Chapter 132: Stunned Silence (Part I)

In New Newton, within an administrative building located less than ten kilometers from the Imperial Tower, Ian walked with a rapid, expressionless stride. The civilians who had been relocated here, upon seeing him pass, originally intended to step forward to offer greetings, but sensing an inexplicable atmosphere, they wisely chose not to disturb him.

Truth be told, these relocated people had been feeling an inexplicable sense of unease throughout the day. This distance was technically outside the safety perimeter; although no living corpses were visible in the building or the plaza, they could vaguely hear strange, unsettling sounds from time to time. Some of the more sensitive individuals sensed that there was something sinister about this building.

"Has the research team been notified to assemble?" Ian asked Fiona. Fiona, who had been wandering the outskirts of the city, had returned at some point. Her scaled face clearly showed dissatisfaction, but she answered obediently: "The research team is already gathered in the conference hall. The necessary supplies and instruments are ready; we can depart at any time." She paused, then added, "You really don't want me to follow? How will you face the sea of corpses outside?"

"I have my own methods," Ian said coldly. Glancing at her surprised expression, he chuckled mockingly: "Do you truly believe that I would be immobile without you? You must realize that you were created by me, and I can produce as many of your kind as I wish. Do not be so conceited."

Fiona froze at these words, then lowered her head, a cold, piercing light flickering in her eyes.

"So, you want me to stay behind as cannon fodder to hold off those who are hunting you?"

"As expected of someone from the upper echelons, you are quite capable of analyzing the situation," Ian said with a sneer. "But what of it? Would you rather die right now, or serve as cannon fodder later?" After a pause, seeing her struggle and then concede, he gave a mocking laugh. He turned away without looking at her again, leaving only a light parting remark: "Cannon fodder may sound unpleasant, but it does not mean there is no chance of survival. Even if it is slim, it is still a chance, is it not? For someone like you, a weakling, what else can you pursue besides a shred of hope?"

*A weakling?* Fiona felt a profound sense of desolation. Just hours ago, when she had easily slaughtered nearly ten thousand troops, the thrill of that power had vanished into thin air. She felt an infinite sorrow in her soul. Having received elite education from a young age and believing in the supremacy of the strong, her perception of the weak and the strong had become increasingly acute after the devastation of the apocalypse. In peaceful times, the fate of the weak was in the hands of the strong because the rules of the world were set by them. After the collapse of those rules, the weak would sorrowfully discover that not only their fate, but their very survival was held by the strong. The right to live was not in their own hands at all!

How tragic.

"Ian Agnes!" Fiona stared fixedly at his retreating back.

Ian paused, his brows slightly knitted. Ever since this woman had been tamed, she had never addressed him by his given name—let alone his full name. For a subordinate, this was a gesture of extreme disrespect.

He turned to face her with a bland expression, his every movement remaining elegant and natural. He raised his hand casually and said, "Do you have some advice, Ms. Fiona?"

"You cannot escape!" Fiona looked at him with unreserved malice. "I can feel it; you will certainly die here!"

Ian, who had never paid any mind to her words, showed a trace of icy chill on his face for the first time. With a flick of his finger, the soul imprint within Fiona brought her immense agony. Fiona collapsed, her body convulsing; the intensity of the pain was clearly extreme.

In the past, she would have shrieked and begged for mercy, but this time, despite her twisted face and spasming body, she remained stubbornly silent.

Seeing this, Ian’s expression grew increasingly irritable, losing his usual composed and elegant air. It was not just because of Fiona’s rebellion upon realizing she was to be cannon fodder—he would normally never care about the shrieks of such an ant.

But just now, when she said he would die here, Ian felt a tremor from the depths of his soul. This sensation filled him with an inexplicable panic, shaking his composure. As a mage, he knew full well that this was the kind of tremor one only experienced when a prophecy was fulfilled.

Divination was a basic course in a mage's curriculum, yet most ignored it as useless. So-called prophecy was merely the deduction of changes in events to find the most likely future. The strong did not believe in it; if fate were predetermined, what would be the point of striving in life?

However, he had studied the subject diligently because he found that it was highly practical for analyzing the evolution of events. Thus, among his many disciplines, alchemy was his specialty, but divination was his second.

But just now, when she said he would die here, the spiritual reaction was unmistakable. Divination was not only about deduction but also about sensing—an esoteric, almost shamanistic aspect that Ian usually didn't trust. Yet, this inexplicable touch deep within his soul today terrified him. He had read in literature that when a diviner is the subject of a prophecy, they feel a highly sensitive reaction if the prophecy is accurate. Now that the knowledge from the books was manifesting in reality, he felt no joy, only a plummeting mood.

*Will I die here?* The more he tried to avoid the thought, the more it flashed through his mind. Having studied psychology, he knew that once such a suggestion took hold, it was difficult to shake off in the short term.

He looked at the convulsing Fiona with annoyance, his face darkening. Yet, after a long silence, he still chose not to destroy her through the imprint. She still had significant utility; the hundreds of Level 3 living corpses she controlled, stored in the building's basement, might be able to buy him time if that group arrived.

After a moment's thought, Ian finally ignored Fiona and walked straight toward the conference room she had mentioned. But the instant he approached the door, a massive sense of alarm struck his heart!

He lunged backward. Though he was a Silver-rank mage, his agility was at least at the mid-Bronze level, faster even than a warrior like Ye Zhiqi. Yet, the opponent seemed faster still!

A grey shadow struck at a speed invisible to the naked eye. Green runes flashed on Ian's body. Just as the opponent's finger was about to touch his head, a layer of black shadow-shroud enveloped him. The strike stopped a mere 0.1 centimeters from the dark shroud. Ian’s eyes locked onto the target, and a wave of dark energy erupted from his center. The opponent recoiled sharply, leaping like a ghost to the wall in the corner.

The surrounding stone was corroded by the dark energy, and an entire floor of the building began to visibly wither. Ian, clad in his shadow-shroud, floated in mid-air as the building began to teeter, its support beams eaten away.

Ian stared coldly at the attacker. When he saw who it was, his pupils constricted: "You truly... have given me quite a surprise, friend from Central Asia!"