Chapter 31 30:
AUTHOR'S NOTE.
I just found out that the latest chapter of Amazon's Invincible series has destroyed the entire chronological lore of this story, xd. I mean, Nolan was alive for the event of the great purge, Emperor Argal too, so we can assume that the assassination of the emperor and the possible virus happened within the same chronological time, so to speak.
So, since everything written is already a complete mess, I want you to have something clear, I've decided to wipe my ass with the series, so I'm going to create my own chronological system, don't expect fidelity to what you know from the series regarding Amazon's history time. As for everything else, put down your torches, everything will continue exactly as we know it.
Anyway, what I just talked about will develop in this chapter that I decided to split into two parts, so this could be the slowest chapter in the entire story.
Anyway, let's begin with this.
The instructors' dining hall of the Dorymathos was silent, broken only by the occasional clashing of cutlery, utensils with only two prongs, against metal plates.
Nouwl-an ate patiently, ignorant of everything around him, including the three officers who had sat in front of him without invitation.
He did not want to see them, he had already made his decision long ago, but these instructors did not seem willing to give up.
"I insist," said the one on the left, a gray-haired commander named Norr-Manh. In fact, he was his superior and his refusal could be seen as a challenge on his part. but nouwlan was safe, since, aside from the lack of courtesy, the rules of the dorymathos prohibited the expropriation of foreign natos from those they are assigned to, except with the exception that the instructor himself reaches a consensus of mutual agreement.
"That nato," he insisted. "Korr-Add, is a waste in your batch. We have facilities more suitable for reconfiguring his temperament."
Nouwlan did not raise his gaze, so as not to show his indignation at this guy, wanting to scam him in such a shameless way.
"The boy tore apart a Venatici executioner," added the second, a square-jawed woman named Tula, she took the knife held at the tip of her braided hair to take what appeared to be a fruit similar to a purple tuber.
She looked at the blackish and porous material that looked threatening, and in fact it was. They were among the few materials in the galaxy that could truly pierce a Viltrumite's skin.
Instructor Tula, a mature woman, possibly in her 50 life orbits, had heard that she had even instructed 7 descendancies of her bloodline, of which, she had executed two for disobedience.
Instructor Tula entertained herself by subjugating the most promising soldiers with reproduction authorization, and the last time he heard she was on one of her endeavors, apparently she had decided to try to subjugate his father, failing in the attempt.
"That level of ferocity needs to be channeled by professionals." She demanded of him, she was also his superior. "But I recognize that I cannot be as petty as our companion beside us," she accused him, making Norr-Manh frown. "I offer you five class 14 natos in exchange. Five for one." She proposed.
"Seven," cut in the third, who had descended from the air toward his position. He was younger, of the same class as nouwlan, he remembered him as one of his academy companions in his cadet days. "Seven natos, all with evaluations superior to the average elite of this brood. Don't ask, I have contacts. Sign the transfer and you will forget that boy ever existed."
Nouwlan chewed slowly, drank a sip of water, and finally raised his gaze.
"No," he said, just like that, that simple, that easy.
The three officers exchanged glances, already tired. This guy, apparently, was determined to make enemies out of them. Did he not fear that one day, in some exploration campaign, he would mysteriously be sent as punishment toward some neutral border? All Viltrumites hated a neutral border. On a neutral border, they might as well be considered a sentinel. There would be no way to rise in rank there, nor to make history, nor to be decorated, or more importantly, achieve a meritorious class, the longing of every Viltrumite. To be able to take a superior position despite only having a low genetic class. There were few in existence, but those who achieved it, were owed unquestionable superior respect.
Looking at the young nouwlan, he repeated once again.
"I'm not going to give up any of my natos," sentenced Nouwl-an, adding everyone else more to keep up appearances. Generally, he only had one single favorite. "Not that one, nor any other. Now, if you're finished, I have matters to attend to."
He stood up without waiting for a response, took his tray and placed it in the waste dispenser. The officers remained seated, watching him leave with expressions between offended and confused.
This guy was crazy, wanting to fight against the current.
Nouwlan walked through the empty hallways to his private chamber. The lights turned on automatically upon detecting his presence, bathing the room in the same white coldness of all the planet's facilities.
He sat in front of his desk and, after a moment of doubt, opened the lower drawer, where he had decided to hide what he had confiscated from korr-add, that shameless nato.
Nouwlan felt relieved that the nato had survived his battle. The optimizations of the younger ones were not as efficient as when they reached adulthood.
Then, he felt happy to know that the nato had not only survived, but had also improved.
There, between his hands, was a black notebook. It was the first time nouwlan found a nato, or anyone else, doing something more than their duties imposed by the empire.
Writing his thoughts. That small detail, surprisingly, did catch his attention.
That notebook of thoughts he had found in the morning, long before the test, hidden among the folds of Korr-Add's bunk.
The nato had camouflaged it well, but Nouwl-an knew every corner of the barracks, so it was to be expected that any irregularity would be impossible to escape his supervision.
For a time he thought it would be unworthy of him, having to lower himself to read the thoughts of a mere nato, but he was ashamed to admit that curiosity had defeated him.
So while alone, without anyone invading his privacy, he opened the first page. He noticed that there were some torn sheets, and others tangled up, but he did not give it much importance.
The handwriting was small and cramped, but it was legible. It was even interesting, he did not know anyone in the empire, both Viltrumite and any other race, who used manual objects like the notebook, full of small sheets on which to trace with a fine-tipped ink bar.
On the other hand, he found it interesting how different his handwriting looked from the imperial standard, it was abnormally supervised. The sensation was new to him, it was, not so imperial, not Viltrumite.