Apocalypse Forecast-Chapter 717 - 587 Giants (Thanks to the Overlord of Seven Hills_1)

Chapter 717: Chapter 587 Giants (Thanks to the Overlord of Seven Hills_1)

At this moment in the cloud-faring vessel, atop the bridge of Ivy Vine’s flying behemoth, hundreds of massive displays covered the entire battlefield, reflecting every transformation and dispute.

As the four gates opened, countless teams streamed continuously into the Central Tower, rushing to the battlefield, contesting for space inch by inch.

But on the central screen, an excessively young face appeared.

Once the faint smile that always graced his lips vanished, his expression became drastically different. His dark pupils were calm and profound, as if reflecting the unseen depths of the Abyss.

"Just like an Evil Dragon, truly terrifying," Pant Delong remarked. "Facing such an enemy, it seems our luck is really not good."

Behind him, Harry Quinn, who had only recently recovered from his injuries, couldn’t help but shake his head.

"When we encountered the Ivory Tower, that’s when you knew our luck was really bad, right?" He scratched his head and sighed in resignation. "Mr. Pan Delong, we’re not going to lose, are we?"

"Lose?" Pant Delong shot him a sidelong glance. "Harry Quinn, if you had put even a little effort into probability, you wouldn’t be saying something so foolish."

"Please spare a language teacher from studying math, okay?" Harry Quinn shook his head helplessly. He bowed, acting just like the jester his codename suggested, and gave an awkward salute to the ’lord’ before him, earnestly seeking instruction. "Esteemed elder, what is your insight into the outcome before us?"

"Originally, seventy-thirty."

"Who has seventy?" Harry Quinn asked subconsciously.

Pant Delong didn’t even bother to answer.

Harry Quinn’s eyes widened. "Doesn’t that mean we’re doomed to lose?"

"Our enemy is the Ivory Tower, the last vestige of the Heavenly Kingdom Genealogy, the colossus that dominated the academic world for one hundred and ten years, the very entity before which even the Empire University of Rome once bowed. Within the Iron Crystal Throne are Great Grandmasters of this age, living miracles incarnate. Our next adversaries are the Frost Giant Army, led by the youngest The Anointed One in history, an S-level Military Officer assessed by the Asian Astronomy Association..."

Pant Delong countered with a question, "Challenging such an opponent, why do you think there’s no possibility we could lose?"

"..." Harry Quinn was stunned, looking around.

Pant Delong’s voice hadn’t been concealed at all; it had reached everyone’s ears. This caused the busy members to turn around in bewilderment, looking towards the old man’s silhouette.

"What’s there to make such a fuss about?" The old man, too, turned his gaze back to them, indifferently questioning. "Did we come here to lose? Did we persevere up to this point just to surrender?

"From Rome, to London, then to America, through a long journey fraught with upheaval, division, strife, poverty, and hunger... Four hundred years of hardship did not defeat us—to this very day, we still stand on the shoulders of giants!

"Our forebears, who established the name of Ivy Vine, fought through thorns and brambles to bring us here. No more foolish talk about turning back at the sight of mountains." The gaunt old man roared like a lion at his subordinates, "The road ahead, we have to walk ourselves!

"Will we lose? Will we fail? Or are you afraid of facing ridicule and shame? Is that trivial thing really worth mentioning?

"—The things truly worth pursuing, should we refrain from doing them just because we might lose?

"This is just the first step. Even if we lose, there will be a second step, a third step... As long as we are alive, the challenge will continue! Not just because we fear the wrath of our ancestors, nor because we worry about being mocked by those who follow. Rather, it is for the noble dream that we represent, one that has been passed down for three hundred and fifty-seven years. Even if the enemy is an invincible Great Grandmaster, the Soul of a seeker will never bow in the shadow of Truth!"

In the ensuing silence, Pant Delong’s eyes widened, his ancient pupils ablaze with the wildfire of legacy, staring into every face.

"So, stand tall, everyone, do not bow your heads." He raised his head high, solemnly telling everyone present, "We have done what we could, and we’ve also accomplished what we couldn’t in the past. After such a long pursuit, we finally stand on the same starting line as our opponents!

"Regardless of success or failure, our efforts will not be in vain.

"Because one day, the pursuit of our lifetimes will become a new cornerstone, placing the monument of Ivy Vine above the White Tower!"

He proclaimed, "—Victory will ultimately be ours!"

The moment Pant Delong raised his hand and clenched it into a fist, the fragile silence was shattered by a surge of passion ten thousand times greater. A rumbling voice, like thunder, erupted from the thin old man, echoing from thousands of meters in the sky.

The atmosphere, which had been growing tense, now became incredibly agitated.

Wildfires ignited in those fervent eyes.

And this proclamation, through various means, reached the ears of every Ivy Vine member on the battlefield, causing that nearly four-hundred-year-old noble dream to resonate in each heart, dispelling all hesitation and disquiet.

Amidst countless thunders and storms, the light of Abnormal Hell spread once again in all directions.

The Miracle from America traveled through Hell, bringing the Truth of America with it!

After waiting for so many years, the souls yearning for victory once again challenged their untouchable opponents.

For victory!

***

Once the War Chip’s main brain took over command of the entire battlefield, Pant Delong finally handed over his duties and took the elevator to the deployment area.

During the brief wait, he asked someone beside him, "How is Liz doing?"

