Chapter 432

Chapter 432

Under Theodore's watchful eye, Alva finished treating Ye Mo's wound and straightened up.

In the crowd, Alan strained sideways, trying to see what was happening up front. His movements were too obvious, drawing Alva's attention. Alva's warning gaze landed on Alan like a sheepdog eyeing a restless flock.

Only when Sadel pulled Alan back and pressed his head down, lowering his own head to blend back into the crowd, did Alva finally look away. He scanned the crowd, then came to an abrupt stop, his gaze lingering on the blue-edged insignia some people wore on their chests.

Even Ye Mo noticed his restlessness and looked up to ask, "What's wrong?"

Alva pressed down on his hat, turning around as if trying to flee. He kept his hat low and his head down. "Nothing. I mean—nothing at all. Do you want a nutrient solution?"

He fumbled to tuck the medicine he'd taken out earlier back into his belt. It had come out smoothly enough before, but now he missed the belt loop several times before managing to put it away, and nearly dropped the nutrient solution as he pulled it out.

Ye Mo looked at him, then at the nutrient solution in Alva's hand. "Thanks."

He glanced back, confused, toward where Alva had been looking.

His gaze quickly locked onto several people in the crowd. It seemed that Alva's flinch after making eye contact had hardened their resolve. They were slowly parting the crowd, moving forward, standing out conspicuously in the otherwise silent crowd.

Sadel noticed too. Keeping Alan's head pressed down, he murmured, "No need to look up. The blue insignia are moving forward. They seem to be up to their old tricks again."

Sadel frowned, puzzled. In the past, blue insignia meant the bravest warriors, the mightiest army. Now they represented those hyena-like politicians, masters of reading the room. Why would they stick their necks out at a time like this?

Alan, with his head pressed down, stared at the ground. Alva's face surfaced unbidden in his mind. When they'd brushed past each other at the entrance, Alan had been slightly behind Alva, catching only his profile and jaw. The silhouette overlapped with the young man he remembered being surrounded by a crowd years ago.

His mind raced. His entire family was accomplished politicians, and years of exposure had given him a nose for trouble.

Alan instinctively tried to lift his head, but Sadel held it down firmly. He grabbed Sadel's collar. "Is the insignia on their chests a spread-winged bird of paradise?"

They had a good view from where they stood. Sadel answered quickly, "Yes."

The men with blue insignia had reached the front of the crowd. One of them stepped forward, crossing the line, and a soldier immediately advanced with a drawn sword. The man halted in his tracks. Then a smartly dressed woman stepped forward, calling out to Ye Mo from a distance, "Hello, we'd like to speak with the person in charge."

The soldier hesitated, unsure, but kept his sword leveled between them and Ye Mo, waiting for Ye Mo to respond.

Alva remained frozen, head bowed low, but his knuckles were white around his sword.

Ye Mo looked at them, then simply replied, "What is it?"

She paused for a few seconds. "We'd like to make a deal with your leader. Trust me, it's simple and beneficial to both sides."

Then she shifted her tone, speaking casually as if making small talk. "If you don't mind my saying so, young master, your bodyguard doesn't seem all that competent."

Ye Mo glanced at Alva out of the corner of his eye. He could tell she was testing him. "You can tell me about your deal."

She picked up on the fact that Ye Mo and Alva's relationship wasn't as strained as she'd assumed, and deftly sidestepped the topic. She let out a helpless sigh. Glancing back, she leaned forward, lowered her posture, and put on a troubled expression. In a hushed voice, she said, "Young master, this isn't meant as disrespect to you, but our leader is further back, so we were hoping to speak with someone of comparable rank—"

A man behind her patted her on the shoulder, cutting her off. "Alright, enough dawdling. Let's be direct. I'm sure this young master can make the call."

The woman straightened up and stepped back, rolling her eyes almost imperceptibly. She retreated further back into the crowd.

The man who stepped forward gave Alva a dismissive once-over, then addressed Ye Mo. "Young master, we've just discovered that's Pailodes' Class-A fugitive. Name your price—we're willing to trade a fleet of warships for him."

From the crowd and the surrounding soldiers alike, every gaze turned toward them.

