Zenith Online: Rebirth of the Strongest Player
chapter-447

The team was packed and ready to go, waiting in the hotel lobby, yet they couldn't depart. Their leader was absolutely nowhere to be found. And while Nemean, Bastion, and Altair shoved aside any concerns, others couldn't do the same.

Alice sat upon a plush leather seat with her legs and arms crossed in frustration, her brows wrinkled, and lips pursed.

Lillian was in a similar condition, just not from a seated state. She hugged her breast, pacing back and forth, frequently ending her strides with an anxious, nonstop tapping of her heels.

The last of the distraught and concerned was Allan, who screamed into his receiver. People tried to keep their eyes away from him, but it was hard to do when he indignantly shouted into his wrist.

Was he a madman? Did his date possibly stand him up?

Allan heard the whispers, but his anger took control, burying his reason, decorum, and usual diffidence.

Like an angered tiger cub, or some other adorably violent animal.

The continued lack of response infuriated Allan until finally, he dropped his wrist and barked at the entire team, but not to point the blame. These members frightened him, after all. They were being trained by a savagely strong and uniquely violent young man.

Allan reckoned these boys and girls could trounce him with an arm or perhaps both… tied behind their backs.

"Is he insane?! We have a flight to catch, and this pilot is notorious for unreasonable impatience."

Alice scoffed, her irritation somehow redoubling and reaching new peaks.

"This isn't the first time he's just up and disappeared, you know? He's quite famous for doing so in the game too, leaving us to fend for ourselves. Though, it's always for a good reason. No warning? That's absurd!"

Bastion picked his teeth, flicked some grotesque across the stylized, luxurious carpet, and looked at the intolerable bellyachers before him.

"Jeez Louise, are you two married to the boss or something? The man is grown. Let him breathe."

"Excuse me?!"

Lillian and Alice turned simultaneously, fiery vitriol burning in the gazes they trained upon Bastion. Danger, danger! His mind screamed of it. The two terrifying felines seemed ready to fight tooth and nail, flaying his meat from the bone.

He hurriedly raised his hands in defeat.

"Whoa, whoa. I'm just saying. The man is grown, you know? He's entitled to explore on his own time."

Alice's expression darkened, her harsh gaze burrowing into Bastion.

"Except this is not on his own time. None of us really have our own time at the moment. We have so many things planned—a schedule to adhere to."

Bastion didn't really understand the sentiment. He wasn't one to abide by any strict scheduling. But he supposed a difference between a leader and a follower existed. The leader had to lead by example, becoming a mental effigy of exemplary conduct. He would set the standard to which others could be held.

Did they want a guild full of wantonly tardy bastards with no regard for structure?

Alice hoped not.

After some thought, Bastion began assuming the sentiment as well. He murmured inaudibly.

"Oh hell no… I can't take too many of myself. A balance must be maintained."

Lillian lingered in her spot for a while, then looked to Altair, the silent and reticent young man whose poise remained intact during most situations.

"Xane, did Kieran not tell you where he was going at all? Out of everyone, he seems to relay the most information to you."

Xane shook his head subtly.

"I've been too busy digesting the pointers Kieran gave me. It has become a treasure trove of information, giving me new insights. Because of that… my focus hasn't been on you guys for quite some time now."

Altair had conducted several simulations in his head, picking apart his brief spar against Kieran with intense scrutiny and impunity. The disparate parts were stripped away, leaving the demonstration bare and rigidly cohesive. A stark presentation of how precise he should move. Where to advance, where to retreat, and how to deftly switch between different cunning approaches.

"So even you don't know."

Something inexplicable flashed in Lillian's eyes. Her thoughts were discordant. Numerous disorderly and conflicting feelings pulled her in many directions.

The city was large, the city was beautiful… but the city was tempting.

The presence of the seductive night didn't help either. Well, it wasn't quite night anymore, but the pale brilliance still loomed in the blackened blue vista above.

Lillian's expression deflated, gloom encroaching upon her. Though glum inside, her outer appearance hardly changed. It was unknown when exactly she became so skilled at hiding her feelings.

Still, her mind played tricks on her—taunting and aerating her doubt until it ballooned into something undeniably giant. Gradually, her shell cracked—decayed and hammered by her festering glum thoughts.

