OLD-WORLD EXTRA-Chapter 417: Bad News II

Emir had possessed six abilities for some time now, deliberately postponing the unlocking of the seventh.

At first, this delay stemmed from his ongoing process of Consolidation-an essential phase where a Celestial's body had to fully adapt to each newly unlocked ability before it could be claimed as truly theirs.

Without this, unlocking additional abilities would compromise the Celestial's future, as their foundation would be shaky, brittle, and thin.

Their Pathing control and efficiency would be greatly affected as well.

However, with the consolidation over, he could now consider unlocking the seventh ability, something that he had been capable of doing ever since his first Embodiment quote unquote level-up.

'Yeah... this isn't ideal, but it has to be done. Though... I should do it later. Let's finish up with the students first.'

After a brief moment of consideration, he postponed the task once again, deciding to check out the Archive In Between later, after the gathering at Setrenc.

For now, there was something more immediate to address the students were expecting a reward.

They would need that reward too, as surviving the upcoming major disaster without it would be close to impossible.

However, he wasn't about to hand out these rewards willy-nilly.

Only those who had truly put in the effort would benefit.

How would he determine that? Well, besides the 'pop quiz' and one-v-one duels, he had the dive recorded and reviewed, along with the combat simulation from earlier today.

So while there wasn't an official competition that determined everything required, this assessment combined provided all the information he needed to evaluate who was the best, who tried to be, who required more focus, and who needed to be cut off.

Those deemed unworthy wouldn't be expelled in the traditional sense, like what usually happened to many second years.

Instead, he planned to trim the fat by letting a few of them 'accidentally' fall to Earthkind's internal enemies.

Naturally, he would make it so that the responsibility would fall on others, not him.

The strong would grow stronger, the weak would weaken further, and the weakest would perish, be 'dropped' - a cruel but effective strategy.

While a few hidden gems might be mistaken for trash and discarded, those who survived would shine brighter than ever.

Emir could almost guarantee it.

The odds of winning that bet were far from slim; in fact, it felt more like a prophecy than a gamble.

But even so, he wasn't one to rely on chance, not one bit.

Luck and he had never been friends, always on the worst of terms.

And as if to prove that point, a melodic voice suddenly resonated just above his ears, emanating from his shades.

[Mr. Pawn... Unfortunately, the gathering today will be delayed to next week.]

Just as Mr. Player finished speaking, the aura that permeated the room dissipated, indicating that his message already ended.

[I understand.]

Emir's reply was quick, even though surprise remained obvious on his face.

After all, it was Mr. Player that informed him of such a thing. A Paragon. If something forced him to delay-

[Do not be asinine... The delay is due to a request from Mr. King.]

A whiff of that presence returned at Mr. Player's quick rebuttal, assuming what Emir thought before he could even think it.

[Thanks for telling me, Mr. Player.]

At Emir's short bow, the Pargon's presence completely disappeared, and he let out a long breath, relaxing back into the chair.

'Bad news one after the next... Guess most of my luck ran out after fighting that blessed piece of shit.'

Shaking his head, he took out his terminal, tapped it a few times then scrolled down and tapped twice.

Ring~ Ring~ Ring~

He set it down as it rang, the caller ID showing Ragnar's name.

After ten more rings, the bearded man finally replied, his voice in a whisper even though it

was telepathic:

[Hey Ak, what's up? Sorry it took a while - I was with my girl.]

[...Ak?]

[Yeah, you know, Akhi, or brother.]

[...]

[So, uh, like how I say bro instead of brother, I shortened Akhi to Ak. Clever, right?]

[...]

Emir stayed silent, giving up on understanding why Ragnar was so insistent on using that ancient Arabic term. Maybe it had something to do with his name, but that was stupid-it was the only Arabic thing about him.

Either way, it all could boil down to Ragnar's lacking mental capacity, so Emir ignored him and said:

[I've got bad news. The gathering's been delayed to next week, so no dimensional item for

you.]

The terminal flickered, and Ragnar's holographic face appeared.

[What?]

[It's delayed. We'll talk more about it later. For now, I need you to come to my house. We'll be

having a family meeting.]

Ragnar's expression shifted from surprise to seriousness.

[Roger. See you there.]

The call ended, and Emir turned in his chair, resting his head on his right hand.

He then looked up, and another hologram materialized.

This time, it was Lyra, her hair styled in a neat bun with a few strands falling delicately at the

front.

She appeared in a suit and tie, resembling an average office worker.

Emir might have thought her attire was mundane, but her undeniably perfect beauty

prevented any such trivial thoughts.

Besides, he was too focused on her eyes to think of such things in the first place.

They held a note of sadness, almost fear.

What troubled her wasn't the news she was about to share; it was his anticipated reaction.

Picking up on that, he nudged her to speak with his chin and she complied in under a second:

[I know you're not in the mood for another bad thing happening, but I have to say it...]

[...]

He didn't rush her, staying quiet until she found the right words.

[...Our two men in the plaza are dead. We don't know if they got caught or not but we know

who did it.]

Emir froze and his eyes darkened, their inky vortexes circling.

[Send their families three hundred-no, five hundred million credits. Now more

importantly...]

His voice could no longer be considered 'normal,' now, it was too cold, too indifferent. It

simply became terrifying, rumbling with weight.

[Who did it? Was it the man we tracked?]

Even Lyra couldn't stop herself from trembling at that sight, his Death's Shadow

unintentionally affecting her, even through the network.

[No, that man was killed. ... It was Judas. He was last spotted at the place of their

disappearance. By checking what remained of the scene, one could argue that his attacks were completely random and for seemingly no reason. A game of his most likely. They died because

of bad luck.]

[...]

He breathed out and closed his eyes.

[I see.]