Chapter 431

Chapter 431

Alva caught up, and Theodore, who had been whispering in Ye Mo's ear, fell silent. His tail curled around Ye Mo's neck as he focused on licking the hair by his ear.

The crowd slowly gathered and began funneling through the entrance into the docking area. Though the passage was wide, so many people entering at once made it feel cramped. Even with the crowd keeping a distance of one or two meters from Ye Mo and the others—like sheep avoiding a sheepdog—the cramped space kept pushing them closer together.

Alva subtly quickened his pace, using his body to shield Ye Mo from the crowd. This inevitably brought him closer to the people pressing around them.

Alan, on the outer edge of the crowd, discreetly averted his gaze, trying not to draw Alva's attention. Still, he couldn't help stealing glances. Impossible—the man who had been surrounded by his siblings when the capital star appeared, the most elite of the elite—how could he be here?

Even as he thought this, he shifted his position again, tilting his head a little more.

Alan's movements were obvious enough for even Sadel, who usually missed such things, to notice. He sped up a little, moving ahead to block Alan, trying to make him less conspicuous. But Sadel soon realized that besides them, several others were also staring at Alva.

He cautiously pulled Alan back, tilting his chin slightly. Alan understood immediately, glancing over discreetly. His gaze landed on the insignias on their chests—he couldn't get a good angle, and he only caught a flash of blue, not enough to make out the details.

Alan continued forward, lowering his voice, "Those are the Blue Mark guys."

These were the easiest to recognize. When humanity had barely reached a consensus and formed the alliance against the insectoids, the major powers, strong enough to shoulder more responsibility, held a special status in the alliance. They set themselves apart by adding a thin blue border around their national insignias.

Back then, the Blue Mark meant safety. Wherever they went, they were met with cheers. Now, it just meant they were from powerful nations—best not to mess with them.

The docking area was much more spacious once they entered. A group already stood at the side, and soldiers led the newcomers over to merge with them, which caused a bit of a stir. The people ahead slowed to a halt as the two groups finally merged.

Sadel nudged Alan, who understood and shifted his attention away, observing their surroundings.

There were way more soldiers here than in the square—security was tighter. Guards were stationed in nearly every direction across the vast docking area.

Thick, high walls ringed the perimeter. In any other place, these walls might feel suffocating, but the docking area was so vast they almost seemed low. The sightlines were clear, and from here they could see over the walls to the scenery beyond.

That helped calm the crowd down.

The crowd was gathered on the right side, while the left was an open stretch of landing pads with a few ships scattered around. Observation platforms were set up around the area. The tallest building, the docking office, stood on the far right, with an observation platform right next to it where patrol craft landed. It was occasionally used for speeches.

The observation platform was perfectly positioned for a sniper. The coalition flag still fluttered in the air, and a few figures stood up there. The spot was too good—Alan's gaze lingered a beat too long.

Almost instantly, one of them looked his way. A sharp, blade-like gaze picked him out of the crowd. Alan tensed on instinct, forcing himself to look away casually, staring at the ground instead. It took a while for the prickling sensation on his back to fade.

Alan let out a quiet breath of relief. The next second, a heavy weight slammed down on his shoulder. Caught off guard, he was driven down, his right knee slamming into the ground.

When he looked up, he only caught a blur of motion—something like a lion or tiger—pouncing in one direction. Before his body could react, his mind had already registered: that was where Ye Mo was.

He started to get up, but another blow hit his shoulder as another figure swept past.

An overwhelming wave of psychic energy pressed down on them.

The crowd gasped belatedly, scattering to clear a space.

Ye Mo grabbed Theodore by the scruff and tossed him into Alva's arms without a second thought. The next moment, he leaped, raising his sword to block Yisang's strike.

His body arched as the blades met. The instant they touched, he realized Yisang hadn't put any psychic energy into the blade. And though the strike looked dangerous, Yisang had pulled his strength the moment they made contact—the force wasn't heavy.

Yisang was checking Ye Mo's condition. His psychic energy seemed fine—just a little overexcited. No wounds on his body, and he moved nimbly. Just a bit dirty.

Yisang wasn't really angry anymore. He just felt Cyril needed a lasting lesson—emphasis on lasting. Cyril couldn't get into the habit of wandering off from his older Graths, especially in times like these.

But the whole display did look pretty intimidating.

It even made Brian, who had been charging over in a fury, hesitate. He stopped uncertainly next to Alva to watch.

