Chapter 445

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Protagonist:

Lin En

Lena

Dominic's gaze swept over everyone present, finally settling on Bishop Wenka and the High Priest:

"Everyone, withdraw from the Mechanical Temple immediately. Without my order, no one is allowed to set foot inside even half a step."

As his voice fell, the temple fell silent for an instant, then a low murmur rose.

"Major General Adult, this cannot be done!" The High Priest snapped his head up, his metal vox-emitter carrying a note of urgent static.

"The Mechanical Soul Core cannot tolerate the slightest mishap, letting an outsider……"

"The Machine Spirit is already mishapping right now." Dominic's voice turned cold, his blue-gray eyes holding a soldier's unique hardness.

"The ritual was performed, Holy Oil was poured, the litanies were recited for three hours, and the result? Purity is still dropping."

He raised a hand pointing at the Throne, his tone resolute and final:

"Either watch the James Tong completely degenerate into a Plague Fortress, to be incinerated along with all of us in the end, or trust me once, give me one hour."

"If anything goes wrong, I, Dominic Wentilia, will bear full responsibility."

The last sentence fell like a War Hammer on human hearts.

Bishop Wenka's lips moved, wanting to persuade further, but seeing the resolve in Dominic's eyes, he swallowed the words back.

Everyone knew this Major General's temper; once he made up his mind, nine oxen couldn't pull him back.

More importantly, they truly had no other Method left.

"……We obey the General's order."

The old Bishop sighed heavily, performed an Eagle Salute toward the Throne's Direction, then waved his hand, signaling the Clergy and Priests to withdraw.

The High Priest, though reluctant, could only lead the technical personnel out in single file.

As Deputy Colonel Karen passed Dominic, she lowered her voice and said "General, take care," then closed the Temple's heavy Copper Gate behind her with the honor guard.

After the muffled thud of the Hydraulic Shaft, the Temple fell completely quiet.

Only two people remained, a corroded Throne, and the faint sizzling sound of electric arcs in the air.

Dominic turned around, locking eyes with Sorin.

The eyes beneath the Hood were still, like a frozen lake surface, revealing no emotion, yet exuding a strange certainty.

He suddenly recalled the encounters in desperate straits the previous two times, recalled that silver-red Glimmer, recalled that warning which always struck the vital point with Precision.

Perhaps, this really was the God Emperor's guidance.

He traced an Imperial Holy Emblem across his chest, closed his eyes, and recited in a low voice the shortest Prayer text.

No verbose Prayer Words, only the simplest heartfelt wish——May the Immortal Emperor Blessing protect the James Tong, protect all officers, soldiers, and civilians aboard.

Finishing the recitation, he opened his eyes, did not look at Sorin again, turned and walked straight toward that Machine Soul Throne covered in corrosion.

"Sizzle!"

The moment he stepped inside the ten-meter Warning Line, a dark-green electric arc thick as a wrist erupted from the Throne, slamming into him viciously.

Dominic's whole body violently stiffened.

Not ordinary burning pain, but numbness and stabbing pain drilling along blood vessels, along nerves into the bone marrow.

Corruption Power rode the current, frantically burrowing into pores, like countless tiny maggots gnawing flesh and blood; his vision instantly darkened.

He staggered a step, right hand clenched tight into a fist, nails digging deep into his palm, relying on the intense pain to forcibly drag back his scattering Consciousness.

One step, two steps, three steps……

With every step forward, the electric arcs grew denser by a fraction.

By the end, dozens of lightning bolts of varying sizes wove a net, striking his uniform, striking his exposed skin, striking beside his Cheek.

The edges of his uniform began to char black, his skin flared with stinging red marks, yet his Spine remained ramrod straight, like a long spear planted in the Thunder.

Adrenaline surged wildly in his body, supporting him across the last few meters of Distance.

Finally, he reached the front of the Throne.

Looking up, the once gleaming smooth pure-steel chair back was now crawling with uneven rust stains, the rune grooves filled with dark-green mucus.

The once majestic Throne now resembled a Skeleton fished from a corpse pit.

Yet Dominic looked at it and suddenly smiled.

A faint smile, carrying a touch of relief, a touch of gentleness.

From the day he took over this Warship, he knew he would one day face life and death together with it.

He just didn't expect this day to come so fast, so wretchedly.

If it truly cannot be saved……

Being able to walk the final stretch of road together with it isn't bad either.

He raised his hand, brushed away a layer of fine hyphae on the armrest, then turned and sat down without the slightest Hesitate.

"Boom!!"

In that instant, all electric arcs surged wildly!

Not just a physical electric shock, but a soul-level impact.

As if billions of steel needles pierced through the crown of his head, drilling deep along the meridians of Consciousness.

Dominic let out a muffled grunt, right hand violently gripping the armrest, knuckles turning white from force.

The prosthetic arm on his left arm had already been scrapped in the High Voltage Current.

He "saw" it.

Not with his eyes, but with his soul.

He saw the depths of the James Tong's consciousness — a vast, desolate Iron Wasteland.

Dark gray storm clouds hung low; thunder rolled and surged within the cloud layer, striking the earth and scattering countless sparks.

Beneath his feet lay cracked metal earth, trenches crisscrossing like a warship's keel and pipelines — bleak, unyielding, bearing the wildness forged by a thousand years of warfire.

This was the James Tong's Mechanical Soul World.

But now, this wasteland was being devoured by a rotting green.

Filthy dark green poison rain fell from the sky, landing on the metal earth with a sizzling corrosion sound, leaving behind patches of rust stains like mold spots.

The storm clouds were dyed a nauseating ink-green, expanding continuously like rotting cotton wadding.

A mad wind howled past carrying plague pathogens; wherever it passed, steel softened, the earth festered.

Deep in the sky, a great battle was in full swing.

Countless dark green moths formed a gigantic ghost face, its outline distorted — precisely Phelps's likeness.

The moth swarm blotted out the sky; every wing carried rust powder, madly gnawing at the thunder within the cloud layer.

And the lightning representing the Mechanical Soul's will, though still rampaging, had clearly fallen into a disadvantage.

The lightning grew dimmer, its range smaller and smaller, like a trapped ferocious beast roaring powerlessly within the plague's envelopment.

Phelps.

Dominic instantly recognized that ghost face.

He actually hadn't died, and had even fused his remnant soul with the Rust Plague, burrowing into the Mechanical Soul's core world!

Almost at the same time, that ghost face composed of moths also lowered its head and "looked" toward this tiny human consciousness body on the ground.

"Oh? A truly unexpected delight."

Phelps's voice sounded like rusted iron sheets grinding together, carrying unconcealed mockery:

"Lieutenant General Dominic, you actually dare to barge in — what, run out of methods on the outside, so you plan to come in personally and deliver yourself to death?"

The moth swarm emitted a buzzing wingbeat; dense masses of moths separated from the ghost face, like a green sandstorm, howling toward Dominic.

"With your feeble mortal soul, you also want to contend against the Merciful Father's plague?"

"Laughable!"