RNP Page 51
Page 51
I'm sorry, but that's not possible.
After exchanging glances and confirming the final result, Eric sighed helplessly and said nothing more. He reached out and patted Asford on the shoulder.
"It seems your psychic talent is destined to go to waste. Don't worry, although you can't become a think tank member, the methods I teach you can still help you control your power. Of course, you can also choose to seal it away; Bell and I will help you do that."
"No, I can control it myself now... As for whether to seal it or not, I plan to wait a while longer. But thank you for your help during this time, Eric and Bell. And thank you for reminding me, Bell."
Asford spoke, uttering his first words since meeting Bell, aside from introducing himself. He then posed a question to Eric.
"Brother Eric, if I can't become a think tank member, does that mean I'm just an ordinary soldier now? Does that mean I don't have to abide by the rules that are unique to think tanks anymore?"
Eric was slightly taken aback by Asford's question, but he quickly recovered and nodded.
"That's correct, but from now on, you will no longer be able to use your psychic power at will. All actions and behaviors related to psychic energy must be carried out under the supervision of a think tank member within the chapter..."
"That's good, I don't need psionic powers."
Asford's tone carried a hint of surprise, clearly indicating that he was very satisfied with the news.
Bell and Eric exchanged a glance, both with a hint of unease in their eyes. However, the latter quickly realized something and understood in the blink of an eye.
"Asford, you can go out now. I need to talk to Bell alone."
Asford left the ward in the medical room, leaving only Bell lying on the bed and Eric standing by the bedside in the space filled with disinfectant gas.
The chief think tank member didn't hold back and asked his question directly.
"What's going on?"
"What else could it be? This kid just didn't want to be a think tank from the beginning. He's probably following me to learn how to control his power."
"So what does he want to do?"
"That's true, you've been recuperating in the hospital these past few days, it's normal that you didn't know..."
"Stop beating around the bush and just tell me."
Why are you in such a hurry?
Eric pursed his lips, but stopped beating around the bush with Bell and honestly told him everything that had happened recently.
"This is Asford. He has been following behind Lord Lynch ever since that day, acting as a kind of attendant... After I discovered his psychic talent, he stopped going to see Lord Lynch as much, since I kept dragging him along for basic training and control of psychic abilities."
After listening to Eric's words, Bell frowned, seemingly lost in thought.
His brow didn't relax until a minute later, as if he had figured something out. The chief think tank's expression became very interesting, giving Eric a half-smile.
"What's wrong? Is something on your mind?"
"It's nothing much, but... regarding the selection of the Glory Guard, which is the battle group event that Lord Lynch called the All-Army Grand Competition, will it start tomorrow?"
"Yes, it starts tomorrow, but the first day is tactical combat. Members of the warband will form their own teams, and the best teams will be selected to join the Guard. Then comes the arena battle, where one person will be selected from the entire warband, regardless of whether they were previously selected, to join the Glory Guard and become the new warband champion of Star Claw."
"He'll probably be more than just a battleband champion; he'll likely become a true attendant, staying by Lord Lynch's side from now on."
Eric was slightly taken aback, but he quickly understood something and then showed the same expression as Bell.
"Let's go check it out tomorrow, it's sure to be very interesting."
"Yes, it's a pity that technical sergeants, pharmacists, and think tank members can't participate, otherwise I reckon they would have gone down and competed for a bit."
-
Chapter 68 The Army-wide Military Competition (Part Two)
A gust of hot wind blew by, causing Sergeant Kazimir Draconis of the First Company to feel an itch on his cheek.
He squinted, maintaining his standing posture, but took off the helmet hanging from his waist and put it back on his head.
The crimson goggles fell down, making the starlight from the distant void less dazzling, and with the help of the photoelectric imaging system, a complex spectrum was constructed and reflected in the sergeant's field of vision.
"Debrief the situation."
The sergeant spoke, his voice hoarse, like a cello with a broken string still playing, and his tone revealed a strong coldness and rationality, adding a unique touch to the performance.
His words began to be transmitted through the communication system, and soon, fifteen voices were transmitted back through electromagnetic signals in the air.
These are fifteen distinct voices, some very young and full of energy, others quite mature, as calm and rational as Draknis himself.
"Position number two, not found."
"Position 3, not found."
"Position number four, not found."
"Position number five, not found."
"......"
"Position number sixteen, not found."
not found.
Draconis pieced together the information relayed back by his teammates. This wasn't difficult, as the information wasn't complex; all fifteen voices conveyed the same message.
That means it wasn't discovered.
Damn it, that bastard Erdos, where did he and his men go?
He cursed his opponent inwardly and took a deep breath—he was a calm man, a patient hunter—at least in every battle and training session before this tactical duel.
