Chapter 152: How to Dial a Phone Correctly

The colossal statue of the Archangel stands to the east of Angel's Descent Town, partially obscuring the crimson mist.

But even without the crimson mist clinging to it, this small town still does not resemble a holy city.

Its buildings are low, crooked, and crumbling—even along the widest street, Saint Gilles Avenue.

Had Saint Gilles never descended here, it might have evaporated like a single drop of water under the sun "Balor."

The streets are sparsely populated, some locals, others pilgrims from other worlds.

At the Blood Scorpion Tavern beside the Peace Market, local drunks sip small cups of Bal's native liquor.

This liquor is made from everything imaginable gathered from the Crimson Hotlands—low in water, high in alcohol, packed with strange impurities, thick as clotted blood.

But for Planet Bal II, a world starved of water, this is a rare luxury; the high alcohol lets one forget the misery of life, if only for a while.

"Lately, many refugees have come—from the Underworld. They keep muttering about some kind of insect."

"Muttering about insects is the least of it—some have even crowned a new saint unrecognized by the State Church, called… Doraemon?"

"Yes, yes! Those worshippers of Saint Doraemon even have a group preaching in our town. Why don't the Angels do something?"

"The Angels have been increasing lately too—always busy."

"SsHHH!" The alcohol began to take effect; a patron with a prominent scar tore his lips open in a shout.

But the roar of a dropship landing outside drowned out his cry.

He licked his lips, curious, and glanced out the window.

Then immediately pulled his gaze back.

For he saw a group of tall warriors clad in silver-and-red powered armor, caked in dried blood, marching toward Angel's Descent Town.

"Angels?" asked the bald man across from him, curious.

"Yeah, more Angels. So many Angels." The scarred patron nodded.

Angel's Descent Town is directly governed by the Holy Blood Angels; occasionally, one might glimpse the offspring of Archangels.

But lately, there have been far more—so many the scarred patron felt he'd seen at least a hundred. In the past, he'd rarely seen one or two.

"They've come to honor their father, the Holy Archangel."

The tavern owner nodded approvingly—a man with a thick beard.

"It is a miracle. We are fortunate to witness it."

"Speaking of Angels—my grandfather once took part in the Angels' Call."

The scarred man grinned, as if boasting.

"Too bad he and his comrades encountered a juvenile fire-scorpion. They nearly won—but in the end, he lost both legs. Of course, the third was fine; otherwise, I wouldn't exist."

"Oh? Really?" The bald man raised an eyebrow, dismissive. "I myself took part in the Angels' Call."

"My comrades and I put down a juvenile fire-scorpion—maybe even the same one that burned your grandfather."

Fire-scorpions grow slowly and live long; juveniles are about three meters, adults up to eight.

"I misremembered! My grandfather nearly defeated an adult fire-scorpion!" the scarred patron quickly corrected.

"Then I misremembered too—I took down an adult fire-scorpion with my comrades." The bald man shot back.

"I could take down an adult fire-lizard alone!"

The bald man nearly laughed out loud.

He pointed at the scarred patron and mocked: "Why not say you're an Archangel? I took down an adult fire-lizard alone when I was ten!"

The scarred patron's face flushed crimson. He slammed his fist on the table and stood, roaring: "I dare touch the venom gland of a fire-scorpion!"

Instantly, every eye in the tavern turned to the scarred patron.

At that moment, the tavern door swung open, a heavy shadow blotting out the sunlight at the threshold.

"Fine. Show us."

A mocking voice came from outside.

A man in a yellow shirt, short hair, glasses, eyes half-lidded with drowsiness, stepped inside.

A laser rifle hung from his shoulder; his other hand dragged behind him the object blocking the tavern's sunlight.

Sharp-eyed patrons recognized it at once: a fire-scorpion's tail.

The man yanked hard, dragging a five-meter-long fire-scorpion into the tavern, across the tables.

The entire tavern stared, dumbfounded. They noticed a grotesque blood-hole in the scorpion's head.

The edges were charred—clearly a single laser rifle shot, precisely struck the neural node.

Silence fell. All eyes fixed on the man who had single-handedly slain a fire-scorpion.

To kill a fire-scorpion alone was a challenge even the most skilled hunters on Bal dared not attempt—and even then, they often suffered grave wounds.

This scorpion was clearly adult. The man didn't just kill it—he dragged it back alone from deep within the crimson mist.

The man merely smiled, tugged the tail again, and looked at the stunned scarred patron.

He gestured with his eyes toward the venom gland on the scorpion's tail.

The scarred patron's face twisted with fear. He waved his hands frantically.

A chorus of boos rose through the tavern. The scarred patron turned beet red with shame.

How could he have known?

How could anyone suddenly drag in a fire-scorpion like this?

Damn it—he'd been sitting by the window. He should've seen it coming. This felt like sorcery.

Zhou Yun smiled, dragging the scorpion to the tavern's counter.

