MIGHT AS WELL BE OP

Chapter 666: Stingy With Men

Hours blurred into a haze as the Last Stand military aircraft surged forward with unrelenting speed, tearing across the void like a streak of lightning. The journey had become a monotonous blur, a ceaseless march of time that weighed heavily on the soldiers within.

Those who had been searching for Anthony had long since abandoned their efforts, realizing with grim certainty that their search was futile, a hopeless endeavor against the odds they faced.

The soldiers, weary and resigned, had retreated to their private quarters and chambers. The hum of the engines had become a constant lullaby, yet sleep had eluded most of them.

The suffocating weight of exhaustion clung to their bones, but their restless minds refused them rest. Then, piercing the heavy silence, a mechanical voice reverberated through the metallic corridors of the aircraft, its cold tone echoing into every chamber.

Beep.

”Ten minutes until arrival at Military Base Alpha-9.”

The statement was short, clinical, yet it sparked a wave of relief. Nobody needed to be told who had spoken, the aircraft’s AI had a voice recognizable to all. With that announcement, the tension within the craft began to unravel like threads loosening from a tightened knot. Shoulders sagged.

Deep breaths escaped weary lungs. For over thirty hours they had endured confinement within the aircraft, and though sleep could have erased some of the fatigue, none had managed to truly rest.

As though bound by the same thought, soldiers began to rise from their beds and seats, preparing themselves for touchdown. Within moments, the Last Stand phased through the planetary barrier, a dome of protection woven by Mitchelle herself to safeguard the base beneath. The aircraft sliced smoothly through the shimmering veil, entering the military planet with quiet ease.

Within seconds, the landing site came into view. The aircraft hovered above the hardened ground, engines humming in harmony with the rhythm of the wind. Its metallic plating glimmered under the lights of the base.

With a soft hiss, the hatch cracked open, and streams of soldiers poured out like flowing water. Each soldier floated through the air with measured ease before descending gently onto the solid ground below.

The moment their boots touched earth, healers from the Logistics Department rushed forward in a flurry of robes and energy. Their task was clear: tend to wounds, mend broken bodies, and heal injuries that mere potions could not restore.

But as they prepared to work, they faltered in astonishment. To their disbelief, not a single soldier bore grievous wounds. Armor was intact, save for a few scuffs. Weapons were neither shattered nor bloodied. It was as though the soldiers had returned from nothing more than a training exercise, not a battlefield littered with demons and cultists.

The healers froze, stunned into silence. The soldiers, on the other hand, broke into grins, wide, unrestrained, and filled with triumph. Their smiles carried pride, for they had endured the mission and returned unscathed. The story of what transpired, of how they had faced the Abandoned Desert of Ruins and emerged victorious, would spread swiftly across the base.

It was worth noting that not every soldier from Military Base Alpha-9 had been deployed on this mission. To abandon the stronghold completely would have been folly, leaving the planet vulnerable and exposed. It was absurd to think that an entire base would march away just to crush a single insect, no matter how troublesome.

And so, Warlord Aerenya, the famed Elven Warlord, had remained behind, commanding the soldiers stationed at the base to ensure its protection.

Now, as the returning soldiers rejoined their comrades, the machinery of military life spun back into motion. Soldiers dispersed toward the Logistics Department, directing engineers to repair what remained of their aircraft.

The demons and cultists had unleashed a brutal bombardment upon them from the skies, leaving the aircraft battered and scarred. But, amidst the destruction, one consolation stood above all else: there would be no reports to file.

Ordinarily, missions demanded endless paperwork, reports meticulously detailing events, casualties, and decisions. But this time, two Warlords, Raelith and Brontagar, had accompanied them.

Their presence as witnesses meant they alone would bear the burden of documentation. They would pen the report and submit it directly to the Supreme Monarch. For the soldiers, this was liberation. No interrogations, no probing questions about tactics or failures.

Just relief.

Dale emerged from the aircraft with a stretch so exaggerated it seemed as though he had been asleep the entire journey, though in truth, he had not rested at all. His crimson eyes gleamed with mischief as he spoke, voice carrying across the group.

”This mission calls for a drink. Who’s up for some rounds?”

Without waiting for a response, he sauntered toward Anthony’s personal residence.

As the son of two Supreme Monarchs, Anthony’s accommodations were unlike those of other Major-ranked soldiers. While most shared islands and buildings, Anthony had his own residence, a symbol of his heritage, power, and the privileges that came with it.

Dale, along with the rest of Anthony’s team, had long since claimed space within Anthony’s estate. They had visited so frequently that their presence had become permanent, belongings moved in without formal permission.

Anthony, ever tolerant, had not objected. The mansion was vast, its rooms more than sufficient. Besides, the presence of his comrades brought a certain liveliness that he found oddly comforting.

”Hm. You’re paying?”

The voice was calm, smooth, and edged with amusement. Space shimmered, and Spectre materialized beside Dale with effortless grace, his arrival so casual it seemed almost rehearsed.

Dale turned to him, his red eyes narrowing. ”Where have you been? You and the mute kid.” His tone was sharp, though teasing, the nickname a jab at Clement’s quiet nature.

”Stepped out to handle some things,” Spectre replied with measured calm. In truth, he and Clement had retreated into the Divine Realm, immersing themselves in training the moment they boarded the Last Stand.

After witnessing firsthand the terrifying might of Lilithra and the Demon King, they had thrown themselves into preparation with a fervor bordering on desperation.

”So,” Spectre added, lips curving into the faintest smile, ”you’re paying?”

”Of course I am,” Dale laughed, waving a hand dismissively as he continued walking.

Reynold, ever the provocateur, chimed in from the side. ”Surprised you’re paying. Usually, you’re hoarding every last point to buy potions or to fantasize about your imaginary harem.”

Dale snorted. ”Tsk. You make me sound stingy.”

Reynold’s smirk widened. ”Let’s just say you’re stingy with men. But when it comes to women...” He paused, dragging the words with playful cruelty. ”Well, then you become the most generous man alive.”

”Hmph. Then I’m not paying for your drinks anymore,” Dale shot back, feigning indignation.

”Never needed your meager military points,” Reynold replied coolly, his tone sharp but laced with humor.

The banter flowed freely, lighthearted and familiar. None of their companions interrupted; they knew well enough that this was nothing more than jest, a ritual of camaraderie that needed no explanation.

”What’s the time and place for this drinking?” Kingsley’s voice cut through the chatter. Unlike the others, he did not walk. He floated, body reclining midair as though carried by an unseen current.

The sight was as bizarre as it was mesmerizing. To this day, none understood how he achieved such effortless levitation without relying on mana, spiritual energy, or chaos. Yet, no one ask.

”I’ll send you all a message soon,” Dale replied casually. ”Need to get to my room first and take care of a few things.”

Kingsley nodded, as did the others. They pressed no further. Whatever Dale had to handle was his business alone.

”You should join them for a boys’ night out,” Vega said softly, her voice carrying warmth as she glanced at Anthony.

”Wouldn’t you be bored?” Anthony asked, his tone low, his gem-blue eyes lingering on her.

”Not at all,” Vega replied with a radiant smile. ”Veronica and Seraphim will be with me. We’ll have our own girls’ night out.”

Anthony inclined his head, saying nothing more. The unspoken understanding passed between them.