Dimensional Hotel-Chapter 644 - 643: Hiding Place

The shuttle's engine started, with dazzling halos spreading out from the edge of the anti-gravity generator, creating ripples in the perpetually foggy atmosphere of the Gray Dwarf Star. This nimble craft slipped through the radar blind spots at the city's edge, accelerating along a beam of sunlight towards the orbit.

Old Qiao sensed strange "noise" within his logic chip, a stir of thoughts and emotions that seemed alien to his consciousness, causing unease and persistent doubts that made him increasingly restless.

He attributed these "malfunctions" to the damage sustained in his previous encounter with that eerie giant—and the impact from being thrown to the ground by that "little creature."

The repair of his body needed to be completed as quickly as possible.

This thought beat in his mind repeatedly, overshadowing all other chaotic notions in his head at times.

Yet he occasionally questioned—had Luo really died?

Initially, this question only flickered in Old Qiao's mind as the shuttle took off, but as time passed, this sudden unease grew stronger, prompting him to repeatedly recall the situation at that time, reviewing every detail of the ambush's beginning.

He realized he hadn't actually witnessed the moment of Luo's death—with the collapse of the shield behind the cover, the flash of gunfire and smoke had blocked his view, followed by the descending incendiary bomb and the Giant Snake Demon that had suddenly emerged, diverting everyone's attention from the target.

Old Qiao slammed the control console in front of him, cursing with all the vile curses he could think of.

However, he no longer dared to return to that dark, lost city to search for traces of Luo—he had already lost a significant number of clone soldiers and drones, walking machines there, and this was a complexly influenced Gray Dwarf Star, where countless military factions had entrenched themselves. Those marauders and warlord forces considered this planet to be within their domain, and he could no longer deploy more ground forces to this star.

At least not in the short term.

Furthermore, the trump cards in Luo's hand were unknown—initially, she behaved like a dog with a lost home, hiding with a few trusted aides in a safe haven in the upper city, but in hindsight, it seemed she might have been acting even then... that bitch lost a Pioneer Laboratory and many troops, but evidently, during her days captured in Boundary Land, she... received some other kind of "help."

He underestimated her.

The shuttle shot out of the atmosphere, crossing the vast, cold darkness, found a guard ship docked at a secret "Dark Port," and quietly slipped into the hangar of the guard ship.

Upon boarding, Old Qiao immediately scanned the personnel on board the guard ship and connected himself to the ship's host computer, verifying the entire state of the spacecraft.

He trusted no one, not even the clone soldiers loyal to him, including the AI systems on his ships.

He would never allow his true self to be exposed to those dangerous "potential traitors" on the outside, and he was even cautious when interacting with the outside world through his avatars.

Not until confirming everything was normal did he finally relax a bit, then ordered the guard ship to jump away from the planet at once.

The priority was to leave first; everything else could be considered at length.

The ship slowly accelerated from the exit of the Dark Port, receiving secondary boost when approaching the large jump bridge, and rapidly distorted into a phantom in the real dimension before vanishing into space.

It flew straight into the depths of the Dark Meteor Domain, transferring between a series of secret jump points, utilizing falsified Star Gate jump codes, through illegal Star Gates constructed by the Black Dot Group or some large warlord forces, repeatedly hopping—after countless jumps and "Star Gate jumps," the small guard ship finally appeared at the edge of an ancient gravitational collapse point, returning to the material universe.

This was a barren and dark space, where the local channel was silent, and even the most skilled captains from the Black Domain and smugglers had never discovered this place—a dying dark yellow star floated in the universe, surrounded by only two barren, ugly rocky planets, and beyond the planetary orbits was a sparse asteroid belt, fragmented celestial body pieces slowly revolving under the star's gravitational pull, with several unstable ice fogs covering parts of the asteroid belt.

The guard ship flew straight into the depths of the asteroid belt, finally arriving at what seemed to be a mere space boulder, its surface rugged and glistened with metallic sheen by a large "stone."

Suddenly, a light appeared on a part of the giant stone's surface, followed by a navigation light projection stretching over ten kilometers emerging out of nowhere in space.

Two small guard ships and space fighters emerged from the nearby darkness but retreated quickly after identity verification, as Old Qiao piloted the ship into a door on the surface of the "space boulder," which quietly closed, and then the holographic projection around the door flickered a few times, concealing everything again.

Bright and pale lights illuminated the long corridor, exuding a cold metallic texture everywhere, as a tall and majestic steel figure walked into the airlock, passing through various connecting passages, walking alone within the base.

