Still Alive

Oute remained expressionless, speaking as if it were the absolute Istina of the world, "Because we are powerless to solve those problems."

"Solving that problem requires an era with an infinitely high average moral standard and infinitely abundant material resources."

"We can't see that era, so we focus everything on the present."

It is certainly not the Istina to refrain from doing something simply because one generation cannot do it.

Oute himself did not agree.

But he hated endless transplantation, and even more so, he hated personally practicing Posadism.

If the Terra, having already received immense material gifts, are unable to develop social sciences to the point of pulling themselves out of their predicament...

"We are focusing all our resources on one problem that we might be able to solve: Originium Infection."

"We gather all our energy and focus on all the suffering that our hands can reach."

"Rhodes Island treats the infected not because we have lofty ideals, but simply because we are powerless to cure Terra's incurable disease."

"Rhodes Island focuses on the suffering before us, not because we have a compassionate heart, but simply because we are powerless to pursue a dreamlike tomorrow."

The agents were somewhat stunned.

They looked at Oute, pondering something:

In your opinion, isn't this idealism?

Rhodes Island will do what it can.

"Everything!"

Oute said a few words and stepped down from the podium.

PRTS immediately took over the broadcast system: "All field agents, take your positions and prepare for a forced rescue."

The operators fell silent for a moment, then those who wanted to rescue the doctor but dared not speak out, the "majority" on Rhodes Island, cheered. "Long live the Doctor!"

Chapter 288 Still Alive

When Thor couldn't brake in time and crashed into the group of Caprinae wearing white masks, Thor began to regret not heeding the advice from the vehicle's terminal.

But it was too late.

The front of the off-road vehicle was stopped by several jagged Originium crystals, looking as if it were being bitten by a giant monster. The entire body of the vehicle was squeezed into a ball of scrap paper, a shocking sight.

The remnant warlock deactivated the shield he had set up as a precaution and waved behind him.

Immediately, guards used brute force to tear open the car door and pull Thor out of the airbag.

Naturally, the Catastrophe Messenger suffered greatly.

Even with the airbags protecting him, his lower body was swallowed up by the twisted and deformed front of the car. In addition, he was forcibly dragged out by the warlock guards, which made it look like he was being bitten by a raven (Note ①).

"Rhodes Island ...an emblem I've never seen before." The warlock stroked the triangular insignia on the off-road vehicle, lost in thought.

Castles are a classic element of aristocratic heraldry, but the remnant sorcerer did not recall ever seeing a similar heraldry.

The sorcerer walked to a high point near the village and handed over the cruel, bloody, and extremely filthy interrogation work to the guards.

Beneath the pure white mask, he stared at the distant village with the scrutinizing gaze of someone examining objects.

Another batch of fresh supplies, but we'll have to wait a while until Catastrophe matures them.

"Who sent you!?"

The guards understood and turned Thor's face to the ground, pressing it against the yellow sand.

The young man from Elafia gave a bitter smile, "Who sent me? Someone you don't have!"

"Behave yourself!" the guards growled, kicking Thor in the stomach.

"Ugh!" He spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva and shouted angrily, "My conscience!"

"It was my conscience that sent me!"

"Sir, there's something glowing on the carriage!" a guard called out from afar.

If the in-vehicle terminal screen were still intact, he would see the words "Location Successful". But this human-computer interface has been destroyed by the warlock's violent "parking".

A few sparks lit up the horizon, followed by a continuous sound, like tearing cloth.

Da da da da da!

The near-ground aircraft flew by at low altitude, and by the time the sound was heard, it was too late.

What spews out from the dark, round tube is more like a "cannonball" than a "bullet." Although it has no direct explosive power, the kinetic energy it carries is comparable to that of small cannonballs from the old days.

The warlock, with his superb skills, instantly erected a shield, but half of the guards on the ground were wiped out by the minion clearing device.

So high!

The warlock had no time to attend to his subordinates; through the shield of blurred light, he kept his eyes glued to the trajectory of the near-ground aircraft.

The term "near-ground" for a near-ground aircraft is based on the aircraft's own judgment. For ordinary mortal practitioners, this altitude is simply too high to be reassuring.

No traces of the spell being cast?

Columbia Technology?

No, Columbia uses automatic spellcasting...

The aircraft swept past again, leaving a thick cloud of smoke. The hazy shadow seemed to fall directly from the sky, slicing through the unsuspecting warlock guards like vegetables.

Thor struggled to find the sounds of battle amidst the tinnitus, trying to conceal himself in the thick fog.

A steel prosthetic limb suddenly pierced through the fog.

A deep, restrained voice rang out. "So it's you? The one who stole our car?"

The sturdy shield blocked Thor's view.

"Be careful not to get stepped on."

Apart from this place, in a village that was not exactly peaceful but was certainly quite quiet, a noisy sound arose.

"I knew it! You Catastrophe Messenger are all the same!"

"Ah! My..."

"Let me go!"

Even though Catastrophe are everywhere on earth, the probability of one happening to an individual is undoubtedly 100%. However, not everyone will encounter Catastrophe.

To them, there is no difference between those who bring news of Catastrophe and those who bring Catastrophe.

It's as if those professions that involve contact with the dead have often been shrouded in the shadow of death and become synonymous with "filth" and "evil" during the long and distorted evolution of the times.

The Catastrophe Messenger were fortunate; in most places, they did not reach this stage.

Not yet.

"You Rhodes Island! And that Doctor! You're all beasts! My land!"

"Don't insult the Doctor!"

"And Rhodes Island!"

This ship.

Kal'tsit looked away.

She leaned against the railing and turned to look at Oute.

"Why not use a few more tricks to get those warlocks to go around in front of the villagers?" Kal'tsit somewhat dejectedly. "If it were you, could you do that?"

Oute raised an eyebrow. "Feeling sorry for me?"

"... This is a bit too embarrassing." She turned her head away uncomfortably, not wanting Oute to see her. "Besides, Rhodes Island's reputation... and your reputation, are both important assets."

Oute moved closer to Kal'tsit, closer to her cat-like ears.

The scorching breath caressed every hair and seeped into her brain.

"We do what is necessary, because it is within our power."

A long silence followed.

Kal'tsit shrank back, then pushed Oute away in embarrassment and annoyance.

"We're discussing serious business!"

Oute's eyes were as still as a deep well.

"Forcing these sorcerers to appear before the villagers and show off their power isn't difficult. But what will happen to the villagers? That's incalculable."

"On the contrary, forcibly abducting villagers by violence, an act that defies common sense, can establish authority."

The scoundrels seized upon its external impact and began to present only one side of the story.

Kal'tsit frowned. "This kind of authority is entirely negative."

"But it's still authority." Oute didn't care. "Negative authority is also easier to whitewash."

Having said that, he looked out to the horizon.

He himself could not see with his own eyes that arc where heaven and earth met, that storm that was constantly devouring everything.

But the data he obtained had already told him this.

Along with the howling yellow sand, the dark, crystalline spikes will further damage this already fragile ecosystem. And this increasingly desertified land will further generate more sandstorms.

The constant interplay between Catastrophe and the exchange of Originium energy means that unless someone reverses this trend, this world is destined to be "etched in stone."

Oute glanced at the terminal; Vulcan had already given a reply.

"Operation complete; both targets have been captured."

"Although the operators are generally of high caliber," Oute said, turning around, "I hate testing people's hearts."

"Everyone, please conduct a thorough inspection and prepare for the aftermath."

"PRTS, notify the bridge to reset the course."