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This strike team, known as the Astartes, had made quite a name for themselves on the Abyssal Battlefield.
Not only for their efficient demon hunts, but especially for the unique traits of their newly developed colonized armor.
More than one-third of all spellcasters on the Abyssal Battlefield hailed from the mysterious East. Of these, about 40% specialized in close-quarters combat—the so-called "body cultivators." Due to the unique combat environment here, even these physically enhanced melee spellcasters were forced to adapt to mid-range engagements. Though centuries of experience had forged a well-rounded combat system for them, in truth, most of them preferred good old-fashioned brawling to flashy techniques like "One Yang Finger" or "Six Vein Divine Sword."
It was here on the battlefield that Harry ran into an old friend—both mentor and companion—the irreverent Pandaren warrior, Uncle Xiong Tianba.
Xiong Tianba was a member of the permanent Abyssal garrison and a captain under the Third Army of the Abyssal Vanguard Legion, commanding ten ten-man squads.
"You brat, you finally made it here!" Uncle Tianba beamed, his face fuzzy with fur and full of mirth, dragging along a massive wine jar as he popped by unannounced.
"Didn't even drop me a message. If your stunt with stabbing stone demons with a gun hadn't gone viral, I wouldn't even have known you were in this neck of the woods."
"Three catties, alright? And don't give me any crap about not being able to drink. Alcohol ain't banned here, and there's no damn fool who drinks enough to pass out anyway."
"Three catties..." Harry glanced at the massive jar that could easily hold two hundred catties of liquor and gulped. "Isn't that a bit... too little?"
"I've still got two months before my next leave back home, and that's my only jar left," Tianba muttered, grinning as he handed Harry a huge cup—one that most would call a bucket, but which was just an ordinary wine cup by Pandaren standards. It was filled to the brim, at least ten catties of liquor.
"Come, take a swig. This one's not brewed by my second uncle—it's my own stash. Been buried for fifteen years. Tastes decent. Want some peanuts? A little burnt, but still crunchy and fragrant."
"These your friends? Come, come, don't be shy—drink up! Pandaren liquor is top-notch. No matter how much you drink, you won't get a headache. Hey, how do you say 'cheers' in English again...? I gotta greet the foreigners too, right?"
Tianba nudged Harry in the ribs, making him burst out laughing.
"This is Uncle Xiong Tianba, a Pandaren I met during a dueling competition. He wants to toast everyone—don't be shy! Uncle Tianba's taught me a lot, especially the melee techniques I passed on to you all. They came from him."
From the moment they saw the fuzzy black-and-white Pandaren, everyone felt an instant warmth. Though Pandaren were quite different from those cutesy pandas back home, his charming appearance gave him an instant likeability. Outsiders couldn't help but feel good about him from the get-go.
"Oh, right—Uncle Tianba, this is Zhang Qiu from my squad. Her father's a demonology scholar."
"Ahh, I knew it! No wonder she looks so pleasant. Such a sweet and pretty girl."
Uncle Tianba smiled warmly. There were plenty of folks who went abroad, but not many chose to settle overseas permanently. After all, once you got used to life back home, living abroad never quite felt the same. In the homeland, there was no segregation between mages and civilians—it was far more relaxed than abroad.
"So, girl, where're you from? My Mandarin's a bit rough—can you understand me alright?"
"I can understand most of it," Qiu replied, holding a small cup in both hands, her eyes filled with curiosity as she looked at the fluffy Pandaren.
"My ancestral home is Fujian, but I know a bit of Sichuan dialect too."
"Oh? Really now? Say something—I'll be the judge of how authentic it sounds!"
Harry, already setting down his wine cup, could barely contain his laughter. The one Sichuan phrase Qiu knew was taught by him—and it was definitely not authentic.
"Ahem~" Qiu cleared her throat, then announced seriously:
"Laozi is from Shu Dao Mountain!"
Thunk! Uncle Tianba instinctively jumped up, about to bolt, but stopped after a step. He sat back down with a half-laugh, half-groan, scratching his head.