In this familiar and safe environment, Old Qiao finally relaxed completely.

He scratched his shoulder that began to itch again for some reason, heading directly towards a specific room in the base.

All systems operated automatically, responding strictly according to the owner's habits—adjusting the intensity of the lighting, shifting the color and surface texture of nearby walls, and equipment in the room initiating themselves before the owner steps in.

Old Qiao walked into the communication room, where the holographic projection device in the center was already lit up, displaying an "encrypted" tag on the glowing communication interface, with a slightly flickering processed blurry image.

"We hope there's good news." A monotonous mechanical synthesized voice emanated from the communicator.

Old Qiao walked up to the projection device, and in what seemed like a venting gesture, pressed both hands heavily onto the console: "You may have to be disappointed, that woman is more troublesome than you imagined..."

"That's your imagination, not ours." The voice in the communicator sounded particularly calm.

"It doesn't matter," a stiff, sardonic smile appeared on Old Qiao's steel face, "anyway, she's ready to see you make fools of yourselves—which is what you deserve for withholding crucial information from me."

The communicator went silent for two seconds: "... What do you mean?"

"How about we first talk about the 'loss of control' on your end?" Old Qiao's mouth twitched upwards, "'A void big enough to cause an Angel's Descent'—that's not what you told me before. You said everything was under control, just needed Zolda Black Stone's raw data to optimize the charging process for the 'Gate of Eden,' you seemed so relaxed, and I was already suspicious back then..."

This time the silence from the communicator lasted longer, and it seemed like there were shadows whispering in the flickering blurry image. After a while, a processed voice finally came through the speakers: "This is the internal affairs of the Order and does not affect our transaction content with you. We only need that data—the price can be adjusted for this.

"Now, we need a precise answer—do you still have the capability to complete this transaction?"

The living metal coating on Old Qiao's face twitched a few times, and after temporarily turning off the microphone, he cursed viciously: "...Fuck, a bunch of dumb cultists, uncivilized low-level creatures, deserve to live like neither man nor ghost in a cesspool..."

Then he turned the microphone back on, gritting his teeth as he spoke: "The deal can continue, but I need some time to prepare again—the 'negotiation' with the target fell apart, next I have to find another way to deal with her."

"Very well, we trust your ability and commitment."

A mechanized voice came from the other side of the communicator, but before the communication disconnected, Old Qiao suddenly spoke again, this time his voice even colder and harder: "Listen, the risk I'm taking this time is enormous, I'm even sacrificing my own future in the Black Dot Group to complete this deal... I mean nothing else, just a necessary reminder to you that the trouble on your side is bigger now."

"... We all take what we need," the voice from the communicator seemed to have some disruption, accompanied by crackling noise, "don't worry, the Path of Venerate Saint will record everyone's merits and demerits, all contributions will be rewarded on the day of reckoning."

The voice in the communicator faded, the holographic projection above the large device flickered a few times, gradually dimming.

Old Qiao stared at the wisp of light in the air for a few seconds, a dissatisfied mumble emanating from his chest.

He withdrew his hands from the console, but furrowed his brow in confusion for a moment when lifting his hand, glancing at his palm, then at the console.

Whether it was an illusion or not, when he lifted his palm, he felt it was somewhat... sticky.

As if attached.

He checked briefly and found no sticky substance on his hand, and the console surface was also clean.

In perplexity, Old Qiao scratched his suddenly itchy shoulder, then began scratching his chest, arms, and lower back.

The strange "itch" sensation spread everywhere, adding to his irritability.

The equipment lights in the room flickered unnaturally, a "hiss" similar to breathing with bronchitis emanated from the ventilation pipes, the monitor in the corner slowly adjusted its angle, and the cold camera inside its protective shell stared at Old Qiao's metallic bald head.

Old Qiao sensed something, suddenly looked up at the corner, but found nothing.

His irritability increased, he muttered softly to himself and turned to leave the room, traversing the corridor outside, arriving at another place with bright lights.

When he felt upset, he would come here to appreciate the art he created himself, relaxing his mood.

The sliding doors on the wall emitted a slight hissing sound, the lifting mechanism on the ceiling gently descended, cabinets hidden under the floor rose from the end of the room, soft Algerde tunes came from speakers in the corner of the room.

Old Qiao sat on the sofa in the center of the room, leaning back comfortably, a satisfied smile on his face as he looked at the "artworks" that he meticulously crafted and carefully maintained.

Those robust limbs, beautiful eyeballs, smooth skin, and healthy spinal bones.