Alva's sword slid out of its sheath by an inch, then, after a moment, his fingers trembling, he pressed it back down. He stood like a statue, head bowed, eyes fixed on the ground before him.

His keen psychic senses made every gaze on him feel tangible—like blades cutting into his skin. His mind churned chaotically. His final thought was: at least Brian isn't here, or he'd be yelling some brainless nonsense at the top of his lungs. That would've been insufferable.

Ye Mo didn't even turn his head. He just frowned slightly, looking at the man with mild confusion, as if puzzled by the request itself. "I refuse."

The rejected man's face stiffened, then he glanced back again. "If you're not satisfied with the terms, we can negotiate. Isn't there anything you want? That's not a problem—we can get our hands on almost anything."

Ye Mo had already started looking down at Theodore, who was holding his tail high in the air. Ye Mo gave it a scratch while answering absentmindedly, "Can you get me the Moon-Responding Brilliance?"

The Moon-Responding Brilliance was Tansan's national treasure, one of its defining symbols. Even children knew that unless Tansan vanished from the face of the earth, the Brilliance would never leave—it would lie forever in Tansan's capital, gleaming on its red velvet cushion.

The man's expression soured. He forced a smile. "Young master, if you can't make decisions, just say so. No need to mock me."

He straightened and turned to the other soldiers. "Please relay a request to your superiors. We wish to propose a transaction. Whether or not it goes through, this is a gesture of goodwill."

Alan clicked his tongue from a distance. Pretty words, but think about it—if the deal fell through, they might act polite while still here, but once they got away, who knew? Though if someone on this side had half a brain, they could pretend to agree first and squeeze some benefits out of it.

The soldier looked at Ye Mo, then at the man, hesitating, unsure whether he should contact his superiors.

Ye Mo frowned slightly but said nothing. Even though this was a trivial matter, even though he was certain Ambrose would never agree to such an outrageous request.

But when he was at Norton's side, he could handle this as a member of the Graths. Here, he couldn't. He was just an outsider. Theodore, keenly sensing his deflation, comfortingly licked the side of Ye Mo's face. "Just wait a little longer, Cyril."

The man glanced quickly at Ye Mo, his smile deepening. "I believe that if we miss this opportunity, it would be a significant loss for both parties. Whether or not we can reach an agreement—"

He was cut off mid-sentence. The exit on the right was pushed open again, and more soldiers poured in from outside. They lined up on both sides of the path, as solemn as if laying out a red carpet.

What arrived before the man himself was a psychic pressure so tangible it felt almost physical. And what was more terrifying was that anyone with normal perception could identify the owner—the same powerhouse who had first flooded this area with his psychic energy, bringing the district's heavily device-dependent systems to a halt.

He had come here. After such sustained high expenditure, his psychic energy showed no sign of fatigue.

After a long moment, someone finally walked down the middle of the path. It was Ambrose, followed by Fiona and the others—who looked like they'd just finished a battle. Just looking at them, you could almost smell the fresh blood clinging to them.

And these beasts with blood still wet at the corners of their mouths had sheathed their fangs, appearing docile and quiet as they followed behind Ambrose.

Wherever Ambrose walked, even at a distance, even with a squad of soldiers between them, the crowd instinctively retreated, as if a ferocious predator were approaching. No words needed—instinct sent them scattering.

Ambrose had been heading toward the office building at the docking area, but as he passed the crowd, he slowed his pace. Reaching out a hand from a distance, he gestured for Ye Mo to come to him.

Alva, standing beside Ye Mo, gave a full-body start, like a cat with its fur standing on end.

Ye Mo glanced at Alva, took a step sideways to block him from view, then shook his head at Ambrose.

Ambrose stopped. A moment later, he walked over.

The men with blue insignia began exchanging rapid glances. The woman who had first spoken to Ye Mo quickly glanced in Ambrose's direction, then looked away and began quietly retreating.

But the man at the front steeled himself. He adjusted his collar, and as Ambrose passed, he extended his hand and raised his voice. "Hello, respected sir—"

Ambrose glanced at him sideways but continued walking toward Ye Mo. Only when he stopped at Ye Mo's right-rear did he unhurriedly look over, like a male lion standing behind its cub.