As their figures twisted and turned, sword marks carved into the ground beneath them. Even from a distance, the crowd instinctively backed away further, driven by self-preservation.

Only Alan and a few trained soldiers stayed at the front.

Alan couldn't even bother to get up, just staring in shock—like watching two beasts tearing each other apart.

What the hell was going on? Wasn't that kid supposed to be high-ranking? This wasn't good.

Psychic control was proportional to age. Unless the power gap was enormous, the outcome was almost a foregone conclusion.

In a short span, they'd exchanged several rounds. Finally, Ye Mo seemed to dodge a beat too slow—the blade grazed his side, just above the waist, cutting skin and drawing a few drops of blood that spattered on the ground. Only then did they stop.

Alan looked at Alva, who had been so obviously protective of Ye Mo before. But Alva stood there calmly, holding the cat, showing none of his earlier tension. The cat in his arms, though, was bristling and hissing nonstop.

Alva hadn't moved, but Brian beside him stepped forward immediately, inserting himself between the two. He turned his back to Ye Mo, blocking Yisang's path.

Brian's forehead was beaded with sweat. He swallowed almost imperceptibly—this was his first time standing against a Grath. "Yisang, that's enough."

Alva snorted inwardly. Only this fool would take it seriously. Still, the frown that had unconsciously creased his brow eased.

Fights among Graths were frequent and brutal. Their immense psychic energy kept them perpetually on edge—they could restrain themselves around others, but with their own kind, they didn't hold back. Bloodshed was common.

Older Graths usually didn't bother with the younger ones, but Yisang was relatively young himself. Alva had been a little worried he wouldn't know his own strength.

Under everyone's gaze, Yisang's face looked even darker than before. But as Alva had guessed, he sheathed his sword without a word. He stood there, though, staring at the faint trace of blood on the ground for a few seconds, then turned back to Ye Mo, looking angrier than before.

Ye Mo hesitated, then sheathed his own sword.

Brian quickly added, "Go on, say it—you know you were wrong, right?"

Yisang snorted, cutting Brian off before Ye Mo could speak. "Let's go."

He turned and walked away without a single glance at Ye Mo.

Theodore squirmed free of Alva, circling Ye Mo's feet, inspecting him meticulously, fur standing on end. He deeply regretted appearing as a cat now. Without a body, he couldn't keep up—but with a body, he still couldn't match Cyril's pace.

Ye Mo crouched down, extending his hand so Theodore could examine him properly.

Brian gave Ye Mo a once-over, then followed Yisang. After a few steps, he looked back—first a quick glance at Ye Mo, then at Alva. "Be careful, outsider."

It sounded like a threat. Alva knew the fool meant: be careful, watch over Ye Mo.

Once they were far enough, Brian jogged a few steps to catch up. "Yisang, is this really okay? Cyril's at an age where impulses run high. Shalom told us not to go too far, and Fiona—she'll kill us."

Yisang cut him off, lowering his voice. "You know what? In a pride, it's the most curious cubs that die first. Their curiosity drives them away from the pride's protection. Everything else is fine, but I need him to remember this lesson. Ambrose would agree."

Brian thought for a few seconds, then gave up thinking and cut to the chase. "But that doesn't conflict with Fiona killing us."

"Who cares about them? Don't look back! Cyril needs to know we're angry. This isn't over. And you were too soft on him just now—we should be firmer. At least wait half an hour before forgiving him."

Brian muttered, unusually reluctant, "What do you mean 'we'? It's just you, Yisang. And you're too harsh..."

"You think I wanted to hurt him? He deliberately lost to me."

They walked further away.

Alva clicked his tongue, looking down at Ye Mo and Theodore tangled together. Ye Mo was raising his arm as Theodore directed, while Theodore examined the shallow wound with a serious expression. Damn—he was seeing that expression on a cat.

Theodore stared for a moment, then turned to glare at Alva. Alva sighed, pulling out a wound-treatment salve. "I know."

In the distance, Alan and Sadel exchanged a glance. Alan murmured, "Looks like their internal conflicts might be on the verge of erupting. Doesn't look good."

And that outsider—worth pondering. Did that boy and the man belong to the "outsider" faction?

Either way, their situation seemed precarious—whether it was allies in opposing factions, or those in power holding different positions from theirs.

But anyone with eyes could see the two of them held a delicate position. No soldier had intervened in that fight. They hadn't even looked their way—as if it were routine.