Ark Chess Player

“Sister Kingslayer, let me help you comb your tail,” Misha suggested. She took a wooden comb out of her pocket and carefully rolled up her sleeves, looking eager to try.

"Huh? You're going to let an assassin expose his defenseless back to you?! Are you kidding me?" The Kingslayer raised an eyebrow, but her body still squatted down honestly. The graceful curves from her back to her hips and then to her bent legs were truly pleasing to the eye from the side. She specifically instructed, "Don't be too rough, I'm afraid of pain."

"Does the queen-slayer sister also feel pain?"

"Of course, I'm not a robot."

The regicide puffed out his cheeks, his tone tinged with displeasure.

But the unhappiness on her face quickly disappeared, replaced by a silly grin.

"Xiaomisha, how come you're so skilled?" The Kingslayer's mood improved as he looked at his tail, which had been neatly combed in just a few moments. He even took off his hood. "Could you comb my hair while you're at it? I can't keep it down."

Misha's eyes crinkled with a smile. She reached out and ruffled the Kingslayer's frizzy, permed hair, as if she were dealing with a child. She suddenly understood why she hadn't been wary of the Kingslayer; even though he was older than her, he was remarkably straightforward.

Misha's greatest talent is taking care of children.

“When I lived in the slums, I often helped children comb their hair. After combing it so many times, I became familiar with them.” Misha took out a special hair comb from her other pocket. As a girl, she knew very well that there was a difference between hair and tail. “Don’t worry, I wash it after each use, so it won’t smell like other people.”

"Xiaomisha is really thoughtful."

The kingslayer enjoyed Misha combing his hair while making comparisons in his mind.

Compared to Lin Lu's combing of her hair, Misha's technique was gentler and more meticulous, but for some reason... the King Killer still preferred Lin Lu's rougher and more proactive approach, as if he wanted to touch her until she was in a daze.

"Sister Kingslayer, if you're afraid of pain, why do you fight so hard?" Misha asked cautiously, trying to smooth down the Kingslayer's upturned ahoge.

"Of course, it's because there are some things that scare me more."

The kingslayer closed his eyes to avoid being touched by Misha's hand.

Misha paused, took a soft breath, and asked casually, "Really?"

The regicide nodded instinctively, but then she remembered she was combing her hair, so she stiffened her neck and said, "I never want to watch the important people in my life leave one by one without knowing why. I've made my decision, and I will never let myself regret it again. I will give my all in everything I do. The feeling of being left alone is a million times more terrifying than the pain of being injured."

Misha was taken aback, and her eyes involuntarily reddened.

She understands, she comprehends.

The feeling of being left alone.

That resentment, that regret, that agonizing pain that tormented me day and night. Every time I fall asleep, I return to that day, that snowy day, that bloody path I was dragged through, that scene I can never forget.

"Xiaomisha? Why are you crying! Who bullied you!?"

The Kingslayer felt Misha's body trembling, and quickly opened his eyes, only to be startled.

Misha wept silently. Since that day, she had become accustomed to this way of crying and could never change it.

"Was the child crying?"

The bear angel's attention was fixed on Misha, and she tilted her head in confusion.

Texas glanced at it, then casually touched her handbag to make sure she had enough, before taking out a box of chocolate bars.

Are you hungry?

Texas strode forward and handed over the chocolate bar. Her expression remained indifferent, but her voice was much gentler.

Misha wiped away her tears; they were fleeting, a momentary outburst that passed quickly. Misha didn't refuse Texas's kindness, accepting a box of chocolate bars and repeatedly saying thank you.

Texas breathed a slight sigh of relief, and as she turned to leave, she glared at the Kingslayer.

"What kind of skill is it to bully a little girl?"

Texas whispered, in a voice only the Kingslayer could hear.

The regicide: "???"

A person sits on the rooftop, and a pot falls from the sky.

"Okay, stop crying."

The Kingslayer patted Misha's head and said earnestly, "You're my little brother. If you cry all the time, I'll lose face. Didn't I tell you? You're under my protection. Anyone who wants to bully you will have to get past me first."

Misha lowered her head deeply and made a barely audible sound.

"Um……"

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

at the same time.

Witness Room, Lungmen Guard Bureau.

A sparse signal appeared on the Guard Bureau's surveillance equipment, and then the image froze on the previous scene.

At that moment, the staff on duty were changing shifts, and the timing was so precise that practically no one saw what was happening.

The Guards officers, finally able to rest at the entrance to the witness hall, were simultaneously stabbed in the back by their colleagues after exchanging temporary keys, their guards most relaxed in that moment. They didn't even have a chance to cry for help. The cold blades sliced ​​through their throats, precisely at the weak point that the Guards' standard armor hadn't reinforced—a weakness known only to the Guards' officers.

Blood stained the earth, and the loyal officers lay dead in pools of blood. Clutching their wounds, unable to utter a sound, their disbelieving eyes fixed on the attacker. Despite constant vigilance, a thief within the organization proved insidious; the once mighty Guard Bureau, like a towering tree, had ultimately been devoured by a vile insect.

