Chapter 411: A Dangerous Bet
The recovery station at the Chat Group base hummed with unmatched life as the multiversal crew trickled back in. Behind the sleek recovery counter, several Z-Treasures operated with mechanical efficiency. Scanning beams flashed in rhythmic bursts, illuminating the conveyor belts that whisked confirmed exchange items away into an unknown spatial warehouse.
Hu Tao, Wise, and the rest of the vanguard arrived in quick succession. Their eyes immediately drifted toward Stelle, who had already bounced back to full energy and was currently locked in a heated bickering match with Paimon. A collective, silent sigh of relief rippled through the returning members.
Compared to the mountain of spoils and gear coins waiting to be tallied, the physical and mental well-being of their companions held far more weight.
Hu Tao leaned in close to March 7th, her plum-blossom eyes gleaming with curiosity as she whispered, fishing for the juicy details of what had transpired in the rest area earlier. Upon hearing the absurd, pun-filled exploit involving the "Star Sword" and Stelle's usual brand of chaos, the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor Director let out a soft giggle, a playful, as-expected smirk curving her lips.
A short distance away, Zhongli and Venti stood shoulder to shoulder. The two Archons watched the energetic cluster of youths with gentle, weathered gazes, looking very much like two retired grandfathers enjoying a vibrant, youthful stage play.
At the very epicenter of this dramatic stage, invisible sparks of gunpowder were already drifting through the air.
Paimon hovered at eye level with Stelle, her tiny hands planted firmly on her hips. Her starry eyes flashed with an unmistakable thirst for vengeance. The little floating guide still harbored a deep grudge over that incredibly cold pun attack in the rest area—a joke so bad it had nearly caused her to plummet out of the air! Now was the perfect opportunity to settle the score.
"Stelle!" Paimon projected her voice, making absolutely sure every single person in the vicinity could hear her declaration. "Do you dare make a bet with me? Let's wager on our loot! I bet the total value of the junk you dragged back in your bag is nowhere near as valuable as my haul!"
She puffed out her small chest, straining to project an aura of absolute dominance.
Stelle, who had just been happily immersed in glorious daydreams of her 'gold-digging' triumph, snapped to attention. Hearing this direct challenge, the competitive spirit within the Trailblazer ignited into a roaring inferno.
She tilted her chin upward, her ash-gray hair swaying with the haughty movement. When she spoke, her tone dripped with supreme confidence and the distinct, pitying superiority of someone addressing an amateur.
"Hmph. Mere Paimon, you don't understand the true worth of the Galactic Batter at all! I saw your stash perfectly well. The trinkets you picked up lack the sheer variety and top-tier quality of the treasures I've painstakingly collected!"
The more Stelle spoke, the more she believed her own hype, her voice taking on a mystical, almost reverent cadence. "Besides, I possess a natural, cosmic intuition for 'the good stuff'! How could a floating emergency food supply possibly beat me?"
She paused, the golden flames of absolute fighting spirit burning brightly in her eyes. "Tell me, what are the stakes? If the penalty is too light, I won't even bother accepting!"
Seeing Stelle swallow the bait hook, line, and sinker, Paimon cheered internally. On the outside, however, she forced her soft features into a mask of grave seriousness.
With a dramatic sweep of her small hand, Paimon retrieved something... utterly horrifying from her group warehouse inventory.
It was a deep purple, bowl-shaped container forged from some unknown, ominous material. Inside sloshed a viscous, equally purple liquid that constantly bubbled and popped with a sinister, wet sound. Floating within this toxic sludge were several segments of distorted, gray, unidentifiable fish bones, alongside one or two charred lumps that might have once been leaves.
Just on a visual level, the concoction radiated a suffocating aura of doom. It looked less like gourmet cuisine and more like the catastrophic aftermath of a forbidden alchemical experiment.
"The loser," Paimon declared, holding the bowl of 'Purple Qi from the East'aloft with a bizarre, intimidating solemnity, "has to taste this! It's a special dish made on a whim by Ei—the Raiden Shogun of Inazuma! It's called the'Time of Judgment'! Well? Do you dare?!"
