High-Riders

"Knights?"

"What kind of things are they riding that makes you think they are gods?"

Angron stood up, looking with confusion at the others who were holding their breath, as if the mere mention of the High-Riders had caused the temperature to plummet and the air to turn suffocating.

Qin Xa thought to himself that those High-Riders were not guys who fought while riding things, as the name literally suggested.

He didn't know the minute details of Nuceria, but he knew plenty about the High-Riders, the gladiatorial arenas, and the narcotics.

The handsome gladiator named Caesar assumed that Qin Xa also didn't know what a High-Rider was, so he spoke up first to explain to the two newcomers who didn't look like locals.

"High-Riders aren't knights who fight while riding beasts."

"Well... they might actually ride things too..."

"High-Riders, high-ranking riders, each one of them is unique, and each possesses world-shattering divine power. They are the gods of Nuceria."

"Legend has it that the gladiatorial games are a ritual prepared by the gods for mortals, so some people think we are the lucky ones, because we have the honor of helping the gods entertain mortals."

While saying this, Caesar was visibly terrified, as if merely mentioning these terms would invite the divine punishment of the "gods."

"Sounds like the kind of ghost story I would have heard from my parents in the cradle, if I had any," Angron said dismissively. "If it were those iron things, I wouldn't know how to deal with them, but some mortals playing at being gods... I'd rip their heads off."

Angron assumed that the guys who had captured him in the mountains that day were the High-Riders.

In his understanding, those people were indeed very powerful.

But in reality, those who had captured Angron were merely a slave-hunting party.

"That is not 'playing at being gods'!"

A warning that was almost a roar reached Angron's ears.

Angron looked toward the direction the voice came from.

It was Oeno.

This middle-aged man, who was friendly to everyone, now had his shoulders hunched, his eyes staring coldly and sharply at Angron.

From him, Angron felt... fear, anger, hatred, inferiority, and grief.

"They are not playing at being gods," Oeno said, trying to soften his intense tone as much as possible. "I have seen them, I have seen them."

"A High-Rider."

Oeno held up a finger.

"One. Just one High-Rider."

"He descended from the sky and landed in the middle of hundreds of warriors."

"When he pulled something the size of a toothpick from his waist and gave it a light flick."

"So many warriors... so many... they were shattered into pieces in an instant."

At this point, Oeno was trembling all over.

In the eyes of others, Oeno's trembling was fear, a normal reaction, which showed that he at least had a clear understanding of the High-Riders; conversely, someone like Angron, who thought the High-Riders were just playing at being gods, seemed like a madman to them.

But in Angron's perception, Oeno's trembling was not entirely due to fear.

This man perhaps had a past different from everyone else's.

"Sounds like some kind of technology that uses gravity to crush targets, just miniaturized," Qin Xa speculated slightly. "They aren't gods."

He knew that High-Riders had a standard piece of equipment called the Silver Vine, which could change into any form at will and serve any purpose.

As for the "toothpick" that Oeno said could crush hundreds of people, Qin Xa hadn't seen it, but he figured it was normal for High-Riders to have such black technology.

"They aren't gods?" Oeno's bear-like, sturdy body slowly sat down on a stone, his eyes, separated by a scar across the bridge of his nose, staring at Qin Xa in lingering fear. "Oh, they certainly aren't. But the god I'm talking about isn't in the religious sense."

"If a person looks like a god and can do things that only a god can do."

"Then what else could he be if not a god?"

Oeno said these slightly philosophical words.

And this sentence made Qin Xa think of the powerful psyker known as The Emperor: "Maybe he's just an introverted social phobe born in Asia Minor."

Oeno didn't understand what this sentence meant, and he didn't want to figure it out either.

In Angron's perception, this middle-aged man, this aging bear, was sinking into fear and agonizing grief, as if he had fallen into the ocean and was constantly sinking.

The others, upon hearing and discussing matters related to the High-Riders, also fell into silence and despair.

"Alright, that's enough for now." Qin Xa looked at Caesar. "Among us, you are the one who has tried to escape the most times. Everything you provide is very important. Thank you for being willing to share."

"My pleasure." Caesar stood with his hands behind his back, head held high, one corner of his mouth curling up as he proudly scanned the crowd.

No one appreciated Caesar's rooster-like pride, although it was truly hard to feel annoyed by his face when he made that expression.

The gladiators dispersed in groups of three or five.

Qin Xa sat cross-legged on the cold ground.

Oeno, who was sitting on a stone lost in grief, saw him and stood up, pointing to the stone: "You can..."

"No, thank you." Qin Xa shook his head with a smile, crossed his legs, and rested his hands on his knees.

Hoo—

With a long exhale, Qin Xa entered a meditative state.

He began to contemplate a strategy to break the deadlock.

He had to leave this place; that was Qin Xa's resolve. He needed to leave, find a ship, and traverse the Warp to return to his own era.

Though he hated to admit it, even if everyone here joined forces, it was unlikely that even half of them would escape. But after Angron, a Primarch, arrived at the arena, the odds of escape had increased.

There was another factor that could increase the chances of survival: psychic power.

However, Qin Xa did not believe he could hide his psychic talent and use it at a critical moment for a surprise effect.

He had not denied being a so-called witch since he arrived, as he did not think his psychic talent could remain hidden.

When a slave-hunting party arrived in the desert and saw a man lying on the ground, unconscious, naked, and possessing nothing, while the remains of the previous slave-hunting party were scattered all around.

Even a fool would realize that it was psychic power that had turned the previous slave-hunting party into scraps.

But even so, psychic power was a useful tool to help change his current situation; at the very least, he could do things that hundreds or thousands of people could not.

There was another psyker among the gladiators named Caesar.

Qin Xa felt that his psychic abilities could complement Caesar's.

Then, Qin Xa began to consider each of his abilities and their potential uses.

Having spent fifteen years in this universe so far, he possessed only three abilities.

These three abilities were learned from the Librarians of the White Scars.

Uncontrollable, short-term, clear precognition.

Releasing psychic power as an offensive force.

Healing wounds.