r18novel Chapter 25. Now it's your turn to create the story.
Chapter 25. Now it's your turn to create the story.
"So being a technical sergeant is also a high-risk profession."
Absolutely. Awakening the fearless, especially those grumpy old fearless ones, is one of the most dangerous tasks in a technical sergeant's career.
Experienced technical sergeants all have their own escape routes after being awakened, and some even prepare cover and isolation doors around the Dauntless hibernation chamber in advance.
Qin Mo nodded, but his gaze never left the Fearless machine.
In the short time he was chatting with the system, the condition of the Dauntless Mech was deteriorating at a visible rate.
The technical sergeant had already removed the damaged armor plate on the right side, revealing the dense network of pipes and mechanical structures inside.
His mechanical tentacles darted rapidly between the pipes, trying to locate the source of the life support fluid leak and make emergency repairs.
But the damage was too severe.
"The crack is still widening!" the tech sergeant's voice was filled with anxiety.
"The metal structure of the sarcophagus shell has broken, and I don't have enough materials and equipment for on-site repair! We need to get back to the battle barge, but given the elder's current condition, he won't last that long!"
As the wolf priest inspected the vital signs monitoring lines extending from the stone coffin, he said in a deep voice:
"His heart rate continues to drop. His body temperature has fallen below critical levels. The signals from his nervous system are weakening, and his body is shutting down the functions of various organs to conserve its last energy."
"How much time is left?" Jill's voice was low.
The wolf priest remained silent for a few seconds.
"If we do nothing, it will take a maximum of fifteen minutes."
These words weighed heavily on the hearts of every Space Wolf present, like a boulder.
Jill closed her eyes, her fists slowly clenching at her sides.
The warrior in this fearless machine is named Brod Frostwolf.
Twelve hundred years ago, Brod was a Bloodclaw in Iron Wolf Dalian, the youngest and most reckless recruit.
In his first battle, he charged alone into a group of orc assault lads, beheading dozens of orcs, but losing an arm in the process.
The pharmacist fitted him with a mechanical prosthesis, and he returned to the battlefield the next day with his new arm.
Five hundred years ago, Brod was fatally wounded in an encounter with the Zerg when a Licat tore his abdomen open.
Everyone thought he was going to die, but Brod survived the surgery thanks to the indomitable will of the son of Fenris and was placed in the fearless sarcophagus.
For the next five hundred years, Brod would be awakened every time the Iron Wolf Dalian faced a life-or-death crisis.
His power gauntlets shattered the skull of the orc leader, his assault cannon swept through hell dragons, and his steel body withstood the charge of the insect swarm.
He is the rock of Dalian Iron Wolf.
He is the most revered elder among the young Bloodclaws. He is the last resort in countless battles that seem impossible to win.
And now-
This rock is about to shatter.
The visor of the fearless mech flickered a few times, then suddenly lit up, as if in a final burst of light.
An old and hoarse voice came from the Dreadnought.
"...Jill? Is that you, kid?"
Jill opened her eyes, strode to Fearless, and knelt down on one knee.
He was the Wolf Lord of Iron Wolf Dalian, the highest commander of Iron Wolf Dalian, second only to the Great Wolf Lord in status. But in front of this fearless man who was over a thousand years old, he was still just a cub.
"It is I, Elder." Jill's voice was deep and steady, but if one listened carefully, a very subtle tremor could be detected.
"I'm here."
"Okay...okay..." Brod's voice was broken and intermittent, with a lot of electrical noise and mechanical hum coming from the loudspeaker.
"Is the battle... over? Those... Titans..."
"It's over," Jill said. "We won. Your cover-up bought us enough time; the enemy has been wiped out."
"Okay..." The fearless eyepiece flickered, seemingly trying to focus, but ultimately gave up. "Jill... I feel it... This time... it's probably not going to work..."
"Don't say such things. The technical sergeant is repairing your sarcophagus."
"Don't...don't lie to the old man..." Brod let out a strange sound that was like a laugh or a cough.
"I can feel my body getting colder and colder... I experienced this feeling once before, five hundred years ago... the last time was when that insect dragged me out..."
He paused for a moment, as if gathering the strength to say the next sentence.
"But this time... no sarcophagus can save me anymore... right?"
Jill did not answer.
His silence was the best answer.
"It's alright..." Brod's voice grew weaker, but there was no fear or regret in his tone.
"Twelve hundred years...that's long enough...I've lived a thousand years longer than most of my brothers...I've made a profit..."
The fearless eyepiece flickered a few more times, its light growing dimmer.
"Jill...tell those bastards...don't put any nonsense about great heroes on my tombstone...just put—"
"What should I carve?" Jill's voice was a little hoarse.
"Now... this old man can finally get a good night's sleep..."
A soft laugh came from the loudspeaker.
Then—the light from the two eyepieces dimmed rapidly.
"Elder!" Jill suddenly stood up.
The power core of the Dreadnought roared.
The light from those two eyepieces dwindled to a barely perceptible glimmer, like a candle flickering in the wind, ready to be extinguished at any moment.
One by one, the space wolves around stopped what they were doing and silently walked over.
They formed a semicircle, standing before Wuwei, their eyes filled with grief and respect.
In the Space Wolves tradition, they do not weep for death, but they will mourn the loss of a respected brother.
And Brod Frostbeard—without a doubt, the most respectable warrior they had ever seen.
Jill clenched her fists and lowered her head.
At this moment, even he, as the lord of wolves, felt a deep sense of powerlessness.
He can command large armies, charge into battle, and engage in hand-to-hand combat with chaotic demons.
But he could not stop a veteran who had fought for 1,200 years from dying.
"Elder, we want to hear more of your stories! You haven't finished yet, especially the story of the Fenris Python. Every time you tell it, you say you'll tell it next time, but when is next time? You still owe us an ending!"
A hoarse laugh came from the loudspeaker of the Dreadnought.
The laughter was very soft, almost drowned out by the static from the loudspeaker.
But every Space Wolf present heard it clearly, because at that moment, the entire battlefield fell silent.
Even the wind has stopped.
"Ah... Little Gil..."
Brod's voice came from deep within the Dreadnought.
"I've already told you my story."
There was no sadness in Brod's tone; instead, there was a strange calmness.
Twelve hundred years of warfare, five hundred years of imprisonment in an iron coffin, countless times falling asleep in stillness and being awakened, countless times being sent back from the battlefield and pushed out again...
enough.
Really enough.
"Now, it's your turn to create the story."