He'd hunted it on the way here; its head had slammed into his laser rifle's muzzle. "Can you handle this?" he asked, pointing at the giant scorpion.

The bearded tavern owner nodded. "Large one. Adult for a while, but not old. My cooking makes it delicious."

"Remove the venom gland, gut it, sprinkle powdered Bal bloodgrass, bury it whole in thick sand, then heat it with the scorpion's own venom-fire. Believe me—on all of Bal II, you won't find better."

Hearing this, Zhou Yun smiled.

"Give me a drink, then prepare this scorpion. I'll buy everyone here a meal. Whatever's left is yours."

"Generous!" the tavern owner praised. He signaled a few regulars to help carry the scorpion to the kitchen.

"Not from Bal, are you?" the tavern owner asked, pouring Zhou Yun a cup of thick liquor.

"From Asford." Zhou Yun sipped the potent, viscous liquid. The alcohol burned his tongue—nearly as strong as General Drostr's bottle of Aksema.

"Neos Daxiong. Renowned gunner, Teyao sleep specialist to Viceroy Augustus, legendary string-flipping master, educator of twenty-one successful children."

"Educator of children?" The tavern owner raised an eyebrow.

"Of course. Four of my students now hold executive positions in four of the galaxy's most famous corporations."

!. ead

"But my proudest achievement? I taught a child how to dial a phone correctly."

The tavern owner raised an eyebrow, not understanding why dialing a phone correctly was worth pride.

He merely nodded. "That's impressive."

"Don't underestimate phone dialing. One day, doing it right might decide the fate of the entire galaxy!"

Zhou Yun stared seriously at the tavern owner.

The tavern owner looked utterly baffled—he simply couldn't fathom how dialing a phone related to the galaxy's fate.

Zhou Yun took another sip, then said to the tavern owner: "That child was born with intellectual disability."

"Ah! That explains it," the tavern owner exclaimed in sudden understanding.

The winged figure within Bai Guang trembled slightly, as if barely holding back laughter.

What a crisp birdcall, Zhou Yun thought, sipping his drink.

The winged figure's birdcall grew urgent.

Soon, Zhou Yun smelled a rich, fragrant aroma drifting from the kitchen, stinging his nostrils.

It was spicy, pungent, with a strange salty-savory scent.

After a while, the tavern owner directed his staff to bring out plates of scorpion meat on clay dishes.

He himself carried a large platter solemnly to Zhou Yun's table and poured a cup of thick liquor over the meat.

The scorpion meat was succulent, like giant crab flesh—pale, tender, fragrant, dusted with a local Bal II wild herb emitting a sharp aroma.

Paired with the thick liquor poured over it, the scent exploded into a powerful, nose-stinging fragrance.

No wonder the tribal folk of Bal II, after tasting scorpion meat, fell into worship of Saint Gilles as a god.

For a land like Bal, a single bite of scorpion meat was true luxury.

The winged figure within Bai Guang seemed to mutter something. Zhou Yun could guess—he was mocking the tribesmen, who didn't follow him for a single bite of scorpion.

"To the renowned children's educator, Neos Daxiong of Asford!" the tavern owner raised his cup to the tavern.

"To Neos Daxiong!!" The crowd erupted in cheers, all raising their cups to Zhou Yun.

Zhou Yun lifted his cup slightly, turning to return the toast.

Suddenly, he heard again the landing roar of a Stormcrow gunship.

When Zhou Yun first entered Angel's Descent Town, he'd seen a group of Astartes land outside.

This new group must be another sub-chapter of the Holy Blood Angels.

Chapter Master Dante had issued a call across the galaxy, summoning all descendants of Saint Gilles to guard the Gene-Father's homeworld.

Many Holy Blood chapters—some nearly rebellious, others already declared traitors—answered the call.

Zhou Yun glanced out the window, watching a group of Astartes march past.

Their powered armor was a dull red, adorned with intricate spiral patterns and gilded bloodstones—but the shade of red differed sharply from the Holy Blood Angels'.

They wore white helmets, white trim on their armor, and on their shoulder plates: three drops of blood falling into a skull-shaped chalice.

The Crimson Blade Chapter, Zhou Yun thought calmly,

Among the successor chapters of the Blood Angels, this chapter was relatively moderate, not deeply afflicted by blood thirst or black rage; most interestingly, they had long believed themselves to be the sons of Roboute Guilliman, deeply influenced by the Ultramarines' culture.

At that moment, the group of Blood Angels who had entered Angel Descend Town ahead of time emerged from the other end of the street,

Zhou Yun's gaze fell upon their silver-and-red paint schemes, and his eyes stiffened slightly.

You may comment anywhere in this chapter or the next to enter the giveaway; the author can see all comments, and I will compile a table to randomly draw eight boxes of Dante and eight boxes of Blood Angels hero blind boxes—a total of eight boxes—with the draw to be held twenty-four hours from now.

(End of Chapter)