There were only two attackers, and their clothing was exactly the same as that of the police officers who died on the ground.

“Jason can only access the surveillance footage for ten minutes,” one of them said in a deep voice. “Modley, stop playing around, business is more important.”

"Understood, understood." The former police officer, known as Modray, was currently removing the protective gear from the two corpses on the ground, stabbing each of them in the heart to ensure they were absolutely dead.

“Trust me, being careful to finish off enemies is never a bad thing.” Modly pointed to the communicator clutched in one of the officers’ hands and sneered menacingly, “Ron, look at this.”

The officer knew he wasn't going to survive the moment his throat was slit. Instead of trying to heal his wound, he secretly pulled out his communicator to try and relay intelligence about the attack. Unfortunately, he was discovered, and his plan failed.

Do you still think I'm just playing around?

Modray raised his hand sharply, then brought it down again, piercing the heart of the dutiful officer with the short blade.

Blood splattered all around, turning the white building into a terrifying crimson hue.

The myth of security for the Lungmen Guard Bureau has come to an end.

Ron shook his head helplessly. He stuck the temporary key to the sensor on the metal door and successfully opened the door to the witness room.

“Even if Jason can maintain control of the surveillance, the temporary key we have has an expiration date. Once the time expires and we are locked in here, neither of us will be able to escape when the next shift of guards arrives.”

Ron carefully put away the temporary key. He pushed the door open and snorted coldly, "Not only that, but this door will trigger an alarm if it is left open for more than five minutes, which can be considered to have given up our idea of ​​blocking the door. However, what is the use of the Guard Bureau guarding it so strictly? If morale is low, this Iron City will still be full of loopholes."

"Oh."

Modley shrugged dismissively, wiped the blood from the blade onto the corpse's clothes, and casually stepped through the metal door.

For them, completing the task within ten minutes is incredibly easy.

That's generally the case.

But the objective of this mission... is a bit unusual?

As the cautious Ron and the nonchalant Mordley stepped into the front hall, before Mordley could even remark on how nice the rich man's cell was, Ron had already frowned and raised his dagger and crossbow.

The two of them heard strange, rhythmic music accompanied by a man's deep voice.

"One, two, three, four; two, two, three, four; one more time!"

"Good job, keep going, don't let your muscles stop! Swing with me!"

"Yes, yes! That's how it's done, little Ug, you're so amazing! Everyone else, reflect on why you're not as good as a newbie."

"Wearing a military uniform on the upper body and red shorts on the lower body," Makarov, the former Ursus executive officer, shouted.

In front of him, rows of strong men lay sprawled haphazardly on sofas and the floor. Some were even pinned under weightlifting equipment, looking as if they were half-dead.

Among the crowd, only one man persisted in doing aerobics and kept up with Makarov's rhythm.

This person was none other than Edward Ugg, the target of Ron and Mordred's mission.

Ug changed into a red vest and blue tight shorts for easy movement. He was swaying along with Makarov's movements, perfectly showcasing the beauty of his muscles and bringing the art of aerobics to its extreme.

Accompanied by background music, each leg lift and arm raise exudes power and is quite imposing.

Even Ron was stunned. According to intelligence, Edward Ugg was supposed to be a frail logistics worker. However, what was presented to him now was a muscular man who had undergone a rapid fitness transformation. Although his physique was not yet up to par, his demeanor already exuded a philosophical aura.

Yes, Ug has awakened.

A passionate, masculine spirit burned within him.

After being pulled into the locker room by his mentor Makarov and going through a less-than-pleasant exchange, Ug realized one thing.

Human beings have their limits.

The more obsessed one is with calculation, the more one tries to survive, the more one will ultimately be manipulated and spend the rest of one's life in fear.

Unless you surpass humanity.

Muscles are the only thing that doesn't lie!

Make a wish for muscles! Please, muscles!

"Oh? Another newcomer has arrived."

Makarov keenly sensed Ron and Mordley's presence. He narrowed his eyes slightly and said in a deep voice, "The bloodlust on you two is really strong. Hmph, I didn't expect that even after I escaped here, Ursus still wouldn't let me go."

"Very well, today I'll show you just how brave I, Makarov, really am!!"

“…Brother, I’m not here to see you, I’m here to see him.”

Ron looked annoyed and pointed at Ug, who was focused on training.

To everyone's surprise, Makarov's eyes widened, his face flushed red, and he was so angry that his clothes ripped apart, even his upper military uniform exploded into pieces. He roared, "Little Ug is my beloved! We Ursus people will never abandon our brothers! Enough talk, let's draw our swords!!"

Ron's lips twitched, and he muttered, "You Ursus people are really... simple and honest."

Chapter 288 Rest in Peace, My Friend (4K)

“I have always longed for a worthy opponent.”

"Many people have tried, but only I have succeeded."

"A sharp sword, a sharp eye."

"The stab must be quick and ruthless."

"My sword is ready."

"What about you?"

Makarov's punches were powerful and fierce, and in the blink of an eye, the luxurious prison suite in the witness hall was left in a mess.