Chapter 133 Retreat Successful

The former battlefields of Nabokov and Asimov are now an empty field filled with metal cones.

Nabokov was still holding his SVD, but instead of aiming, he was poking the ground with the gun and panting heavily.

"You don't seem to be in very good physical condition."

“After all, I’m just an ordinary literature professor, so my physical strength is naturally very poor.” Nabokov wiped the sweat from his face with his sleeve and looked at the person lying on the ground. “I didn’t expect your core metal strength to be so high. It’s really beyond my expectations.”

It's not that even Nabokov's "Rod of God" couldn't penetrate Asimov's bullet. However, this type of ammunition was quite expensive for Vladimir. After all, each shot wears down the outer wall of the bullet, and returning it to its original metal body is quite costly.

Therefore, when a more convenient method becomes available, Nabokov will not simply resort to brute force with the "Rod of God".

Having recovered somewhat, Nabokov regained his footing and continued speaking to Asimov: "But on another level, it seems pointless to discuss physical strength in front of me."

After all, his "Lolita" is a supernatural ability that alters the physical properties of objects he comes into contact with.

Before Nabokov lay a dilapidated tin man on the ground, having lost both feet and one hand, and with half of one arm missing.

The sheet metal was the cheapest black and white iron. Looking through the gaps in the limbs, you could see nothing but a bunch of creaking gears and levers. You couldn't understand how these gears and levers could have language and thinking abilities.

That was Asimov, who had been struck by Nabokov's "Lolita." It must be said that Nabokov was quite surprised to see Asimov transformed into a robot.

Asimov himself didn't seem to feel anything; he appeared quite calm and even explained to Nabokov, "If we really look at it proportionally, it would indeed be more reasonable to turn them into robots."

Nabokov: ...Is that so? Never mind, whatever makes you happy.

Although we don't know the exact principles behind Asimov's current operation, and that metal box doesn't seem to contain any high-tech components, what if there's actually a supercomputer inside his head?

Nabokov decided to settle the score with a single shot.

Nabokov raised his SVD, but seemingly out of a sense of thrift, he used a regular bullet instead of a high-quality weapon.

Nabokov pointed the reloaded SVD at the head of the metal robot on the ground.

"Alright, Mr. Asimov, farewell."

A flash of light appeared, and a bullet flew out of the SVD, piercing through the thin metal sheet without resistance when it hit the robot's head, and then flew out from the rear.

The bullet pierced the robot's head. The two devices on the ground that represented the robot's eyes (it was unclear whether they were cameras or something else) flickered briefly before going completely dark.

Subsequently, the various sounds representing the operation of the machine within it ceased, and it became a collection of assembled, no longer functional parts.

Nabokov finally breathed a sigh of relief after tapping the metal robot on the ground with the barrel of his gun to confirm that it was indeed not moving.

Only now did Nabokov finally feel the burning pain on his face. The pain from the wound itself, combined with the irritation from the hemostatic spray, caused the wound to sting in waves.

He transformed the SVD back into a cross and hung it around his neck. Then, Nabokov frantically pulled out some gauze and roughly bandaged his head to temporarily fix the wound. He then began to focus on what was more important to him.

After taking two deep breaths to calm himself down, Nabokov placed his hands on his shoulders and activated his supernatural ability once again.

His formal attire and he himself were completely destroyed in a burst of light, turning into a dilapidated iron castle. After another burst of light pollution, Vladimir (in his young girl form), dressed neatly, stood in the same spot once again.

After reverting to his young girl form, Vladimir's first reaction was to take out a mirror and look at his face.

After confirming that there were no signs of injury on his face, Vladimir breathed a sigh of relief and patted his chest: "Thank goodness, no scars."

Although his original face still had a large gash, everything was okay now that it was gone.

It's wonderful that "Lolita" isn't affected by the integrity of the original object when it changes.

Just then, Romain Rolland's voice suddenly rang out behind her: "What scar?"

Vladimir turned around and saw Romain Rolland, carrying Cervantes, rising from the ground behind her.

Vladimir frowned instinctively: "When did you get here?"

"I happened to see you turning the Iron Castle back into a disguise when I came over," Romain Rolland said casually, then looked at the Tin Man lying on the ground. "Is this Asimov?"

Vladimir, now back in her childlike state, once again became childish. She clicked her tongue in annoyance: "No, this is a dead tin can."

Upon hearing this answer, Romain Rolland couldn't help but sigh, then grabbed Vladimir by the collar: "That's fine then, let's go."

Vladimir paused for a moment when he was first lifted up, then bounced around energetically again: "I haven't asked yet! How's Cervantes doing? And that Hemingway guy?"

“When I found them, they were both collapsed on the ground, unconscious. Hemingway was still alive then.” Romain Rolland walked step by step to the ground. “I was in a hurry to get to you, so I didn’t pay attention and just fired a shot without thinking. They should be dead now, right?”

"That's good." Vladimir muttered as he was being carried, "But why do I feel like something's not quite right..."

"Nothing's wrong, let's go."

The sound still echoed in the open space, but there was no one there.

—Meanwhile, at the Gatekeeper Headquarters—

Inside an unnamed building, two figures sitting opposite each other are playing chess.

The two men stared at the chessboard at the same time, and after a long period of time, the black piece moved one square under the influence of an invisible force.

The other person thought for the same amount of time before picking up a white piece.

Then, his hand suddenly paused.

The person on the other end noticed this small anomaly and casually asked, "What happened?"

The person still holding the white chess piece pondered for a moment: "My special ability has been activated, twice in a row."

"Twice in a row... If this is the timeframe, it must be Hemingway and Asimov, right?" the person on the other end exclaimed. "Both of them almost died? The UN is surprisingly strong."

"However, if your ability had been activated, they all 'just happened to survive' a situation that 'should have certainly died,' right?"

"Yes, as long as there is hope, as long as the dream has not been achieved, a hero will never die easily."

Stan Lee looked up, his eyes filled with a smile, and seemingly with endless starlight.

"The 'Avenger' is such a being."

Joe Kubot responded with the same smile: "Yeah, that's what a hero is."

Back to Asimov's side.

Long after Vladimir and Romain Rolland had left, the two lights on the robot's head on the ground flickered and then came back on.

Asimov, who had just shut down and restarted his computer, calmly sat up and touched the part of his head that had been pierced by the bullet.

"Only one of the four hard drives was damaged, and the balancer was destroyed, but overall the problem isn't too serious." Asimov, who had been turned into an old robot, remained calm and showed no signs of panic. "Although I don't know why, some people always think that when the lights go out, it means the robot is dead."

"It's just a light bulb, I can't understand it."