Chapter 724 Xalthar''s Dilemma


    [A/N: All of Xalthar''s thoughts and communications go through humanity''s language filter to avoid further complicating the situation.]


    If looks could kill, thousands might have perished under Xalthar''s gaze alone. But for him, he didn’t need his eyes to end lives—his hands were more than capable. The proof of this lay before him: three bodies sprawled on the ground, broken and lifeless, resembling smashed dolls. Their mangled forms were a testament to Xalthar''s brutal strength and his readiness to expel and express his feelings through sheer violence.


    More than twenty minutes had passed since the surprise attack, and the new vice-captain''s plan to flush out the infiltrators was proving ineffective. Over eighty kilometers of the ship''s surrounding outer area had been completely overtaken, and the alarming part was that they hadn’t even seen how it happened. Every soldier, slave, or armed crew member sent to confront the enemy went completely dark, as if the opposing forces were walking EMPs.


    This left the taken-over zones in a literal blackout, with no surveillance or intel from those areas.


    What was even more alarming was that the ship had built-in redundancies to counter such scenarios, utilizing both technological and magical surveillance systems. Yet, the invaders had somehow managed to disrupt both in a single, sweeping move, leaving the crew blind to what was happening within their own vessel. It was a tactical nightmare.


    Xalthar who was monitoring the situation could only guess what was happening beyond their reach, and it was clear the situation was slipping out of control.


    His face remained eerily calm, a mask of composure that betrayed nothing of the turmoil within. However, the circuit-like veins etched across his skin told a different story. Normally glowing a serene golden hue, they now pulsed with a disturbing blend of red and other colors, signaling emotions far more dangerous: anger, shame, worry and disgrace. These shifting shades were a warning—nothing good was coming for anyone on the ship.


    His brooding thoughts were abruptly cut short as new information flashed before his eyes. A grim update appeared on the display: the outer 100-kilometer perimeter had now been lost. His expression hardened. What had started as a surprise breach had rapidly turned into a full-scale invasion, and it was only getting worse.


    "How far are they from reaching us?" Xalthar asked through the intercom, his voice cold and demanding.


    "Approximately a hundred kilometers before they reach the control room," Quorani replied, his voice steady despite the dread creeping up on him. He had been handed a sinking ship, and while he had once believed he could turn things around with a miraculous strategy, the reality was grim. Xalthar would not care about his aspirations or the impossibility of the situation—he wanted results.


    Quorani knew that if he didn’t act quickly, Xalthar would not hesitate to deal with him personally, just as he had done with the previous vice-captain moments after the attack began. Desperate to buy more time, Quorani added, "But, your excellence sage, I’ve taken precautions. Seeing how quickly they were advancing, I initiated a containment strategy. I’ve deployed a kilometer-thick fast-setting solution to seal off all paths leading to the control room and the central sectors of the ship. It’ll take them days to breach it, unless they resort to fully destroying parts of the ship—something it seems they’re avoiding."


    He held his breath, hoping this would be enough to delay both the invaders—and Xalthar’s wrath.


    There was no response from the other end of the intercom. Quorani''s heart raced, almost leaping into his throat as he instinctively turned toward the balcony. Dread filled him—he half-expected to see Xalthar descending from the observation room to end his life, just as he had done to the previous vice-captain. But when he looked up, his eyes met Xalthar’s, who stared down at him with a deadly, unnerving glare.


    The silence was suffocating. Then, without a word, Xalthar closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair, still seated, but his brief dismissal was more ominous than if he had moved to act. Quorani’s stomach twisted with fear. The waiting, the uncertainty, was almost worse than death itself. As a wise man once said “The wait for death is scarier than death itself."


    Quorani squeezed his eyes shut, his palms pressing into his face as he tried to collect himself. For a brief moment, he opened his eyes, peering through the gaps between his fingers. His gaze flickered with something different—an emotion that quickly disappeared behind the mask of fear. When he finally removed his hands from his face, the bravado had vanished, leaving only the same frightened expression he wore before. No one around him could tell what he was truly feeling.