exchange, his mind churning with suspicion. He absolutely refused to believe a simple spar could trigger such a deep psychological shift in someone as unhinged as W. Something entirely outside his understanding had transpired between the two women.
“Do you all still have business here?”
Vera stopped and turned around, her brow knitting together as she regarded the dumbstruck crowd.
The mercenaries collectively shuddered, shaking their heads with frantic speed.
“…Then return to the camp to rest. We depart the moment the time comes.”
“Yes, Big Sister!” the squad barked in unison, scrambling to obey without a second of delay.
Vera turned back and resumed her walk toward the encampment. W maintained her eerie, unnatural silence, sticking to Vera’s shadow like a loyal hound.
The moment the two figures vanished past the tree line, the mercenary ranks erupted into a furious buzz of whispers.
“Hey! Did you see that? W… she actually followed behind Big Sister without daring to make a peep!”
“That’s not even the half of it! She swallowed her own curse! Gods, this is the first time I’ve ever seen her look so whipped!”
“What do you think Big Sister actually did to her?” a younger mercenary muttered, glancing over his shoulder. “Was it really just… a beating?”
“Doesn’t look like it. W doesn’t have a single bruise on her, and her clothes aren’t even torn.”
“Could Big Sister have used some kind of high-tier Originium Arts to control her mind?”
“Mind control? Honestly, I wouldn’t mind being controlled by Big Sister…”
Hoederer let out a harsh cough, shooting the loose-lipped mercenary a glare sharp enough to cut steel. The increasingly outrageous theories died instantly.
“Go back and rest. Whoever runs their mouth again takes the full night watch.”
The men reluctantly fell silent, dispersing into the shadows in twos and threes.
Once the clearing was empty, Hoederer turned toward a patch of undisturbed darkness near the trees. “What exactly happened, Ines?”
The shadows twisted and warped. Ines stepped smoothly into the moonlight. Unlike Hoederer’s grim solemnity, a distinct smirk played at the corners of her lips. She seemed to be in an exceptionally good mood.
“Nothing much…” Ines murmured, her gaze lingering on the path Vera had taken. “Just… watched a rather spectacular show, that’s all.”
“You can’t say?” Hoederer easily caught the heavy implication in her tone.
Ines tilted her head, her smirk widening into something dangerous. “Are you entirely sure you want to know the secret hidden on our employer?”
Hoederer remained silent for a long moment, the wind rustling the dry leaves around them. Finally, he shook his head. “Forget it. Only the dead can keep secrets forever.”
“You’re still as timid as ever.”
“I prefer to call it caution.”
“Whatever.” Ines brushed past him, her boots making no sound against the earth. “Hurry back. There isn’t much time left to rest.”
Watching her retreating back, Hoederer let out a long, exhausted sigh. “…This team is getting harder and harder to lead.”
Meanwhile, inside the Vitality Hall.
In the pitch-black lobby, the faintest sound of creeping footsteps echoed against the stone floor.
A dark silhouette slinked toward the central table, reaching out a hand to quietly grab the sleeping 10% Off resting on the wood…
[What are you doing?]
“Eek—!!!”
Vane clutched his chest, spinning around violently. After recognizing the towering figure standing in the dark, he immediately wailed in the mental chat group.
[Vane: Boss, why didn’t you make a sound?! You scared me to death!]
[Gregor: I never left.]
Gregor’s armored body slowly illuminated, the soft golden light dispelling the surrounding gloom. He shook his head, his mental voice carrying the distinct, heavy exhaustion of an older brother whose rest had been interrupted.
[Gregor: Why are you sneaking around here in the middle of the night instead of sleeping?]
[Vane: Hehe… I didn’t get to watch my shows during the day, so I thought I’d sneak in an episode tonight…]
[Gregor:…Go to sleep.]
[Vane: It’s just that I can’t sleep…]
[Gregor: Then go outside and scout for intelligence. Earlier, when you went out, did you even figure out where you are?]
Vane’s expression instantly wilted, his face drooping like a frostbitten eggplant.
[Vane: Oh…]
He sheepishly withdrew his hand from the table, muttering bitter complaints under his breath. “Forcing people to work overtime in the middle of the night… this kind of ruthless capitalist should be strung up from a streetlamp…”
[Gregor: Get lost.]
“Alrighty!”
Watching Vane’s dramatic figure vanish from the Hall, Gregor sighed, rubbing his temples. He closed his eyes, but his sleepiness had completely faded. Annoyed, the Paladin subconsciously opened the group chat interface, expecting it to be empty.
Just as he was about to close it, a new message popped up.
[Vera: The Dungeon opens in seven days. I want to go together.]
“…” Gregor’s dim, armored form began to glow with renewed intensity. His figure flashed, leaving the Vitality Hall to continue his journey through the harsh Terra wasteland.
[Gregor: Okay.]
“Iberia! Your king has returned—!”
Accompanied by a theatrical declaration that would have made any native Iberian shiver in terror, Vane materialized once again on the jagged, salt-stained coast.
He spread his arms triumphantly, preparing to welcome the ocean breeze… until he looked down.