Up close, Ambrose's towering frame was even more imposing. But even more overwhelming was his psychic pressure—whether intentional or not, it seemed to slip slightly out of control, bearing down on everyone around him until even breathing grew heavy.

The man withdrew his hand. He glanced back at his people but got no response. So he steeled himself and faced Ambrose directly, bowing his body a little more cautiously. "I believe you are the chief of this outstanding team. You have many excellent members—"

He stumbled over his words, then continued, "I've noticed one of your members is from our Pailodes—a beautiful nation, whose flag bears the bird of paradise..."

Ambrose raised his eyes. "Oh?"

The man spoke quickly. "Yes—Alva, if he hasn't changed his name. He doesn't seem fit to serve as this young master's bodyguard. If you agree, we'd like to exchange a fleet for him. If you have other terms, feel free to propose them. If you consent, I believe Pailodes will be able to—"

Ambrose looked down at Ye Mo. Ye Mo was looking the other way. Ambrose took hold of Ye Mo's sword, gently lifting it from his hand without any resistance. "What do you think, Cyril?"

Ambrose placed his sword into Ye Mo's hand. The second Ye Mo touched it, he knew something was wrong. He let go, a little confused, and turned his head to look at Ambrose.

Ambrose shifted the sword up a bit and shoved it back into Ye Mo's hand. "Hold it tight."

Ye Mo grabbed it, not really sure what was going on. Ambrose pulled back his own mental energy while guiding Ye Mo's to spread over the blade, then blanketed the whole docking area.

This was the first time Ambrose had given up control of the mental field here.

It said more than words ever could.

The soldier who'd hesitated in front of Ye Mo before now tensed up, pulling his sword back a notch in front of the Blue Tags.

Alan was staring off at the sky, kind of dazed, muttering to himself, "Damn, his mental energy still hasn't fully settled, has it? And it's still growing at this level. Jesus."

Ye Mo glanced at Alva, who'd been frozen in place for a while now, staring at the ground, quiet for a long time.

"Alva is our companion. He is brave, intelligent, loyal, and strong. Even if you traded me the Moon-Responding Brilliance for him, I'd say no."

"And what's on his chest isn't some bird of paradise."

Alva gave a slight tremble.

The man bent down, lowered his head, and tipped his hat, making himself look really small. "I apologize. Please forgive me for asking."

"Apologize to Alva."

The man turned the other way and bowed. "I'm really sorry."

Alva kept his head down, the words sounding like they were ground out between his teeth. "I will never forgive."

Ye Mo didn't say anything, just moved a few steps to stand next to him.

Ambrose, for his part, made no statement. He had never taken this matter seriously from the start, just stopping by to see if the pack's cub was having fun, and he made no move to comfort Alva either.

Alva had figured as much. He was confident he wouldn't be traded away—the pride of Grath would never allow selling out a companion—but neither could he expect anything more from Grath. They showed they cared by tearing each other bloody; Grath never seemed to learn tenderness.

No, there were exceptions. Alva, now somewhat detached from his emotions, looked to his side.

Ambrose skillfully stroked Ye Mo's hair down to the nape of his neck, like petting a cat, then placed his hand on Ye Mo's shoulder, saying with a hint of complaint, "Have fun, but I hope that when you're tired of playing, you'll remember to come back to me."

His gaze drifted down to the wound on Ye Mo that was barely visible anymore. "Yisang seems to have gone a bit too far. I'll have a word with him."

Then Ambrose left, like a lion unhurriedly patrolling his territory.

As Fiona passed Ye Mo, she lightly touched his side. Ye Mo instinctively covered the spot, but Fiona's gaze lingered for a moment before she turned away.

Her withdrawn gaze struck Shalom like a blade.

Shalom lowered his head, and Mo Mo cursed Yisang inwardly. Awkwardly, he tried to change the subject. "Aren't we keeping them? Those people are worth a fleet of warships. Maybe we could squeeze something else out of them."

Fiona said coldly, "We're not working for free. Did you think we'd escort them home out of kindness? Belinda has already gone to negotiate. Every one of them has value—at least more than you. At minimum, they're worth a tube of treatment gel."

Shalom coughed and fell silent.