Chapter 32 Sorry, I didn't fart.
The Storm Army bandits were known for their generosity; countless gold coins sprayed out from Celine's self-made giant gun, which was taller than her, turning into golden raindrops that danced in the air.
The guards who gathered at the sound were blocked by the crowded pedestrians on the street and could not get close from the ground. So the guards all used flying vehicles.
Although there are clear laws prohibiting flying, no real no-fly zone has been set up. This was originally intended to facilitate soldiers' patrols and quick arrival at the scene of the incident, but it has unexpectedly become a problem.
Many passersby who were scrambling for gold coins saw the guards flying in the sky and assumed that others were preparing to get there first, so they also summoned their flying vehicles and joined the scramble.
It was bustling with activity for a time.
Buster, who had cast an invisibility spell on himself, weaved through the crowd, watching the pedestrians and soldiers collide, and Celine, who was spraying gold coins and laughing heartily, also laughed along.
The vibrations in his chest traveled to Reinhardt's cheeks, making his face tingle.
Although I don't know what the Storm Leader is laughing about, the laughter is inexplicably reassuring.
Perhaps because his sense of security was satisfied, Reinhardt, who was tightly encircled in arms, actually felt drowsy.
But soon, his drowsiness was dispelled by a loud noise coming from afar.
Reinhardt turned his head in that direction, but saw nothing. He only felt something soft and warm gently touch his forehead.
The arm around his waist stiffened for a moment, and Reinhardt instinctively pulled back, avoiding the strange touch.
Just as he was about to look up, a hand grabbed the back of his head and pressed him down into Buster's arms.
Above his head, the Storm Leader seemed to be gritting his teeth, or perhaps stuttering.
"Can't you just stay still, you damn saint!"
Reinhardt, who had never wanted to cause Buster any trouble, silently clutched the gold coin he had been given, remaining as still as a block of wood.
This honest and straightforward nature made Buster's nonexistent sense of conscience sting.
Then, thinking that the other party was probably quite frightened today, and that the Storm Leader, who had been baring his teeth and looking fierce just now, freed his hand and gently patted Reinhardt's back.
“Go to sleep,” he said. “By the time you wake up, we’ll be there.”
The Son of God remained silent, but his calm breathing a few minutes later was undoubtedly the best response.
Celine quickly became embroiled in battle, drawing the attention of most of the guards. But these guards weren't like the useless ones who imprisoned Reinhardt in that country; they didn't even react when Buster stormed into the city.
They quickly noticed the others who were evacuating and dispatched corresponding troops to pursue them. Fortunately, Buster had ordered them to split up and run away from the beginning, so the guards couldn't find their final destination for a while.
In addition, the Storm Leader's greatsword was traveling at about twice the speed of the aircraft, so by the time Reinhardt woke up, they were already back on the ship.
It was Madonna who woke him up.
"Chief!" Madonna's voice was filled with excitement and joy. "What is Reinhardt doing here?"
"She's asleep." Buster's low voice sounded somewhat reproachful.
He wanted to say that he was awake, but their conversation was too serious, and Reinhardt felt it was unnecessary to bother the other person with something as trivial as whether he was awake or not, so he kept quiet.
"What about the others?" Madonna asked again.
Buster's voice sounded very calm as he carried Reinhardt and walked side by side with Madonna, who was carrying Victoria, toward the cabin.
"Celine is holding back the main force; the others are still on their way. How's Victoria?"
“I just arrived and haven’t had a chance to check him yet.” She noticed the swollen finger marks on Reinhardt’s cheek and said softly, “Let me put some medicine on him first.”
"Give me the medicine, and go check on Victoria first. She's very physically strong; it's impossible for her to be drugged and still not conscious. She might have been injected with illegal substances."
Madonna had this concern before, and now that her boss had pointed it out so bluntly, her expression became even more serious.
She nodded, freeing her hand to take out a medicine bottle from her spatial bag and hand it to Buster.
"It can be used externally, don't feed it to me, this medicine is extremely bitter."
After Buster took the medicine bottle, the two went their separate ways and headed to their respective areas.
The commander, without any subordinates present, was still quite busy. The Storm Leader first placed Reinhardt in his bedroom, then turned and left to start the ship in the cockpit.
News of what happened in Duogu City will soon reach the docks, and the direction in which the other brothers fled will inevitably attract the attention of the enemy. If the ships continue to stay at the docks, they will only become targets for attack.
Therefore, whoever returns to the ship will first sail it to a relatively safe area and then set up a concealed protective shield. The other members of the military pirate gang all possess compasses that can display the ship's coordinates, so there is no possibility of losing their home after going out.
After finishing all this, he rushed back to his bedroom without stopping.
The Storm Leader's bedroom was always a private space, and no one was allowed to enter. But this time, he ignored Reinhardt's room and went straight to his own.