Countless Seaborn of varying shapes, sizes, and grotesque mutations were staring blankly at this uninvited guest. The scene was dead silent, the eerie stillness broken only by the crashing waves.
“Eh? Why haven’t you guys left yet?”
Vane scratched his head, genuinely surprised. He floated down, landing lightly on a relatively empty reef, and scanned the writhing mass of monsters.
Suddenly, his crimson eyes lit up. There, drifting slowly in the shallow water, was a very familiar silhouette. It was the exact same Seaborn he had repeatedly harassed earlier.
“Shabby Warlord! You’re still here?”
Vane immediately bounded over, crouching on the edge of the slippery rock. He flashed his fangs in a wide grin. “Did you miss me?”
The Seaborn: “…”
Its pale tentacles swayed aimlessly in the current, its primitive photoreceptors locking onto the Vampire, but it offered no reaction.
“Giving me the silent treatment, huh?” Vane pouted, a wicked smile creeping across his face. “Then what if I… take this out!?”
He sliced his finger. A drop of rich, crimson blood oozed out, splashing into the shallow tide.
The Seaborn, which had been slowly drifting away, instantly froze. It wobbled, reversing its course with startling speed. Several thick, muscular tentacles breached the water’s surface, accurately pinpointing the exact spot where the blood had diluted into the sea, and began to feed greedily.
Vane watched with immense interest. He reached out a pale finger and poked the creature’s slimy, armored shell.
The Seaborn flinched slightly. A single tentacle detached from the feeding frenzy just long enough to gently push Vane’s finger away.
Current status: Eating. Do not disturb.
Vane’s eyes narrowed, a surge of chaotic mischievousness bubbling up in his chest.
He secretly circulated his vampiric energy. Through the blood the Seaborn was actively consuming, Vane began to forcibly extract the creature’s own life force right back out of its tentacles.
The Shabby Warlord froze. Its feeding halted entirely, several tentacles swaying in the damp air in sheer confusion. Its primitive, instinct-driven mind simply couldn’t process the biological contradiction—it was clearly consuming high-energy food, so why was its own vitality rapidly draining away?
After hesitating for a few agonizing seconds, the temptation won. It went back to eating.
A minute later, Vane repeated the trick.
The Shabby Warlord paused again. Its tentacles stopped sucking, repeatedly tapping the blood-stained reef as if checking for a malfunction.
What the hell? Why am I getting hungrier the more I eat?
Seeing the creature slowly backing away, Vane immediately cut off the energy extraction.
The Shabby Warlord scratched its own carapace with a tentacle, seemingly re-evaluating the threat level. After a brief internal struggle, its simple mind reached a final conclusion: Danger temporarily averted. Food is still tempting.
It wobbled back to the reef, its appendages reaching out once more for that intoxicating, metallic scent.
Since things have come to this, let’s eat first.
Vane stared at the massive monstrosity, utterly amazed by its pure, unadulterated ‘nothing is more important than eating’ mentality.
“Good grief, what exactly did the Aegir do to you guys? Even a docile species like this got stressed into a hive-mind…” Vane muttered, resting his chin in his hand. “This is almost like keeping a pet, right?”
The word pet echoed in his mind. Vane froze.
Keeping a Seaborn… as a pet?
He clapped his hands together, a brilliant, terrible idea blooming in his head.
“Brother War God!”
Vane leaned in close to the feeding Seaborn, a sickeningly sweet smile plastered across his face.
“I have a presumptuous request… I don’t suppose you’d agree?”
The Seaborn: “?”
“If you don’t say anything, I’ll take that as a yes!”
Having unilaterally declared a binding contract, Vane didn’t hesitate. He slashed his own wrist.
A massive volume of fresh, potent vampire blood surged out. Instead of falling into the water, it moved as if it possessed a life of its own, swirling through the air to form a thick, suffocating sphere of crimson that entirely encased the Seaborn.
The Shabby Warlord’s tentacles thrashed wildly in panic, but it quickly realized the liquid wasn’t attacking it. The struggle subsided just as fast as it began. It quieted down, focusing all its biological functions on consuming this unmatched, heavenly feast.
Vane nodded in satisfaction. While the creature greedily gorged itself on his blood, the Vampire began his precise, surgical operation.
He wasn’t just feeding it. He was using his own vampiric essence to systematically assimilate and replace the native blue blood within the Seaborn’s veins.
The crimson fluid circulated. As Vane activated his [Immortal Body], he smoothly accepted the creature’s returning biology into his own cycle, forging a parasitic loop.
Time ticked by. The thick sphere of blood wrapping the monster gradually thinned, absorbing into the creature’s pores and revealing the Seaborn’s brand-new form.
The pale shell, once coated in a sickly, translucent slime, had hardened into a deep, crystalline blood-red. Its overall anatomy hadn’t drastically mutated, but it had grown an entire size larger, radiating a heavy, intimidating aura.
The newly forged Shabby Warlord blinked its primitive receptors, clearly confused as it cast its gaze toward the instigator.
Looking at Vane, it no longer felt the simple, ravenous attraction toward a ‘high-energy food source.’ Instead, it felt a deep, instinctual closeness—a bond forged at the very foundation of its life force.
That feeling was vague, yet undeniably real. Just like…