books44 Chapter 259 [Empire] Predator in Disguise
Chapter 259 [Empire] Predator in Disguise
"You..." I wanted to speak, but I didn't know what to say. The words "Are you okay?" eventually died in my throat, because I knew that no matter what I asked, he wouldn't answer.
"Is this what you're running away from?" I murmured softly, but didn't dare let the sound reach his ears.
He did not look back, and his figure quickly blended into the dim light, leaving only the faint aroma of wine, which lingered for a long time.
The aroma of red wine permeated the air, rich and mellow, like an invisible veil, softening the surrounding coldness. But beneath this intoxicating aroma, I suddenly caught a subtle whiff—a faint scent of blood, vaguely mingled with it, almost imperceptible, yet distinct enough to make me frown slightly.
I subconsciously held my breath, trying to identify the source of the smell. But it was gone in an instant, as if I had imagined it. Perhaps the aroma of the red wine was too strong, mixed with other smells, creating an illusion.
The next day, I showed up at school wearing my "gentle" windbreaker and ankle boots. The morning air was a bit chilly, and the wind blew across my collar, bringing a slight chill. I instinctively raised my hand to tighten my collar, but the moment I walked into the classroom, I was caught off guard by the scene on the desk.
The green seedling still stood there quietly, as if nothing had changed. But I knew it was different. The green tiles seemed brighter, emitting a subtle luster, as if coated with a faint, cold light. Staring at it, I couldn't help but feel a complex wave of inexplicable emotions.
I don't know when it "sucked" nourishment from me again—last night's chaotic thoughts and fluctuating emotions were perhaps opportunities for it to slip in. I even felt that the slow process of being plundered no longer required my active connection; its tentacles had quietly penetrated deeper, as if binding me to become a part of it.
"It's grown again." I whispered to myself, staring at its tiny young leaves, with a hint of coldness in my voice.
It didn't respond, simply standing there quietly, like a still work of art. But the more silent it was, the more I could feel its presence expanding. That green color seemed to come alive, and every leaf and every inch of its stem exuded a thirsty aura, as if demanding more from me, never satisfied.
I pulled out a chair and sat down, my eyes still fixed on it. I knew in my heart that this inescapable connection would continue, and I was destined to not be able to escape it easily.
During this planting class, I sat in my seat, expressionless and vacant, like a sullen old man, my face seemingly blending into the air around my desk. The young teacher stood at the podium, explaining how to cultivate seedlings, from mixing the nutrient solution to fine-tuning the growing environment. Occasionally, she'd pause to inspect the process and gently remind a few students of the finer points of the procedure.
That content has absolutely no relevance to my current situation. Rather, these techniques might be useful to other students, but for me and this young plant, they're completely useless nonsense. Why does it need any techniques? It's consuming me—or something else—and growing perfectly on its own.
I looked at it on the desk, and an indescribable feeling of boredom welled up in my heart.
Ultimately, this class is a complete rejection for me now.
However, I also vaguely understand that I now feel that the course rejects me, but in fact it is my subconscious mind that rejects such a course.
My gaze shifted from the tabletop to the young plant. It still stood there, as quiet as an ornament, but its cyan luster seemed even more translucent, even carrying a faint sense of oppression. My heart clenched, and I instinctively turned my gaze away. Even looking at it was annoying.
The teacher's voice was like a harmless breeze, floating past my ears without leaving any trace in my mind.
The teacher occasionally walked past me, perhaps noticing my indifference and absent-mindedness, but he didn't say much. Perhaps it was because the seedling in front of me was so obviously "abnormal" that he didn't know how to speak.
I guess, if this seedling hadn't been motionless and looked harmless, just like an ordinary plant, it would have been blown to pieces by the mecha patrol team called by the school.
Its appearance is so peaceful—the slender stems and leaves, the verdant color, so quiet, well-behaved and beautiful. If I didn't know its true nature, I'm afraid even I would think it was harmless.
But the fact is, it is silently harming me, and me alone!
It doesn't need to extend tentacles, fire venom, or devour flesh and blood. It only needs to exist quietly to absorb my "nutrients" and rob me of my spirit and energy.
I looked down at it, its lush green color seeming even more dazzling, its leaves even trembling slightly, as if to show off its growth. But I felt only a glare, as if it were mocking my powerlessness.
If you say it's not a combat plant, I won't believe it even if you kill me.
Its "camouflage" is perfect, with lush green stems and leaves and a motionless and quiet posture.
However, its growth does not depend on soil, sunlight, or nutrient solution, but on me - it is something it draws from me that makes it grow stronger and stronger.
But I still have to raise it.
Every time I think of this, I'm overwhelmed by an indescribable feeling of frustration and helplessness. It's clearly harming me, yet I allowed it to sprout with my own hands, I took the initiative to bring it into this world. And now, as it gradually grows, I can't uproot it, and instead have to continue providing it with "nourishment."
The luster of the tiles evoked a sense of absurd complexity in me. This perfectly disguised "combat plant," I had to raise with my own hands, not even knowing what it would eventually become.
No, I actually know what it looks like when it matures.
That locked cyan magic book had briefly opened a crack when I touched it. In that instant, the image of the "key" was projected into my mind.
That was its mature form, a breathtakingly beautiful plant—a twin blue flowers. Its petals were as soft as silk, radiating an almost dreamy sheen, a deep and pure blue like distant stars at night.
Again, judging solely by its appearance, no one would consider it dangerous. It looked harmless and elegant, even breathtakingly beautiful. But in that instant, an uncontrollable chill welled up in my heart. Those beautiful blue twin flowers filled me with a chill I'd never felt before.
Its beauty is too extreme, too perfect, like a weapon that disguises danger to the extreme.