Time of Judgment... The name certainly carried a domineering, god-like weight, but when paired with the bubbling radioactive sludge in the bowl, it only sent a freezing chill shooting up from the soles of the onlookers' feet.
The surrounding crowd fell into a dead silence. Every pair of eyes locked onto that bowl of unidentified purple liquid.
March 7th's mouth twitched violently. Pure, unadulterated horror swam in her pink-and-blue eyes. She pointed a trembling finger at the bowl, her voice cracking and pitching up an octave.
"Pai... Paimon? You're calling that... food? This isn't even a debate about whether it tastes bad anymore! Are you sure the person who eats that won't just... drop dead on the spot, or undergo some irreversible, horrifying physiological mutation?!"
March seriously began to calculate the odds of the sludge being highly radioactive.
Paimon choked on her own breath, a brief flash of intense guilt crossing her small face. Still, she stiffened her neck and stubbornly argued back.
"Of... Of course nothing bad will happen! Ei made it personally! Sure, the appearance is a little... special, and the taste is a bit... unique, but it is absolutely, one hundred percent 'food'! I guarantee it!"
Yet, as she defended the dish, Paimon seemed to trigger her own repressed, traumatic memories. Her voice grew smaller and smaller, her eyes darting nervously to the side.
"It's just... just that after you eat it... your entire life might uncontrollably flash before your eyes. You might see some... um... things from a long time ago that you thought you'd forgotten... and the hallucination might last a little while..."
The more she explained, the faster her confidence crumbled. She glanced down at the Time of Judgment, which was still gurgling and spitting toxic-looking bubbles, and then looked back at Stelle, who was maintaining a stiff, unyielding expression. For once, a rare sliver of conscience overpowered Paimon's desire for revenge.
She sheepishly pulled her hands back, clutching the bowl closer to her chest, and mumbled, "Actually... how about... let's just forget it? This stake seems a little too... dangerous. Shall we change it to something normal? Like, the loser has to scrub the base for a week?"
March 7th nodded so fast her head became a blur. She simply could not stomach the mental image of her Trailblazer companion ingesting that biohazard.
"Change it! We absolutely must change it! That thing isn't a penalty, it's a lethal instrument of torture! It's better suited as... um, a final interrogation method for when we need to extract secrets from a stubborn enemy!"
March had already mentally categorized the Time of Judgment as a weapon of mass destruction.
Just as Paimon prepared to shove the Time of Judgment back into the safety of the group warehouse, and March 7th finally let out a breath of relief—
Stelle lunged forward. With lightning speed, she snatched the deep purple bowl right out of Paimon's hands, gripping it firmly.
The viscous liquid sloshed violently against the rim, its sinister bubbles popping with almost cheerful malice.
"I think this stake is absolutely perfect! We're going with this!" Stelle announced loudly. A wildly excited, chaotic grin stretched across her face as she looked down her nose at the floating guide. "What's the matter, Paimon? You couldn't be... scared, could you? Are you so afraid of losing to me that you want to back out at the last second?"
"What?!" Paimon's metaphorical fur instantly stood on end at the accusation. That tiny, fragile sprout of sympathy was immediately obliterated, cast into the cosmic winds.
"Who's scared?! Paimon was just being nice! I was worried you'd have nightmares for a week after eating this! But since you want to look down on Paimon—fine! This is the stake! No backing out!"
She flew right up to Stelle's face, jabbing a tiny finger at the bubbling bowl to emphasize her point. "The loser has to eat... no, not just one bite, but an entire 'small bowl'! Exactly this much!" She used her hands to gesture a portion size that, while technically small, was more than enough to inflict permanent psychological damage.
Seeing Paimon fall right into her trap, the corners of Stelle's mouth curled into a smug, victorious smirk.
She had absolute, unwavering faith in the 'treasures' currently stashed in her inventory! Those items were the absolute essence of her journey, carefully scavenged using her razor-sharp Trailblazer intuition between life-and-death battles.
Even though March had forced her to throw away some of the 'scraps' earlier, what remained was undeniably top-tier, high-quality loot! How could Paimon's little trinkets possibly compare to the ultimate collection of the Galactic Batter?
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