Unholy Player Chapter 536 Henry's Plan (Part 4)

In recent months, humans had focused on several crucial sectors for advancement in this unfamiliar realm, with one major intersection being logistics and military demands.

Particularly, they advanced their aerial transports dramatically, enhancing their practicality to suit this world's demands, beyond mere luxury, to excel in rapid deployment and quick reactions.

Technological breakthroughs, along with the Sparks they acquired and analyzed, plus resources discovered in the Beyond, led to the primary upgrade in these advanced military crafts: a substantial expansion in dimensions.

The latest hoverjets had grown considerably in size. Designed to transport greater numbers of personnel in powersuits simultaneously, to integrate powerful heavy armaments straight into their frames without risking balance, and to haul bulky loads effortlessly.

This enormous hoverjet, resembling a gigantic airborne vessel, neared the party and descended with exact control, its entrance sliding open amid a deep mechanical rumble.

Soldiers emerged in formation, clad in complete metallic armor and gripping massive rifles. They advanced in a steady, disciplined rhythm, their boots thudding against the ramp in a uniform beat that resounded like battle drums in the ears of those watching.

Next, they divided into two lines, creating a pathway toward the hoverjet's entrance, their forms positioned to provide a clear route, helmets fixed ahead, weapons never dipping.

"They are not Practitioners..." Arvyn quickly assessed them as ordinary humans. Their steps showed tight discipline and perfect timing, each action drilled until automatic, but lacking the distinctive aura of a trained Practitioner.

Nevertheless, the oversized rifles they held marked them as anything but safe, with lengthy, weighty barrels crafted for maximum impact.

The gilded elements on their equipment further highlighted their threat. These were formed from the identical substance as the rounds that had pierced their toughened hides earlier, and matching the arms of Zephan and Liora, once deemed priceless relics.

What kind of people are these? she pondered while they proceeded to the hoverjet directed by the drone, the device hovering in front like a quiet guide.

A species where ordinary folk possessed the power to injure a Rank 4 Practitioner defied belief. It sparked her curiosity: how mighty their true Practitioners could be, and what sort of metropolis bred warriors of this caliber.

Liora and Zephan trailed directly after, eyeing them vigilantly and prepared to counter any danger.

Soulforge remained behind, perched on his Giant Eye, immobile like a statue oblivious to blinking. He would recover on his own in time.

"Is this what the places Gods live look like?" Arvyn and Kaelor gazed through the hoverjet's viewport at the sprawling city below, the height lending an otherworldly feel to the sight.

This view offered a true insight into the Central Region's reality, seen directly rather than via tales or fancy. The towering concrete structures appeared manually constructed, yet their precision in edges, even surfaces, and flawless repeated designs evoked awe at the craftsmanship.

Symmetry dominated, from the roadways connecting the urban expanse to the uniform dimensions and proportions of edifices; all elements aligned impeccably, as though sketched, measured, and refined to perfection.

Even minor details seemed intentional. Patches of gardens, lush plants, and vibrant blooms interrupted the gray concrete.

Additionally, enormous dynamic displays adorned the structures and central zones of the city, with visuals cycling endlessly, vivid and sharp despite the sun's glare.

"What are those?" Arvyn stared at the vast screens dotting the skyline, strategically positioned for newcomers' view, elevated and tilted toward avenues below and the heavens above, targeting aerial arrivals.

At present, the displays showed a film, a popular Earth classic in the sci-fi genre, depicting spaceships voyaging through the cosmos and nearing a remote world, cuts alternating between vessels and the inky void surrounding them.

To Kaelor and Arvyn, limited in vision by their Spark abilities, the visuals proved initially baffling.

However, as the film progressed, varying shots revealed the far-off blue orb more clearly. Before long, the huge ships pierced the world's atmosphere and touched down on its terrain.

At that point, the pair comprehended it portrayed a colossal world inhabited by a species numbering in the millions, dotted with entire urban spreads like thriving hives.

"Is that..." Arvyn gulped, confusing the fabricated footage for reality. "A Sanctuary?"

To one such as her, unfamiliar with cosmic scales, the dark void resembled an energy ocean in a Sanctuary, with Earth as the enclosed terrain.

The Sanctuary's scale drove home her insignificance. Within her thoughts, her home realm dwindled to a mere dot.

To whom did that vast Sanctuary belong?

The realization struck instantly upon reflection. At minimum, a Demigod.

Suddenly, she grasped that her Blood Sect might lack the might she once believed, in a realm capable of showcasing such spectacles casually.

Instinctively, her eyes shifted to Kaelor, intending to suggest fleeing before disaster struck, but it was far past that. Kaelor's metallic cranium emitted steamy vapor as he paced briskly, scrutinizing every aspect of the interior—joints, covers, odd devices. He attempted conversations with the powersuit-clad soldiers, despite their silent, statue-like stillness.

He resembled an eager pup, long astray, finally back in familiar surroundings. Just lacking a tail furiously swishing.

I can't trust him anymore. Arvyn's features hardened, recognizing the Mechari's allegiance had shifted, his enthusiasm too visceral, too authentic to counterfeit.

Shortly after, the hoverjet neared the region's loftiest tower's summit and alighted gracefully, the urban vista receding as the landing pad ascended to receive it.

Yet another STF unit awaited them on the exterior, arrayed in neat rows, evidently briefed well in advance.

On this occasion, the powersuits were absent. Each wore pristine white attire of lightweight cloth, tailored flawlessly to their forms. The spotless, crease-free outfits stunned them anew.

The duo of Blood Path Practitioners examined this fresh contingent and noted they too were non-Practitioners, simple humans. That revelation fueled their astonishment.

Their white outfits closely resembled those of Zephan and Liora. Only minor stylistic variances existed, with simpler designs and repositioned emblems.

Beyond uniform attire, each bore varied golden-hued arms. Belts held daggers for some, elongated distinct swords for others, batons, and even weighted gauntlets masquerading as ordinary handwear.

Hundreds stood there, equipped with treasures as if commonplace wares. Non-Practitioners, treating such gear as routine provisions.

Naturally, not all were ordinary. As the assembly held position to welcome the arrivals, two prominent figures led at the forefront, evident commanders of these elite troops.

One featured a female with deep violet locks and obsidian orbs. Her white uniform enveloped her completely, styled more boldly than the rest, drawing the eye. The golden rapier at her side, its pommel glinting with movement, evoked a warrior goddess amid combat.

The counterpart was male, in similar white garb. His hair cropped short and silver, eyes of pure ivory.

While the Blood Path members studied him, he met their stares with a look of ennui or perhaps overindulgence, hard to pinpoint.

His stance deviated from standard military poise; back slouched, shoulders slumped. He appeared unimposing from any angle, as if stumbling into place unwittingly. Yet, observing the man stirred an odd feeling in Arvyn, reminiscent of superiors in the cult from the Midlands—a subtle menace, aura-free, whispering peril.