Harry Quinn cocked his head to glance at the display on his arm, his eyebrows raising. "She’s arrived at the battlefield and is in unbelievably good condition," he reported. "Also, she asked me to tell you: ’Everything you said was good, but just too long-winded. Next time, please keep it to ten seconds or less.’"

Mr. Pan Delong was startled, then burst into laughter.

"Now, that’s asking too much." 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝕨𝕖𝗯𝚗𝚘𝕧𝕖𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝕞

As the elevator doors opened, a gust of wind from the deck swept in. A dark aircraft had been waiting at the far end for quite some time.

In the pilot’s seat, the Colonel took a last drag of his cigarette and turned to look at Mr. Pan Delong, who was seated, furrowing his brow. "Old man, are you sure you want to go up there yourself? We can manage without you; the battlefield is not your classroom."

"The students have all gone into battle. As their teacher, I have to lead by example." Mr. Pan Delong donned his Helmet, and a mocking smile appeared behind the visor. "Don’t brag about your paratrooper record from the Battle of Bagdad to me... kid, you’ve got another ten years before I’ll even consider retiring!"

Yes, that’s right. He wasn’t old yet; he could still keep pushing forward. The giants bearing Ivy Vine had not yet fallen!

***

"Is that so?"

At the Iron Crystal Throne, the Captain looked down at the report handed to him—the entire theatrical troupe had appeared on the battlefield three minutes ago.

Tsk, those Ivy Vine guys seemed like they’d taken an aphrodisiac, each one panting heavily, rushing upwards regardless of their own lives. The unsuspecting Scholars and Exploration Team were beaten until they had lumps all over their heads; the cryo-chambers were almost full.

The Captain scratched his head, troubled. "It seems those guys are really giving it their all..."

"After being blocked by the Ivory Tower for so many years, who wouldn’t be in a rush?" The Director of Affairs calmly watched the screen in front of him, adjusting indicators.

His task was to ensure the stability of the Heavenly Kingdom matrix and maintain the Mystic Ritual.

The immense Power running through the Iron Crystal Throne had turned this giant submarine into a powder keg; even the slightest imbalance could lead to a catastrophic collapse.

Not only would the nascent Heavenly Kingdom Genealogy be stillborn, but even the Great Grandmasters would likely suffer serious injuries.

Without help from the Utopia Host and the Three Sages, such a massive Mystic Ritual was too much for one person—it demanded full attention, leaving no room for distractions.

The Captain’s task was no lighter, but seeing how leisurely the Director of Affairs was, even finding time amidst the chaos to brew tea with a stopwatch, he couldn’t help shaking his head.

"Couldn’t you be a little more tense?"

"What’s the use of being tense? Since I can’t roll up my sleeves and rush down there to fight, I might as well drink tea here and cultivate my mind."

The Director of Affairs held a teaspoon and a scale he had casually taken from the lab, meticulously calculating the amount of tea leaves in micrograms. He then wrote down a series of formulas on paper to determine the impact of the tea leaves’ age on the final quality of the brew.

Finally, he ground the precisely calculated tea leaves into powder—over ten times the usual amount, plus a heap of miscellaneous things that definitely shouldn’t be in a teapot—and tossed it all into boiling water, then put the lid on.

What followed was a wait full of anticipation.

Soon, two cups of an Alchemy Potion, which had undergone high-level extraction in an Alchemy Furnace and had, in some ways, become a stimulant aggregate, were placed in front of the Captain.

Just one look at the dark coloration was enough to know that nothing good could come from drinking it...

"Care for some?" the Director of Affairs invited expectantly.

The Captain picked up the teacup. Just smelling it gave him the illusion of his life rebooting—had this old fellow been bribed by the enemy? Was he starting to poison people within the Iron Crystal Throne? After all these years, why hasn’t your technique improved at all?

"Next time, definitely next time..." He hesitated repeatedly, but ultimately lacked the courage to try, even involuntarily leaning back a bit to get further away from the teacup.

"Didn’t you say the same thing last time?"

"Last time was different from this time!" The Captain rolled his eyes but eventually asked, "Do you really plan to do nothing?"

"Do nothing." The Director of Affairs sipped his poison-level tea and calmly replied, "Since there’s already one voice in the Iron Crystal Throne, there shouldn’t be a second one. There needs to be only one protagonist on stage; any interference from us backstage personnel would have unpredictable consequences for the Mystic Ritual, which is in the ’Event Shrinkage’ phase."

Saying this, he looked up and asked, "If a locked-room murder mystery is finally solved by the old man selling breakfast tea on the roadside, the readers definitely won’t buy it, right? When all causality has been connected, any ’Mechanical Descent’ will cause irreparable damage to the story itself. Foster, I know you disregard our agreement with Ivy Vine, but the more critical the moment, the more we need to endure."

That old spiel again... Foster thought.

"What else? A promise made must be kept, whether to an enemy or an ally. An upright life should always be so!" The Director of Affairs pushed the teacup towards him, looking him in the eye. "Come on, drink your tea!"

"..." Foster’s temples throbbed violently. Under the expectant gaze of his old friend, his scalp tingled.

"I hope everything goes smoothly," he sighed, lifted the teacup, tilted his head back, and downed it in one gulp.

Before him, countless illusions began to surface. Amidst this sudden bitterness, he finally had an epiphany: Some damn agreements... actually, it wouldn’t be so bad not to keep them... Too bad. It was too late.