Chapter 1350
Apostle: We have our pride too!
A meeting has started.
Choi Myung sat in the head seat, his hands clasped on the table, his gaze sweeping over everyone in the conference room. The technicians straightened their backs, the operations staff opened their notebooks, and even the usually lazy logistics personnel were unusually attentive. Choi Myung cleared his throat and began, "This meeting is about the Rokubungi Gendang's destruction of the toilets..."
Misato, sitting beside him, instantly scrunched up her face as if she'd just swallowed a lemon. She waved her hand, her voice full of disgust: "Choi, can we not talk about him? He's really disgusting..."
“That’s true,” Cui Ming nodded, his expression as calm as if he were discussing an expired purchase order. “Anyway, just make him pay compensation. Also… the frequency of apostle attacks has been increasing lately, everyone be careful.”
Yes!
A unified response rang out in the conference room. Everyone sat up straight, their expressions serious and their tone firm, as if they had just received some ultimate command concerning the survival of humanity.
But what everyone really thinks is...
Apostles...
It's getting worse and worse...
A young technician, head bowed, scribbled aimlessly on his whiteboard, his mind replaying the image of the Rain Angel torn to pieces on the large screen. He remembered Cui Ming manipulating Balga to rip off the Apostle's spider legs one by one, the gushing dark green fluid, and the Apostle's agonizing screams. These creatures had once been truly terrifying; their AT fields, energy explosions, and city-destroying abilities were synonymous with nightmares. But now? They came, Cui Ming went, and then they were reduced to piles of minced meat or pools of pus, unable to offer even a semblance of resistance.
The older employee next to him nudged him with his elbow and whispered, "Hey, how long do you think the next apostle can last?"
"Three minutes?" the young technician replied softly. "I think two minutes should be enough..."
"I'll bet a cup of coffee, and I'll bet a minute and a half."
"make a deal."
The two quickly lowered their heads, pretending to be taking notes of the meeting, but both had a meaningful smile playing on their lips.
Cui Ming seemed to sense something, his gaze sweeping across the conference room, his brow furrowing slightly: "...What are you all laughing at?"
"No!" Everyone shook their heads in unison, their expressions instantly turning serious.
Choi Myung looked at them suspiciously for a few seconds, then looked away and continued, "Meeting adjourned. Everyone to your positions, remain vigilant." The group rose and left the meeting room in an orderly fashion. In the corridor, the bet about the Apostles' survival time quickly spread, the stakes changing from a cup of coffee to a deluxe meal in the cafeteria, and then to the right to take leave next month. Meanwhile, in the command center, Choi Myung sat alone in the main seat, looking at the gloomy sky outside the window, his fingers lightly tapping the table.
“Apostle…” he muttered under his breath, “I hope the next one won’t be too fragile.”
For Cui Ming, fighting the Apostles was, in a sense, a vacation...
He sat in the main seat of the conference room, leaning back slightly, his hands clasped over his stomach. The electronic sand table in front of him still glowed with a faint blue light, displaying the battlefield cleanup progress after the annihilation of the Ninth Apostle, the Rain Angel, but Cui Ming's gaze was not focused on the fluctuating data. His eyes were as calm as a deep pool, without ripples or a sense of urgency, as if the fierce battle that had just torn the Apostle to pieces was nothing more than lifting a few extra sets of steel coils during his morning exercise, working up a sweat, and now he could finally sit down and catch his breath.
There's no way...
If you break the mechanism of the Apostle, its value will be insufficient.
Cui Ming knew all too well the true nature of these so-called Apostles. Their only strength lay in their AT field, an aura of absolute defense that was indeed a nightmare for humans. Once activated, conventional weapons were rendered useless; missiles, tanks, and fighter jets were like tickles to them. But in Cui Ming's eyes, that barrier was merely an energy structure that required finding its frequency, even rudimentary compared to the complex shields of the Star Guides. If the punch was heavy enough, fast enough, and the weak point was struck precisely, the AT field would shatter like cheap glass. And once this shell was gone, the Apostles were left with only their massive bodies and instinctive destructive urges. Their defenses were zero, their attack patterns were singular, and they lacked even the will to flee. Before Cui Ming, they were no different from moving meat targets.
Cui Ming is precisely its nemesis...
He had experienced far more perilous battles. The Star Guides' ant armies were overwhelming, each one laden with deadly acid and hard shells; the extradimensional Mazars were virtually immortal in the lava, their regeneration driven by resentment at an astonishing rate; and then there were the monsters descending from the depths of space, each possessing the brute force and bizarre abilities to destroy cities. Compared to them, the Apostles' attack methods were too rigid, their defensive logic too inflexible, and they didn't even know how to adapt their tactics, only charging blindly on instinct. Fighting these things didn't require racking your brains, didn't require risking your life; you just had to walk over, smash the barrier, and then tear the body apart. The whole process was fluid and effortless, requiring hardly a drop of sweat.
Therefore, Cui Ming, sitting in the conference room at this moment, really didn't care much about the Apostles...
He picked up the thermos on the table, blew on the tea leaves floating on top, and took a sip. The tea was a little cold, but he didn't mind. The others in the conference room were still discussing the follow-up defense plans in hushed tones, analyzing the changing frequency of the Angel attacks, each with a more or less solemn expression. But Cui Ming simply listened quietly, nodding occasionally, offering no significant opinions. In his view, these discussions were more like arranging a rehearsal with a known outcome: the Angels come, he goes out; the Angels shatter, he returns. The process was as fixed as a factory assembly line; nothing to be surprised about.
Next, we'll see when the tenth apostle arrives.
Cui Ming put down his thermos and looked out the window at the gloomy sky. Thick clouds pressed down on the Third New Tokyo City, as if they might collapse at any moment, but he knew what lay hidden behind those clouds. The Tenth Apostle, the eleventh target to be torn apart, was brewing somewhere, or was already approaching. He wasn't in a hurry, nor was he worried; he simply waited quietly, like a beast crouching in its lair, waiting for its prey to come to it.
The discussion in the conference room gradually subsided, and everyone looked at Cui Ming, waiting for his instructions.
Cui Ming withdrew his gaze and said calmly, "Go about your business. Call me when the tenth one arrives." (End of Chapter)