Chapter 117: Intent Stirring

Intent Stirring

The killing aura clinging to the Execution Office makes everyone who comes here to fight feel a bone‑chilling cold sweep over them, like a newly sharpened blade scraping inch by inch over skin and bone, leaving a trail of icy cold.

At the entrance of the Execution Office there are no guards, the doors stand open; looking in from outside, it is a pitch‑black expanse, nothing inside can be seen.

It is like an open abyss swallowing all light, or like a ferocious beast opening its maw to devour prey; the two standing outside the door are like prey about to fall into a trap.

Tingzhu flicked his wrist, and a sleek silver pistol appeared in his hand; he handed it to the woman beside him, saying, "If any Sentinel offends you, don't hold back—just pull the trigger."

However, be careful not to hurt yourself.

Fu Guang took it, weighed the pistol—it wasn't heavy; the silver barrel was wrapped in purple lightning, and aside from the round muzzle, the whole body was smooth, without a single seam.

Upon gripping it, the purple lightning coiled around the barrel extends to the back of the hand, and a tingling numbness spreads through the limbs.

"Will the lightning intensify when I fire?" Fu Guang asked, giving the peculiar object a once‑over.

Tingzhu reached out and took the gun back; in his hand a flash of purple light appeared, and a layer of purple radiance coated the silver barrel.

"This time it won't." said the white‑short‑haired man.

"Then let's go." Fu Guang held the gun, and because of Tingzhu's motion of handing her the pistol, the water element at her side quietly gathered.

Tingzhu sensed it, looked at her and said, "Those Sentinels are nothing to worry about; no need to fret. I just think that when provoked, you prefer to take matters into your own hands to punish them."

After stepping over the dark, heavy barrier, Fu Guang felt a moment of dizziness; once she steadied herself, it seemed she had stumbled into a white nest.

Looking around, aside from the various Sentinels, the tables, chairs, and walls were all snowy white, with not a sound—like entering a place of silence.

"The Sentinels detained here are all destined to be released; their danger level is relatively low," Tingzhu said in a light tone.

A thin membrane separated the two from the white field, yet the Execution Office still offered those who arrived a choice: leave now and nothing will happen.

As Fu Guang observed the Sentinels inside, the Sentinels in the white nest all turned their gazes toward the entrance; their previously emotionless eyes shifted instantly, like a spark dropped in, gradually growing fiercer, their gazes burning as they fixed on her.

Fu Guang ignored them, noting only that the Sentinels stood at least three meters apart, with some having no other Sentinel within ten meters around them.

These Sentinels were either hanging from thin chains or sitting at tables eating their meals slowly, or sitting on the ground with eyes closed to rest; without exception, their bodies bore some wounds, more or less.

Sentinels possess tremendous regenerative power; even if their injuries are severe, the wounds are not all bloody gashes, the flesh is not raw pink like fresh meat, and they will at least partially heal.

The white nest suppresses their regenerative ability.

The mental forms released by the Sentinels lay prone at their masters' feet; at this moment they all rose together, or lifted their heads, gazing wistfully in this direction.

Wanton, fervent, deeply lustful, thick and damp, malicious—various gazes emanated from these Sentinels, pressing fiercely upon her, as if they had seen a fragrant piece of flesh awaiting their consumption.

Their gazes had substance, weaving into a dense net of threads that enveloped her; in an instant she held her breath, every muscle tensing.

This was merely the change that occurred in the brief instant she stepped through the entrance.

Originally at her side, Tingzhu suddenly strode forward, his massive frame like a small mountain shielding the woman entirely behind him, jointly blocking the Sentinels' unrestrained gazes.

Tingzhu sensed the Sentinels' gazes turn bloodthirsty in an instant, like beholding a mortal enemy fighting over territory, his killing intent blazing like a prairie fire.

The white‑short‑haired man lifted his eyes, loosened his wrist cuffs and pulled them onto his dark brown forearms, where muscles bulged like a volcano about to erupt; his whole body radiated fighting spirit, enough to make the weak flee at a single glance.

"How about Xiaoyang, you wait here a moment; after I deal with these Sentinels, you can come over, how about that?" Tingzhu tilted his head, purple lightning seeming to gather in his violet eyes, his voice still unhurried.

These gazes were too brazen, making Tingzhu abandon his original plan; he had still been wanting to see how the Guide would react to the Sentinels' provocation.

Now, facing those gazes that clung like bone‑eating maggots, wanting to inch by inch entwine the Guide's body, Tingzhu discarded his plan, clasped his hands together, and his fingers emitted a grating squeak.

These rabble, he can handle them himself; there's no need to dirty Xiaoyang's hands.

"All right." Fu Guang stood where she was, her expression unchanged from before the door, perhaps even more serene without the sun's scorching.

Tingzhu stepped forward, waved a hand to block the incoming fist, then turned and flung the attacker to the ground.

Many Sentinels also knew that to win the Guide's favor they had to eliminate this eyesore before them; although he was the chief Sentinel, here in the Execution Office, not under military orders, the presence of the dead is not permitted.

The Sentinels exchanged glances, each seeing the stir of intent in the other's depths; instantly Fu Guang's field of vision burst with multicolored light, "bang bang", the sound of fists striking flesh unceasing, accompanied by several crisp cracks of bone.

The scene was once chaotic, but the high‑ranking Sentinels were all handsome, beautiful, stalwart, and agile in the same way; each strike was extremely simple, and aside from the flying blood spray, it amounted to a visual feast.

Even if the fight grew chaotic, these Sentinels made no sound beyond the ping of muscle on muscle and the crack of bone; for a moment it was again very quiet.

After a few minutes, the ground was littered with Sentinels who had lost combat effectiveness; this group ranged from B‑rank to A‑rank, S‑rank Sentinels having been dispatched on missions, and even if an S‑rank Sentinel broke the law, they would not appear here.

After a while longer, the white nest was filled from near to far with fallen people; no Sentinel could break through Tingzhu's blockade, all stumbling before him unable to advance.

The scene was once friendly; at this moment Fu Guang also walked into the white nest, and the Sentinels lying nearby could only see the gold hem of her skirt sweep past before them, like a cloud in the heavens—desirable yet unattainable—drifting by.

Fu Guang came to stand beside Tingzhu at the center of the field, and saw the Sentinels' dangerous expression born of unsatisfied fighting spirit.

Tingzhu had long sensed the Guide's approach, but his fighting spirit had nowhere to go, making him frown momentarily; after a brief pause, the tensed muscles eased slightly.

These brats have no ability at all, yet they dare to covet the Guide? I don't know which S‑rank taught them.

(End of chapter)