Arknights: The Holy Son's Leisurely Life — Chapter 91

Chapter 91: Reliable and Convenient Penguin Logistics

“…You want to kiss me?”

Exusiai tilted her chin up, her bright eyes locking directly onto Lucian’s. A subtle, unmistakable femininity softened her features—a striking contrast to her usual goofy, high-energy demeanor.

She normally dressed like a tomboy, all oversized jackets and boundless enthusiasm, but anyone who bothered to look closely would realize her figure was surprisingly spectacular. Honestly, she wasn’t lacking much compared to Texas. If a guy who had never met her before just saw that radiant smile, it wouldn’t be strange at all for him to fall in love at first sight. Lucian himself had almost been deceived by that very appearance back in the day.

He ignored her deliberately ambiguous teasing. “I’m just asking if you want to,” he said, his tone laced with dry irritation. “Don’t answer a question with a question.”

Exusiai smiled, radiating a playful sense of superiority. “Hmph~ Not very honest, are we?”

She closed her eyes, tilted her head back, and offered herself up, adopting a posture that practically invited him to do exactly as he pleased.

Lucian didn’t hesitate. He rested his hands lightly on her shoulders, leaned in, and captured her lips. The kiss was deep and familiar, carrying the weight of their shared history. Then, with a sharp little crunch, Exusiai bit down hard on his lower lip, drawing a bead of fresh blood.

This was exactly Lucian’s goal. Feeding her his blood drop by drop from a pricked finger every single time was far too tedious; this method was infinitely more efficient. So, there were absolutely no ulterior motives involved here—please understand. They had done this countless times since leaving Laterano together. There was zero reason to be shy about it now.

As they finally pulled apart, Exusiai delicately licked the smear of crimson from her lips. “How long has it been since we last did this?” she murmured, her voice dropping a fraction.

“Who knows,” Lucian replied, not paying it much mind. “Last time was before we came to Lungmen?”

Exusiai hummed thoughtfully. “Is that so? It really has been a long time, then.” She suddenly looked up, her eyes narrowing with a dangerous, teasing glint. “But, on the other hand… why do I feel like you’ve gotten a lot more skilled?”

Lucian rolled his eyes. “Nonsense. You asked how long it’s been since we did it, not how long it’s been since I did it. You were the one who wanted to break up back then, so we broke up.”

“Hmm~… Hee hee~… Oh, oh~… Never mind.” Exusiai huffed in mock annoyance, swatting his hands off her shoulders.

The glowing Sankta halo hovering above her head flickered twice, then vanished completely into thin air. She reached up, patting the empty space above her crimson hair. “It feels incredible every single time. Why can I control my halo after drinking your blood? Normally, I don’t even feel it hanging up there, but the second I taste your blood, I can sense it perfectly. It’s really strange.”

Lucian shrugged. “Sorry, I naturally view halos as foreign objects. I can control all of them, so I can’t really understand your feeling of natural acceptance.”

As he spoke, his own radiant halo dissolved into nothingness.

At this moment, neither Lucian nor Exusiai displayed any visible Sankta racial traits—a bizarre anomaly anywhere on Terra. Yet, even with his halo concealed, Lucian’s abilities remained fully active. With a mere thought, gravity lost its hold on him. He floated upward, his boots lifting smoothly off the concrete.

…And even more incredibly, Exusiai floated up right alongside him.

Lucian’s gravity manipulation was strictly self-targeting. To fly with someone else, he usually had to physically hold them, meaning he could theoretically carry one or two people at most. But right now, there was zero physical contact between them, and Exusiai was hovering entirely under her own power.

This was the absolute proof of Exusiai’s status as Lucian’s Apostle.

According to the rather thoughtless dogma of the Angels, this was the Holy Son’s divine grace bestowed upon his Apostles, granting them permissions far beyond those of ordinary mortals. Lucian always wanted to complain about that logic—you guys constantly preach that God loves all people equally, so why do you eagerly accept special VIP treatment?—but arguing with religious zealots was a waste of breath.

In Lucian’s practical understanding, this was simply a form of ability sharing. After Exusiai became his Apostle, he gained full access to her Originium Arts. Conversely, as long as she consumed his blood, she could temporarily tap into his powers. In this dynamic, Lucian was the upper layer, and Exusiai was the lower layer. She needed his explicit permission to borrow his abilities, but the reverse was not true.

To Lucian, this felt less like divine grace and more like a system administrator granting user permissions, which only deepened his lingering suspicion that the Sankta might actually be some ancient AI race.

But now wasn’t the time to dive into historical research. In the dark hours before dawn, Lucian and Exusiai ascended rapidly into the freezing sky, gaining a bird’s-eye view of the entirety of Chernobog.

“Let’s find a place to lay low first,” Lucian instructed, scanning the sprawling urban layout. “We can’t see the Core City from this angle, and the main power system should be dead center. We need to figure out exactly why this mobile city has stopped moving. But before we do that… let’s see how the local residents are holding up.”

“Understood.” Exusiai paused, her usual cheerfulness dimming into something far more serious. “What if… and I mean if… If the situation down there is really bad, like in one of those apocalyptic movies… how far should we go?”

