Chapter 22: Fetching Up the Girls

A convoy of vehicles ripped a path through the decimated landscape of the wastelands as clouds of dust and rubble rose in the backdrop. As over 20 jeeps advanced in an orderly row, much like a slithering serpent, a man in the forefront jeep's passenger seat suddenly raised an eyebrow.

"We've lost connection to all of our agents," he remarked, unknown whether it was to himself or the brute of a man behind the wheels. "These cheap wrist toys can only be so good for communication, but they're otherwise useless."

He uncomfortably reached to stroke his left ear where an earpiece rested. The stern man sitting beside him creased his brows, but he remained taciturn.

After pondering for a while, the stern man commanded, "Forbid the use of the tactical wristbands within the Evil Ground, there's a high probability that our devices and communication channels have been compromised."

"True," exhaled the man on the passenger seat. "These toys don't feature a built-in consciousness authorization sensor; anyone with source energy in their bodies can activate them. Whoever the motherfucker who disposed of our agents is, they're definitely capable of using source energy."

He mumbled to himself for a moment and asked, "Do you think those Aboriginals are responsible for this?"

The stern man gave him a sidelong glance, not bothering to answer such a retarded question. Everyone with a bit of intelligence knows that the enemy of the aristocrats isn't those lowly Aboriginals, but the Abominations from the seven Evil Grounds, as the latter's rate of growth is linked to the rejuvenation of the Lower Abyss as a whole.

The sooner they expanded their region of operation into those seven grounds and eliminated the roots of evil within, the easier their lives would be in the future as they divvy up this piece of land.

The man seemed to have realized the stupidity of his question, so he laughed it off before disposing of his tactical wristband and the earpiece which had been bothering him for god knows how long. He removed the latter with such haste, his expression as though he'd released loads of pent-up desires.

"I can't wait for the 2nd generation of tactical equipment to arrive, I could barely handle living in this backwater continent as it is, let alone having to use some ancient, obsolete technology to make do."

The man knew that there wasn't sufficient origin energy in the Lower Abyss to support the authentic origin network, so they were forced to erect formation towers across the realm in the seven earldoms, facilitating minimal communication between the various circles of aristocracy on multiple channels.

To think that they would need to manufacture multi-purpose tactical wristbands with designated communication channels felt like a pain in the ass. Of course, the lazy aristocrats thought differently from their comfortable homes, they made use of these deficiencies to further emphasize their circles of aristocracy.

Those select few with access to the 'premium' channels can't stop boasting about it, which aggravated the already perceived notion of superiority within their minds. The man didn't know how to react when he first received news of this new development, so he simply laughed it off.

Now though, with their communication line compromised by the enemy, he felt as though having multiple communication channels was a nice remedy to patch up the lack of the built-in consciousness authorization sensor.

He passed down the orders to dispose of the tactical wristbands to the rest of the convoy before he sat comfortably in his passenger seat. He wasn't worried at all about whatever killed off the scouting agents… As far as he was concerned, all of them were little ants in the same bracket.

…

The Shadows group headquarters in the military camp was as bustling with activities as always, though the volume of the hustle seemed to tone down bit by bit the closer you were to the center of the tents until it was abruptly shut down when nearing Kane's personal military tent.

In that confined space of gloom, Kane laid back in a wooden chair with his boots resting on a metal stool. His calm eyes were level with the woman who kneeled at the entrance to his tent, flanked by a group of men.

Bits and strips of cloth covered up whatever dignity she had left of her body.

She kneeled there, shivering from head to toe, signs of unspeakable abuse riddled her scarred body. In the wastelands, it was quite difficult to find a fair woman whose time left no scars to bear on her figure.

"Boss," a man with a leisurely hand resting on the woman's head said, "This bitch is one of Thorns… a close subordinate! She told me and the boys that the Gray Rains and Thorns are in supposed cahoots! What do we do?"

"What do we do?" Kane murmured to himself in a rhetorical manner, his eyes fluttering closed gently as he contemplated. He didn't worry that this female subordinate was lying to him, as any vulture would know better than to waste another vulture's time with lies.

These animals in human skin disdain to lie, while the majority of them simply fear to lie and get caught in the lie. Vultures don't take kindly to those who lie to them, and the rough life in the Lower Abyss equipped them with various skills and tools to skin the truth out whenever necessary.

After much deliberation, Kane said, "We do nothing… for now. The vanguard unit will be arriving in a few days, and the army personnel stationed across the camp will start taking things into their own hands proactively. Don't forget, we aren't lords over here, we're simply relying on burrowed prestige, but all vultures are the same trash in their eyes; we only come in different shades of trash to them."

"Whether we're trash worth recycling is up to them to decide," Kane spoke with a sardonic laugh in between his words.

…

Tu and the girls also returned to their small military tent, but they were dazed as they couldn't find a trace of Aza'zel in the tent. They almost went into a panic.

"Don't panic," a calm voice resounded in the room, catching the girls off guard as they snapped their attention to an inconspicuous corner of the tent. There, a woman in a gray raincoat and a hood that covered half of her face stood silently.

None of them had noticed her presence earlier, and if she hadn't spoken just now, they wouldn't have come to know of her existence at all.

"Miss Caidie?" Hailie snapped back to her senses and hazarded a guess, purely based on instincts.

"Not bad," Caidie's lips curled in the shadow of her hood. "Here I thought little Aza wouldn't have mentioned me to his little servants."

The girls immediately calmed down when they realized that it was Caidie, as Aza'zel had briefed them on her identity as someone they could trust. He even told them that his gray coat was provided by Caidie, and it wasn't something he came up with.

"Aza won't be coming back anytime soon," Caidie cut to the chase after allowing the girls a moment to calm down. "If you remain here, your training will stagnate under the supervision of the aristocrats, so I've decided to fetch you girls and personally see to your training until a time arises when Aza needs your—our assistance—do you have any objections to that?"

The girls exchanged looks with one another, knowing that with this woman's persistent and stubborn personality—according to Aza'zel—she wasn't really giving them an option here.

"How long do we have to separate from Lord Aza?" Tu stepped out, asking faintly while her brows creased.

"As long as it takes," Caidie responded offhandedly. "Honestly, you're too fucking weak for me to judge accurately at the moment."