In the wrecked cockpit, Alicephil and Artoria stood guard by the door, waiting anxiously and occasionally peering out into the corridor.
Finally, more than ten minutes later, amid noisy screams and cries from the cabin, the man returned, locked the cockpit door behind him, and shook his head grimly.
"I asked around. None of the passengers on this flight know how to fly a plane."
"What about the other surviving crew members?"
Artoria's heart lurched, and she pressed for answers instinctively.
"These terrorist hijackers never planned to make it back alive. They slaughtered everyone in the crew who could fly, and the ones left are all flight attendants. None of them understand this stuff."
Samael shot a glare at a certain culprit, looking even more depressed.
"And now that the news has spread, the cabin is in chaos. The flight attendants are already overwhelmed just trying to keep order. We can't count on them either."
Sure enough, his luck had drawn another absolute worst-case scenario.
"Then what do we do?"
Knowing she was in the wrong, Artoria bit her lower lip, her voice lacking confidence.
"What else can we do? Treat a dead horse like a live one. We can only learn on the spot."
Samael spread his hands helplessly, wore the expression of someone who had given up caring, pushed the cold corpse out of the pilot's seat, and sat down himself.
He had been far too lazy, and with his own authority, he had never needed to rely on vehicles for transportation. As such, he had never actually learned how to fly a plane.
But while he could not, someone else could.
For example, a certain versatile succubus bounty hunter.
As he remembered, she had been the sort of professional who could single-handedly fight her way from the