nycdaug Chapter 532 Marcus, Preparing for War
Chapter 532 Marcus, Preparing for War
The movement was very light, but in this quiet room, the sound of the teacup hitting the table was still clear, like a sigh.
"President, you wanted to see me?"
Sato did not answer immediately.
He looked down at the two knives on his lap and remained silent for a long time.
So long that Chishima Rin thought he wouldn't speak anymore.
"Check out the high-level bosses near Crimson Moon City."
Chishima Rin was taken aback.
"A high-level boss?"
"Hurry up."
Sato's voice remained flat, but Chishima Rin heard something beneath it—an urgent, suppressed, and potentially explosive feeling.
"I need to become stronger quickly."
Chishima Rin looked at him and suddenly understood.
This wasn't a guild mission, a strategic deployment, or the kind of "let's go fight a boss and farm some gear" thing he usually talks about.
What is he chasing?
She opened her mouth as if to ask something, but seeing Sato's expression, she swallowed her words.
"Understood," she said. "I'll go check right away."
She turned to leave.
"besides."
Chishima Rin stopped and turned around.
The moonlight shone on her face, illuminating her expression clearly—she wasn't afraid, but she was nervous.
It wasn't out of fear, but because she had never seen Sato like this before.
Sato paused.
His hand rested on the hilt of the knife, his knuckles turning slightly white from the force.
Those two knives had been with him for a long time, and he always held them steadily—steadier than anyone else.
But now, that hand is trembling slightly.
It's not fear.
It is longing.
"I need all the information Lin Tian can find," he said. "Everything."
Chishima Rin nodded.
"I want them all," Sato added.
"clear."
She turned and left, gently closing the door behind her.
The sound of footsteps gradually faded away in the corridor.
Sato was the only one left in the room.
He stood up, moving very slowly, like an elderly person loosening stiff joints.
He walked to the window and opened it.
A night breeze blew in, carrying a chill.
The moonlight shone on his face, making the scar exceptionally clear—from his brow bone to the corner of his mouth, like a lightning bolt frozen in time.
He looked down at his hands.
Those two hands had gripped the knife countless times and slain countless enemies.
He thought he was already very strong—in Crimson Moon City, the number of people who could face him head-on could be counted on one hand.
His [Shadow Dance - Dual Swords] is a legendary skill in Crimson Moon City; many people avoid him at the mere mention of his name.
He recalled the way Lin Tian had deflected his twin swords.
Two fingers.
That image played repeatedly in his mind, like a video set to loop.
He charged forward, slashing down with his twin swords crossed—that was his fastest speed, his most ruthless angle, and his most cunning route.
He had practiced this move countless times, and could execute the same arc even with his eyes closed.
He thought he could at least help Lin Tian stand up again.
As a result, the other party didn't even stand up.
Two fingers pinched the tip of his knife.
He didn't even see how those two fingers were raised.
He didn't stand up at all from beginning to end. He wasn't serious at all.
From beginning to end, it was like coaxing an ignorant child.
Sato closed his eyes.
The night wind blew his hair up, revealing a faint scar on his forehead.
But now?
Is he strong enough now?
He was thinking about something—what would it be like if Lin Tian went all out?
he does not know.
But he wanted to know.
He opened his eyes. In the moonlight, the two knives lay quietly on the knife rack, their black sheaths absorbing all the light, like two silent abysses.
He walked over, picked up the knife, and held it in his hand.
Very heavy.
It's heavier than usual.
It wasn't because the knife had become heavier—it was because he had finally realized how far he was from that mountain.
......
Iron Curtain City, the headquarters of the Imperial Ramparts Guild.
Marcus sat in the main seat of the guild hall.
This is a chair carved from a single piece of ironwood, with the emblem of the Imperial Bastion engraved on the back—a thunder eagle with outstretched wings, holding lightning in its talons.
The chair was large, but Marcus didn't look ridiculous sitting in it—his bear-like body filled the entire chair, his arms resting on the armrests, the veins on his muscular forearms bulging.
The hall was quiet, with only the crackling of the fire in the fireplace.
Catherine stood opposite him, still holding a whip in her hand.
The whip was called "Crimson Touch," and dark red light flowed across its surface, like congealed blood.
Her knuckles turned white from the force, and the tip of the whip dangled on the ground, occasionally twitching and leaving a shallow scratch on the floor tiles.
Marcus didn't look at her.
He was looking at his hands.
Lightning danced at his fingertips in his palm.
Blue arcs of electricity emanated from between his fingers, illuminating half of his face—his high cheekbones, neatly trimmed short beard, and blue eyes that held no aggression, only a deep contemplation.
He did nothing today.
He's been sitting here ever since he returned from the Twin Blades battlefield.
He's just sitting here, thinking about something.
Lin Tian.
I had only heard rumors about how powerful Lin Tian was before.
But today, as he stood before Kisla, watching the eighteen-meter-tall monster being trampled to death, his thoughts changed.
It's not "okay".
It means "What the hell is this thing?"
Catherine finally couldn't help but speak up.
"Marcus?"
Her voice echoed in the empty hall, tinged with unease.
She had followed Marcus for a long time and knew what his state meant—he was thinking about things, things he couldn't figure out.
Marcus did not answer.
The lightning flashed at his fingertips, then flared up again, then went out again.
Like a heart that has stopped beating, making its last struggle.
"Marcus," Catherine called again, this time louder.
Marcus finally raised his head.
Those blue eyes were looking at Catherine, but not at her—he was looking at something behind her, something in the distance, something that wasn't in the room.
"Get ready," he said.
Catherine paused for a moment.
"The third round won't keep us waiting too long."
Catherine looked at him and suddenly smiled.
It was a very strange laugh—not one of relaxation, not one of relief, but a complex laugh tinged with a touch of melancholy.
"You're finally serious," she said.
Marcus did not deny it.
He stood up, lightning crackling around him, arcs of electricity leaping from his shoulders to his arms, from his arms to his fingertips, leaving streaks of blue afterimages in the air.
"I've always been very serious," he said.
"No," Catherine shook her head. "Before, you just wanted to win. Now—you want to win against that person."
Marcus glanced at her.
There was no rebuttal.
"Get ready," he said. "Get all the resources you can. Equipment, potions, items—I want the best."