“Simple.” Lucian casually drew a small Originium blade, gripping it loosely in a reverse hold like a dagger. “We help those we can help.” His eyes swept over the burning districts below. “And we kill those who need to be killed.”

Down below, Chernobog was being battered by a merciless storm of wind and freezing rain. The entire mobile city had ground to a complete halt.

A massive horde of Infected, seemingly materializing out of thin air, had rapidly occupied the Core City and utterly annihilated the sparse ranks of noble defenders. The Ursus aristocrats were either fleeing in terror or already dead, their resistance crumbling in record time.

The upper echelons of these Infected rioters possessed terrifying combat prowess; neither standard police equipment nor basic military training was enough to stop them. As for the lower-level Infected, they made up for their lack of skill with sheer, overwhelming numbers. Though most were just untrained mobs swinging rusty water pipes and scavenged tools, they were fueled by decades of boiling hatred for the citizens of Chernobog, making them exceptionally dangerous.

The ordinary police forces were completely powerless.

After suffering constant casualties and forced retreats, only a handful of fortified blocks still retained any ability to fight back. In most districts, the trapped civilians could only pray for a miracle, entrusting their lives and dignity to whatever sliver of ‘humanity’ might still exist within the very Infected they had once ruthlessly persecuted.

Glass shattered loudly as a heavy boot kicked through a first-floor window, followed by the splintering crash of destroyed furniture. A typical Ursus family had just become the latest target for the mob’s violent venting.

“Please, I’m begging you!” a housewife cried out in despair. “Our family really has nothing left! No food, no valuables, not even a single piece of coal!”

She clutched a small metal box tightly against her chest, guarding it as fiercely as her own life. Facing the masked rioter who was backing her into a corner step by step, she pleaded with everything she had.

“Just don’t take this medicine box! My husband has a critical illness; without this medicine, he won’t even last a single day! We already aren’t going to survive this winter! Please, just leave us a little more time!”

She cowered desperately beside the bed, her free hand reaching out to shield the unconscious man lying on the mattress—her husband.

The Reunion Movement rioter stared at her in silence. The man, wearing the faction’s signature white mask, dragged a heavy steel water pipe across the floorboards. His breathing grew heavy, ragged with a sick, uncontrollable excitement.

He wasn’t hesitating. He was thrilled.

“It’s only right that you can’t survive,” the rioter spat, his voice dripping with venom. “You’re going to freeze to death anyway, so this medicine is better off used by those of us who can actually live, right? You Ursus pig!”

He raised the blood-stained water pipe high into the air. He wasn’t aiming for the weeping woman. He was aiming straight for the unconscious man on the bed.

“Dead men should just die quietly! Pay for your sins!”

“No! Ahhh!”

The woman shrieked, instinctively throwing her own body over her husband without a second thought, bracing for the crushing blow.

But the agonizing pain never arrived. Her spine was not shattered.

Instead, the clear, bright voice of a young girl—sounding exactly like an angel descending from the heavens—rang out right beside her ear.

“You don’t need to be afraid anymore. Please, stand up.” The voice paused, adopting a slightly sheepish tone. “However, I really don’t recommend turning around to look. Apple pies can be a bit too intense for those who aren’t used to them.”

The housewife opened her eyes in sheer shock. Standing before her was a red-haired angel, radiating an aura of absolute security and peace.

Exusiai smoothly holstered her Vector submachine gun and reached down, effortlessly hauling the unconscious man off the hospital bed. “Whoa! So heavy! Why are all the uncles and aunties in Ursus built so heavy?!”

The woman scrambled to her feet, panic and gratitude warring in her chest. “I—I’ll do it! I’ll carry him!”

She couldn’t fully process the chaotic situation, but her survival instincts told her one absolute truth: she had just been saved. She obediently kept her eyes forward, trying desperately not to look at the mangled, bleeding mess of the rioter who had collapsed at her feet.

Exusiai breathed a sigh of relief. “Alright then. Please pack up anything else you absolutely need to bring, and I’ll escort you to a safe place.”

“Okay, okay!”

The woman agreed frantically, hoisting her heavy husband onto her back. She didn’t bother packing supplies; the rioters had already stripped the home bare. But right as they reached the door, she remembered something vital. She rushed back, dug a broken photo frame out from a pile of debris in the corner, and carefully tucked the photograph of her, her husband, and their daughter into her coat.

“You must be safe, Sonya…” she whispered a tearful prayer.

As they finally stepped out into the freezing storm, the woman couldn’t hold back her burning curiosity.

“Um, excuse me, may I ask… you aren’t Ursus, and you aren’t Infected? Then what are you…?”

Exusiai flashed a brilliant, confident smile and threw up a V-sign with her fingers.

“Delivery success rate of ninety-nine percent! Whether it’s people or packages, as long as it’s worth delivering, we deliver it all! Please, just call me the reliable and convenient Penguin Logistics!”

[Rhodes’s Note: “Sonya” is the real name of the Arknights operator Zima, a native of Chernobog.]