Yes, Draconis is not on the battlefield right now. He is currently in the desert 30 kilometers east of the Fortress Monastery of Starclaws, where a competition to select Starclaws' new Honor Guard is in full swing.
The bomb guns were filled with specially made ammunition, and the melee weapons were just ordinary swords and daggers, not deadly chainsaws and power weapons. But these things did not mean that the competition was just a farce. On the contrary, within the first hour, one-fifth of the fifty-five teams participating in the competition had been completely eliminated.
Draconis took a deep breath and continued to gaze at the distant oasis, while his mind began to recall the rules of the match.
According to the rules, each tactical team participating in the competition must have sixteen members, and teams can be formed freely.
After the teams were formed, the next step was naturally the competition. To save time, the competition format was set up to be very simple and straightforward.
That's battle royale.
There are two ways to end the competition. The first is for each team to fight each other and reduce the number of players to only ninety within the specified twelve hours. Then the competition will end and these ninety people will be selected as members of the Honor Guard.
The second option is that the competition will automatically end when the time reaches twelve hours. The teams will then compare their scores, and the five teams with the highest scores will be selected to become new members of the Honor Guard.
Yes, it's a simple rule, and anyone with a bit of sense knows there are plenty of loopholes to exploit.
But no one would choose to exploit loopholes, because they all knew what they would face if they obtained the qualification through such means.
Brothers' scorn? Inner condemnation?
No, neither.
Draconis noticed the slight movement in the yellow sand, which prompted him to take down the massive black sniper rifle from behind him.
He stopped standing and instead adopted a half-squatting posture, raising the sniper rifle with both hands and aiming the scope at the goggles on his right side.
What you'll face after exploiting a loophole...
It was his trust.
This one rule alone will motivate everyone to give their all and not think about any crooked or unethical methods.
"boom!"
With a slight twitch of his finger, the sergeant pulled the trigger.
The sniper rifle spewed out brilliant flames, and the specially modified explosive shell sliced through the air, surpassing sound, and created a huge wave in the sea of sand.
"Number one, situation detected."
Pulling back the bolt, a metal shell the length of a mortal's forearm was ejected. Delanikos let his voice echo through the channel, and in response, his teammates fired continuously.
Countless grains of sand were thrown into the air by the impact of the bullets, swirling and billowing, almost forming a cloud of yellow smoke.
From within the smoke, several disheveled figures emerged. They executed evasive maneuvers from their tactical manual, trying to find cover in the flat, seemingly endless world around them.
[Points +10]
The scoreboard in his hand flashed, and Draknis exhaled. Looking at the figure in the yellow sand, he raised his gun, aimed again, and pulled the trigger.
"boom!"
[Points +10]
"Another gain," Draconis thought to himself, while also realizing that his position had been completely exposed.
Even from a distance of a full kilometer, he still saw a figure break away from the squad whose fate was already sealed. The figure was dodging the barrage of fire with an eerie posture, wielding a long sword, and charging fiercely toward them.
Oh, Erdos.
A smile appeared on Draconis's face. He put down his sniper rifle, stopped his teammates' sniping fire over the channel, and instead drew the combat knife from his waist.
Now it's your turn to be furious.
The next moment, the sergeant of the company started running.
The two giant figures rapidly approached each other in the desert; a kilometer was a distance that would disappear into nothingness in just a minute for them.
They were all wearing helmets, so they couldn't see each other's expressions. But they could see each other's movements, the way their weapons were poised, and the taut muscles hidden beneath their power armor.
Immediately afterward, the moment the two closed the distance completely, the longsword and dagger slashed through the air and then fiercely clashed together.
Draconis felt the immense power emanating from his dagger, and he knew clearly that in terms of sheer strength, he was no match for his opponent.
So, immediately after the first exchange, he quickly rotated his wrist, using the dagger to deflect the longsword's blade, creating a very brief opening for himself.
Draconis lunged forward, his free hand transforming into an iron fist as he charged at his opponent.
However, this move was clearly not unfamiliar to his opponent. As if he had practiced it a thousand times, he suddenly pulled back his longsword and held it horizontally in front of him, turning it into a defensive "shield".
The "shield" blocked the iron fist, and a cold laugh echoed in the air.
A sharp pain shot through his wrist, and Draconis's fingers involuntarily parted, causing the combat dagger he was holding to fall to the ground in the yellow sand.
The sergeant's pupils contracted slightly, but his movements were not affected by the attack in the slightest.
He executed a swift roll, creating distance between himself and the target, and in the process, he retrieved a pistol from his waist.
The opponent held a longsword, and it looked like he was about to unleash a straight thrust, but the next moment, accompanied by two gunshots, two patches of blue paint appeared on the front and back of his power armor.
"you win."
The opponent removed his helmet, looked calmly at Draknis who was holding a pistol and pulling the trigger.