"Girl, you gotta behave," he said earnestly. "Don't go around shouting stuff like that. Nearly scared the life outta me."
"Hahahahahaha—honk honk honk—!"
Harry couldn't hold back anymore. He slapped his thigh and howled with laughter, gasping for breath. Tianba, who'd been glaring at him, finally chuckled too—then smacked Harry upside the head.
"This little punk! Teaching her nonsense like that—what a sweet girl, and you're already leading her astray!"
"My bad, my bad—hahahahahaha!"
"I'll drink three cups as punishment, three cups—bottoms up!"
"You little rascal, have some shame! This whole jar doesn't even hold enough for a few rounds of that. Leave me some, will ya?"
Uncle Tianba practically howled in frustration, realizing he'd walked right into this little booze fiend's trap. Harry was the type to pull every shameless trick in the book just for a few extra drinks.
"Relax, I brought a little something too—some foreign liquor. Thirty-year-aged Dragon's Blood Whiskey. Got a hundred barrels of it. More than enough to share."
"Heh, now you're talking! You should've said so earlier. Come on, come on, crack open a couple barrels—let's see what it tastes like!"
Their joyful downtime continued with Uncle Tianba's lively stories, and the squad members—utterly smitten by the little bundle of fluff—were soon all swearing they'd make time to visit his homeland once they had a break. Everyone wanted to experience a bit of exotic culture for themselves.
But after a few rounds of drinks, it was time to get down to business.
"Uncle Tianba, you're here for that special alloy too, right? I won't make promises for the others—this stuff still can't be mass-produced. It can only be hand-forged using magic stones by Nicolame himself. Low output, and the price is sky-high."
"You don't know the half of it," Tianba groaned. "That guy's stingy as hell. Every time I visit, I have to empty my pockets just to get anything from him. If there were ever a textbook example of a cheapskate merchant, it'd be him."
"I've already placed an order with him for a batch of power armor for the regiment. They'll be our backup reserves for future expansions. I can spare you a portion of the alloy at cost price. Just put in an official request, and you'll get it through the proper channels. Should be around two tons—enough for two or three ten-man squads. Any more than that, and I've got nothing to give. The regiment's not planning to expand right now, but we will eventually, so I've got to keep some for ourselves."
"That's more than enough."
Uncle Tianba clapped Harry on the shoulder, clearly pleased. "The higher-ups already said this stuff goes to the Inquisition Legion first. If I can get enough for twenty or thirty men, I'm already laughing. You watch—all those old buddies of mine are gonna owe me big time."
"Ha!"
Tianba planted his hands on his hips and puffed up proudly. "Just thinking about it feels great!"
"Oh right, do you still have any of that nasty-ass potion of yours? That stuff works way better than the issued supplies. Saved one of my brothers not long ago—half his body got smashed up by a demon lord. We poured your brew down his throat, and it actually kept him alive."
"A demon lord? Isn't that the Inquisition Legion's job?" Harry asked, visibly surprised.
"This is a battlefield, kid—anything can happen. One of the centurions suddenly ascended, and nearly wiped us out. I'm telling you, demons led by a myriarch are a whole different beast. Killing a centurion is nothing. Never underestimate those stone bastards—they'll kill you before you know what hit you."
"Thanks, Uncle Tianba. I brought a good supply of potions. I'll set aside two catties for you—same price as before."
"No way—market price is already a bargain," Tianba insisted. He'd already taken advantage of Harry once and wasn't about to do it again. High-grade potions like these could only be made by master alchemists specializing in warfare, and Snape's ultra-bitter, vomit-inducing, yet incredibly effective healing concoctions were rare treasures even on the resource-heavy Abyssal Battlefield. "As long as you've got your life here, money's never a problem. I'll gather some cash from the brothers—they're all dying to get their hands on some."
With that, Uncle Tianba stormed out—true to his Pandaren nature, always swift and decisive, never one to waste time.
(End of Chapter)