This Beast-Tamer is a Little Strange

Chapter 739: Chapter 739: A Meeting of Minds

Kain stared at the faintly glowing cube on the table, its violet shimmer still pulsing in a steady, unnatural rhythm.

Pheneos didn’t sit. He stood with calm, deliberate posture, arms loosely crossed, eyes focused—but not unfriendly. Just… colder than Kain remembered.

“You’ve changed,” Kain said at last.

Pheneos tilted his head. “College will do that.”

“No,” Kain said, eyes narrowing slightly. “You’ve really changed. You used to be a twitchy wreck. Couldn’t stop wringing your gloves and tripping over yourself and stressing over whether or not you’d be able to enter Starfire College”

That earned the faintest twitch of a smile from Pheneos. “Twitchy wreck still lives. Just… buried under a few semesters of metal filings and project deadlines.”

Kain leaned back, gaze drifting to the cube. “And your teacher? This mysterious inventor you mentioned.”

“Same one,” Pheneos said. “Dorian Anvil.”

Kain blinked. “Dorian…? Wait. That Dorian?” Kain though back to the blacksmith from the Starfire city outskirts with the small dusty workshop that he’d often exchange materials he obtained from the wilderness with.

Pheneos nodded.

“You expect me to believe he developed that—” Kain pointed at the cube. “—and all of those suits?” He gestured vaguely toward the arena. “This tech’s a decade ahead of anything we’ve seen. Not even Exalted Grandmaster Halreth’s made anything like it.”

“Halreth’s pursuing other goals,” Pheneos said calmly. “He’s trying to create life through blacksmithing, isn’t he? That kind of research doesn’t leave time for toys like armour and resonance nets.”

That startled Kain into silence. Not because it was wrong—but because it was so… accurate. How the heck does a small city blacksmith and his student even know what Halreth is doing, much less the requirements for someone at Halreth’s level to go further.

“And your teacher? He’s not trying to create life?”

“Oh, he is,” Pheneos said quietly. “Just not in the way you think.”

That sent a chill down Kain’s spine.

He frowned. “You said he wanted to meet.”

“Yes. There’s a two-day break before Phase Two in a few days. He suggested that it would be enough time for a conversation.”

Kain nodded, but his gut didn’t ease. The old Pheneos wouldn’t have unnerved him. This one—stoic, calculating—was a different story. Not to mention the description of this new ‘Dorian’ also unsettled him. He felt happy meeting some old acquaintances, but maybe not entirely safe.

“…Can I bring someone?” Kain asked. Safety in numbers was Kain’s reasoning.

Pheneos raised a brow. Didn’t say a word.

But the corner of his mouth curved, just slightly. As if he knew exactly what Kain was thinking.

“Sure,” Pheneos said. “Bring someone. We’ll send the meeting location to your tablet in a few days.”

He stepped back, picked up the cube, and gave a nod of parting. “Looking forward to it.”

Then he left.

Kain stared at the door long after it closed.

————————–

Arena, Sublevel 3 – Staff Access Hallways

Footsteps echoed awkwardly through the corridor.

Four different people rounded the corner at the same time. All four froze.

One wore the insignia of a regional military logistics officer in division 3—faintly etched onto his shoulder. Another also war a military insignia with a different division on it. He glared at the former, evidently their divisions had beef with one another. The third had a high-end private mercenary badge poorly hidden under a scarf. The fourth? Nothing identifiable… but something about his aura practically screamed creepy cultist masquerading as a clerk. Indeed, he was a member of the same secret organization that Kain’s sister now belonged to.

They looked at each other.

Narrowed their eyes.

Then, with awkward nods, each turned down a different hallway—only to slow again a few corners later when they all met again.

Each of them knew.

They were all here for the same reason.

“Looking for… a broom,” muttered the cultist disguised as a clerk.

“Just passing through,” another said too quickly, the officer from Division 3.

“I need to check inventory,” said the mercenary.

“Oh yeah? You checking room inventory in full combat gear?” said the other officer, gesturing at the mercenary’s heavy duty boots.

The man in boots coughed. “Uniform policy. We’re running drills.”

The ‘clerk’ raised a brow. “In an arena medical wing?”

“Diversified preparedness,” he shot back. “Internal doctrine.”

The military grunt in Division 3 squinted. “Which division?”

“Special.”

“Special what?”

The mercenary’s eyes flicked to the wall. “Logistics.”

“That’s not—”

“Oh my heavens, you people are as subtle as a sledgehammer,” the clerk muttered. “You’re here for the student engineer too, aren’t you?”

Silence.

Then three simultaneous responses:

“No—”

“Who—?”

“…Maybe.”

Their hands twitched, hovering just shy of whatever concealed weapons they had prepped.

Then a fifth voice chimed in from behind.

“You guys lost?”

All three spun.

It was just a janitor. Middle-aged, nondescript, mop in hand, pushing a squeaky cart filled with cleaning supplies and a half-eaten sandwich balanced on top of a dirty rag.

They collectively relaxed—but didn’t let down their guard.

“Maintenance schedule,” the janitor explained blandly. “Lot of foot traffic down here, people keep tracking blood into the vents. Beast’s guts too. Don’t ask.”

The mercenary nodded politely, eyes scanning the cart for hidden compartments.

The clerk gave a tight smile, unconsciously stepping between the janitor and the hallway.

The both soldiers just grunted and turned away.

The janitor wheeled past them with a sigh. “Y’all need to relax. The guy you’re looking for? Already gone.”

All three froze again.

The janitor paused just long enough for the words to sink in, then continued whistling as he turned a corner.

They stood in silence.

Then the mercenary exhaled. “He’s bluffing.”

“Definitely bluffing,” said the clerk.

“Absolutely,” agreed a soldier.

The other soldier just nodded in agreement stoically.

They all nodded after reassuring amongst each other that the ‘janitor’ must have been an op as well to throw them off the scent.

And then slowly started walking faster in the opposite direction of where the janitor had gone, clearly unsure if he’d been bluffing or not.

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