...Perhaps it was because his bedroom was relatively safe. The Storm Leader, acting practically, attempted to rationalize his actions.
But he didn't try for long before his thoughts were drawn to Reinhardt, who was sitting quietly on his bed after the door was opened, and he forgot about his earlier struggle.
As always, it was quiet. The Son of God, with his eyes closed, was dressed in disheveled clothes, but sat very upright.
He held gold coins in his hand, but his hair was a mess, as if he had been exposed to the wind for more than ten hours.
...He had only been playing for a few hours.
The Storm Leader closed the door behind him, took out a medicine bottle as he walked, and only when he reached Reinhardt did he squat down, slowly scoop out the ointment with his fingers, and gently apply it to Reinhardt's swollen face.
It didn't actually hurt that much. Reinhardt tightened the skin on his face, remaining silent.
Buster spoke first.
"You did a great job."
Reinhardt moved his head slightly at the unexpected praise, looking blank and like a silly little bird.
The Storm Leader continued, "I heard you used yourself as bait to buy yourself a lot of time. But next time, notify me first. If you don't want to contact me, at least contact Madonna."
Reinhardt honestly replied, "I don't know how to contact you."
Buster then remembered that Reinhardt didn't have a communicator. He gritted his teeth and said, "Then you can borrow one from someone, or pay for it! You can't possibly be without any money, can you?!"
Seeing Reinhardt silently tracing the patterns on the gold pound with his fingertips, the words he was about to say in anger caught in his throat, and he suddenly couldn't utter a sound.
It feels like sitting up in the middle of the night and slapping yourself twice.
He took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down.
With his fingers hanging down beside his face, tangled in his overly messy hair, Buster bent his index finger, hooked the headband that was still barely binding his long hair, and gently pulled it off.
His long, golden hair cascaded down Reinhardt's shoulders and back like melting sunlight. A few strands brushed against Buster's fingertips, leaving a cool, silky smooth touch.
The Storm Leader's fingers paused in mid-air, the cool scent of the ointment filling the air. His gaze involuntarily followed the gold threads, watching them shimmer softly in the dim light filtering through the porthole. For a moment, he even forgot that his fingertips still bore the ointment.
Strands of hair flowed through his fingers like water, with an unexpected lightness. Buster unconsciously tightened his fingers, as if wanting to hold onto this fleeting touch, yet afraid that too much force would hurt the other person.
His movements became unusually gentle, a stark contrast to the Storm Leader who usually wielded a greatsword.
Buster only snapped back to reality when the hair had completely slipped through his fingers, remembering that he was still applying medicine.
Without any mercy, he scraped off a large clump of ointment and smeared it on Reinhardt's face. He couldn't help but speak, in the same tone he used when he was feeding Reinhardt, "Do you know what I think you look like?"
"A doll without emotion, a plaster statue, a freshly formed potato."
"..." I could understand the first two sentences, but what about the last half of the sentence?
"Although you're pretty, you're utterly inhuman. You need to be hit with a stick to get a fart out of you, and sometimes even that doesn't work. Tsk, like now, you holy father, just say what you want to say!"
Seeing that Reinhardt seemed to be brooding again, Buster wished he could pry open his mouth, pick him up and turn him upside down, and maybe he could get a string of words and letters out.
Fortunately, he wasn't that violent, and fortunately, Reinhardt opened his mouth himself.
"I didn't fart."
He defended himself very seriously.
The Storm Leader, enraged after waiting so long for this response, roared: "Who's discussing this with you?!"
Enraged, the Storm Leader grabbed the Son of God by the collar and roughly dragged him up.
“Reinhardt.” This was the first time he had addressed Reinhardt by his first name, but his tone was far from friendly. “Look at me.”
The Storm Leader's voice was deep and forceful, carrying an undeniable authority. Reinhardt was forced to raise his head, his face, marked with finger marks and smeared with ointment, fully exposed to the sunlight.
“Tell me,” Buster said, staring into his eyes, enunciating each word clearly, “what were you thinking when you used yourself as bait!”
"Are you simply worried about Victoria, or do you think your life is the cheapest and that exchanging it for her would be the most suitable thing to do?"
His words struck like a stone hitting the ground, heavy and weighty. Reinhardt's eyelashes fluttered; he neither admitted nor denied it.
Silence filled the air for a long time, so long that the irritable leader suppressed his anger again and put Reinhardt back on the bed.
The latter's heart stirred slightly, and he finally decided to speak.
"sorry."
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Author's Note: Madonna: Pfft, this explanation feels so real!
Victoria: Even farting feels like being alive.
Celine: So, will you? I want to hear.
Reinhardt: ?
Buster: I want to hear +1
Reinhardt: ? ? ?
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