Pillar of Yita

”Friend, look, you’re a Combat Artisan, and I’m a Poet, wouldn’t teaming up be a match made in heaven?”

This remark made Fang Hong forget to control the Clockwork Fairy for a moment, causing it to fly out and crash headfirst into the ground. He stiffly looked at the other party—is this how that phrase is used?

Moreover, he had never heard such a lofty opinion; Artisans and Poets are the two least compatible professions in any scenario, Constructs are unaffected by any mental effects, while a Poet’s war songs and tunes are precisely about mental effects.

The Poet cleared his throat: ”—Ahem, I mean seamless, okay, anyway, whatever the case... don’t look at me like that, I’m absolutely not joking, and I’m no rookie. I am a Combat Poet, my voice can pierce the hearts of enemies and warm the souls of allies, the blade in my hand is as cold as it is unfeeling, I am both a tank and a guerrilla, in short, I can protect you fully, allowing you to calmly command your legions of troops.”

His eyes gleamed, Combat Artisans are rare, and those who are unclaimed are even rarer. The smooth response from the other party earlier clearly showed he wasn’t a rookie, those newbies are likely busy hiding themselves right now.

But how would they know, for a competent Combat Artisan, the most important thing on the battlefield is detecting the enemy first.

He had heard about this theory from a rather senior Combat Artisan, who was a famous big shot, but unfortunately, that team was too high-level for him.

This grandiloquent speech indeed left Fang Hong quite impressed. He thought Parker was the pinnacle of self-aggrandizement, but compared to this person, he must yield the crown.

Unfortunately, he remains unmoved: ”No need.”

One Papalarian is already enough.

Someone like this, full of tall tales, already has an unreliable label in his eyes.

”Friend, being a lone wolf sounds cool, but two people are more efficient. Plus, wouldn’t you need someone to spread the tales of your feats? Think about it, people will want to hear about a Combat Artisan single-handedly facing thousands.”

But that’s precisely why Fang Hong doesn’t want that.

That would only alert more Bounty Hunters—there’s a bag of money here, along with fame rewards.

”I already have a team.”

”That’s fine, I’m alone.” The other party persisted relentlessly.

”But we already have a Poet.”

”Then you surely wouldn’t mind an additional Poet.”

”No,” Fang Hong still shook his head, ”no need.”

Only then did the other party sigh, shrugging, thinking that it’s true there are no unclaimed competent Combat Artisans. In hindsight, he shouldn’t have left his previous team; they were not bad at all—much better than the one before.

But he wasn’t discouraged, still proposing: ”Friend, how about we share information? You surely have intriguing tales about this area, and later I can help relieve some of your flank pressure. You definitely need a reliable ally, don’t you?”

Only then did Fang Hong realize that compared to this person, Parker wasn’t just lacking in self-aggrandizing skills but also in shameless persistence.

The other party was essentially a power-amplified version of a Papalarian.

Nevertheless, a slight impulse stirred in him, as they seem to indeed need such a well-informed spy, whether for gathering or supplying news, it could all be useful.

”Alright, we agree,” Fang Hong hadn’t even responded when a Big Catfolk already answered for him from afar, ”later during the engagement, we all need to lend each other a hand. Sharing information with you is no issue.”

That was also Fang Hong’s thought, sharing information doesn’t cost much, it’s merely broadcasting battlefield information over an open channel. And having an ally on the battlefield is beneficial for them.

Just like the other party said, at least the pressure on one of their flanks will be much lighter, of course, assuming the other party can hold the line. But no matter what, there’s no downside for them.

He wasn’t worried that this guy would go back on his word because such battles surely won’t stop at one round, and the other party didn’t seem like someone short-sighted.

”Then it’s a deal,” the Poet immediately answered eagerly, leaving his name: ”By the way, my name is Cuiye.”

”Cuiye, isn’t that Greenfield?”

Having been familiar with them for a long time, the Big Catfolk was well-versed in Han culture.

”No, no, no,” the Poet turned green, ”it’s Cui, not Green, there’s a difference.”

However, Fang Hong didn’t care if it was Cui or Green; he simply set up a public channel and pulled the other participant in.

In fact, even he didn’t anticipate how significant that public channel would become later. It was initially created just to share information with someone who seemed unreliable.

At this moment, more signal flares rose in the forest in the distant valley.

They were like dazzling beams of light, illuminating the pale, withered woods. Before long, people with the Thorn Frontline saw figures retreating from the forest with those ghostly blue shadows looming behind them.

The Invokers burned a two-hundred-meter-wide open area between the Thorn Frontline and the Withered Woods. At this moment, someone, unable to resist, hurled a fireball across, transforming into a streak of golden light in full view.

The golden flame flickered briefly, flew into the forest, and instantly turned into a dazzling fireball.