Getting a Technology System in Modern Day-Chapter 742 "We Only Need to Win Once"

742 "We Only Need to Win Once"

‘This is very weird,’ Seraphina thought to herself as she gazed at the scattered remains of the enemy soldiers now littering the floor. Fragments of metal, bone, roots, and remnants of mana floated in the air, their strange compositions scattered after the soldiers had exploded. She had effortlessly eliminated each one as they emerged from the breaching pod, but something felt deeply unsettling about the encounter. It wasn’t the act of killing—she was long accustomed to that—it was the way the enemy reacted. There was no fear, no panic, almost as if they weren't concerned about death at all. It was as though dying was a game to them.

Before Seraphina could ponder further, she was alerted to another breach elsewhere on the ship. She needed to respond immediately. Turning on her heel, wings began materializing from her back—elegant, yet powerful, forming in a mere two seconds. With a single, mighty flap, she vanished from the room. The only evidence of her presence was the aftermath: untethered objects sent flying in the opposite direction, and a gaping hole in the ship’s wall where she'd effortlessly passed through, carving the shortest path to her next destination.

After several more rapid movements, with Pythagoras's approach guiding her, Seraphina reached her next target. The soldiers were already on the move, and it was as if they had anticipated her arrival from that specific direction. They were mid-turn, preparing to fire at her, but even their enhanced speed appeared slow to her. She had reached them before they could complete their motions, despite being aware of her approach from several hundred meters away.

This time, she didn’t hesitate. With swift precision, she moved through the group, obliterating them one by one. Then, without pausing, Seraphina moved to the next location, repeating the process with the same fluid precision, eliminating enemies in rapid succession more than ten times over the next few minutes.

Once Seraphina had finished clearing out all the breachers in her immediate vicinity, she opted to return to the control room. This time, she followed the designated path, which would only take a few seconds longer than her usual method of breaking through walls.

Throughout her journey, Seraphina executed what appeared to be impossible—sharp ninety-degree turns while maintaining her monstrous speed. Each turn was performed with such precision that it was only slightly slower than crashing through walls at full force, demonstrating both her agility and mastery of movement.

The moment she arrived and entered the control room, the occupants showed her the customary respect, each offering a slight bow before resuming their tasks.

Surprisingly, only a handful of her kind were present in the control room amidst a sea of diverse races. While the others diligently carried out their tasks, those of Seraphina's race merely sat idly, seemingly indifferent to the chaos unfolding outside. It was as if the turmoil beyond the walls was none of their concern, or perhaps they simply lacked any genuine interest in the ongoing situation.

“What’s on your mind, Princess?” one of her kin asked as he approached her, noticing the contemplative look on her face.

“Something that occurred during our encounter with the invading forces has caused me to reconsider a few things,” she replied, recalling the incident from just moments ago.

As Seraphina reflected on the encounter, the details came rushing back to her. From the moment she initiated her assault, she sensed something was amiss with the enemies’ eyes. Despite her incredible speed, they seemed to keep pace with her movements, their gazes tracking her even as their bodies struggled to react in time. It was a disconcerting sight; their limbs were caught in a slow-motion dance, desperately trying to respond while being utterly unable to change their fate.

With each group she encountered, their reaction times seemed to improve incrementally. The second batch she faced exhibited a slight enhancement in their movements, as if they were beginning to adapt to her pace. By the time she reached the final group, a peculiar signal flickered in her mind, and curiosity spurred her to act differently. She seized the last soldier by the neck and, momentarily halting his breath, asked, “What is wrong with your people's reaction?”

In typical scenarios, one would expect fear or desperation in the face of inevitable death. Most opponents, when confronted with a relentless foe, would wear despair on their faces, understanding that their end was nigh. Others might make a last-ditch effort, fighting back with everything they had, even if the odds were stacked against them. She thought of the Valthorins—proud warriors who masked their dread with fearlessness to preserve their honor. But these soldiers were different; they exhibited an eerie calmness, even as their brains and eyes kept up with her speed while their bodies failed to respond adequately.

It was unsettling, almost as if their faces had no ability to show or express emotions. Yet, when the man in her grasp began to speak, that assumption crumbled. “We only need to win once,” he said, laughter bubbling forth, starkly contrasting the dire situation.

Confusion swirled within her as she tried to comprehend his words. What could he possibly mean? But before she could inquire further, the soldier erupted in a fit of strange laughter, his voice dripping with conviction. “You can kill us as many times as you want; we will keep coming. We only need to kill you once. No matter how many of us die to achieve that, it will be a worthy trade.”

Before she could react, he detonated himself, a final act of defiance that left her stunned. The echoes of his laughter and the weight of his declaration lingered in her mind as she moved on, grappling with the unsettling realization that she was facing a foe whose resolve was unwavering, one that seemed prepared to sacrifice everything for a single victory.

“They are nothing but words of the weak,” the man scoffed, his arrogance unmistakable. “What makes you think about them like that? They weren’t even strong enough to warrant you using your racial powers; you dealt with them using speed—something we all have in abundance.”

Seraphina chose not to respond, her thoughts swirling with uncertainty. ‘That’s true,’ she acknowledged internally, ‘but something in me denies it, as if something isn’t right about them.’

Despite all her common sense telling her that they would never reach a level to face her as an equal foe, the lingering words of the man echoed in her mind, challenging her perceptions and attempting to dispel her confidence.