Then, something happened.

Some commotion, then a shout.

"Hey! Who is this lady badmouthing, my friend? I ought to search up all your details and corrupt them. Because I'm the best friend ever and I protect the good name of my brother. I'm his Security, after all. A frightening Warden, even."

Everyone turned toward the voice's origin.

After seeing an unsightly appearance—sweat-stained clothing reminiscent of nightwear, matted honey-blond hair, and a bulbous belly—they all wore expressions of pure disgust.

Nemean choked on his pina colada, and a violent hacking ensued.

"What is that thing? Wait a minute… did this dude just say he's security for the boss? Looking like that?"

Weasel glared into the crowd, looking for the culprit with shifty, partly deranged eyes.

"Who said that? You will be unknown by the morning!"

Eventually, his attention fell upon the recovering Nemean, who gripped his throat with tears cascading from his reddened eyes.

Striding in after Weasel, Kieran loomed over the impish, not-so-terribly impish man.

Before Kieran could get a sentence out, however, he was bombarded with acerbic nagging.

Allan was first, his finger wagging incessantly as he meted out a lecture.

"What good is that damned receiver of yours if you don't know how to use it? We've been waiting on you for hours. I was even forced to pack up your things. Well… there wasn't much, and it isn't something to complain over, but by the Gods, you will hear me complain!"

Alice followed.

"You were gone, we tried to reach you, and you were unreachable. That's not acceptable for a leader. Your administrator should always have a way to contact you in the event of an emergency. I am unhappy with your conduct and severely disappointed in you."

Bastion and Nemean wails ensued, but they whined about other matters.

"We had to listen to them complain for hours."

"Ugh, it felt like we were listening for 84 years! Do you know how long that is? I don't even think my grandmother was that old when she died."

Lillian… she was surprisingly quiet, evasive even.

Kieran grimaced, glancing at his wrist. House Laviosha did not allow holographic devices to remain active on the premises. Because of this rule, he disabled his.

More importantly, though, Weasel had done so much talking and searching on their journey back that he forgot it was disabled.

He was roped up in learning more about the prototype of Weasel's Network.

After re-enabling, Kieran was left stupefied.

Having disappeared from the team for hours without informing them of his whereabouts or what he planned on doing, Kieran's receiver was inundated with dozens of missed calls, most of them from Allan, Lillian, and Alice.

"Went a little overboard, don't you think? The reason I left so abruptly stands before us. This is Weasel of the Net, a savant hacker and infamous information specialist of the Underworld.

"Did you hear what my brother said? This genius has been given power—real power! It shouldn't be possible, but it is. The alliance of brain… and brain and brawn. But leave his old brain out of it because I'm his brain now."

The team goggled in pin-drop silence until Bastion smashed through the bizarre ice.

"Did you pick this monkey up from a homeless animal shelter?! Can we return it? In all honesty… I'd prefer a spider monkey over an orangutan."

Weasel snarled and lunged at Bastion, his hands clawing and jaws snapping, but Kieran gripped his collar, keeping him in place with his inexorable vice grip.

Nemean scowled in disgust.

"Eugh, he's rabid. Are you sure he's… safe?"

Kieran shrugged.

"Reasonably so. He's not really trained. I intended to do so, but it's just not his realm of expertise. I wouldn't bet on it."

Weasel looked back in exasperation and hurt. He feigned a disconsolate look, and Kieran dropped him.

They had an imminent flight to catch, so there wasn't much time to linger. Everyone approached the awaiting vehicle outside the hotel's grand revolving doors, but Kieran stopped and turned.

Something about Lillian seemed off as she clutched her long trench coat to combat the nightly chill in the wind.

Kieran gingerly approached her, lifting her chin with a tender touch.

"You okay? Some of your cheerful radiance is missing. Did something happen?"

Lillian hesitantly met his gaze, and squeezed out a whisper through rubescent cheeks and ruby lips.

"I'm… No, yes. I'm okay."

A blind man could see something was troubling her. But Kieran chose not to pry. It was neither the time nor the place. However, he did remain by her side, accompanying her to the ride outside.

Warmth slowly melted the dark, glum ice encroaching upon her heart and mind.