PinkSnake - My Grandfather Is Rick - 162

Chapter 162: Saladin

“Do you feel like we’re in a movie right now?”

“There’s a whole crowd outside waiting to arrest us. One of us is seriously wounded and about to drop dead, and the other is either gonna get killed when they bust through the door or surrender and get publicly executed.”

“Doesn’t that whole fugitive vibe get your heart pumping?”

Tzeentch: “What the hell is wrong with you right now...”

Outside the door, countless enemies were ready to break in at any second. Beside him was a guy who had suddenly unleashed his true nature and started rambling bullshit regardless of the situation instead of doing anything useful.

Tzeentch had no idea what kind of cosmic sin he had committed, or what kind of brain-rotting potion he had been fed, to make him actually believe these two guys’ crap.

And now he had ended up stuck in this mess.

Damn it.

Even if he had to die, he was going to die with some dignity.

He would just kill himself.

Just as Tzeentch decided it was better to end it early and avoid dying from sheer frustration instead of blood loss, Morty, sitting beside him, finally made his next move.

Morty hadn’t suddenly started talking nonsense because he thought they were screwed and wanted to get in a few last words before dying.

He was waiting.

Waiting for someone.

Not Rick, but someone from that fleet.

After all, a certain old bastard had made it clear that this time, he really wasn’t going to play babysitter. Morty was on his own, and Rick wanted to see whether, under even more extreme conditions and without him nearby, Morty actually had the ability to crawl out of a death trap.

Morty had always felt that his abilities were being suppressed by Rick, but at the same time, he constantly wanted to just lie down and do nothing. Caught between those two forces, he would sometimes sink into a kind of self-doubt.

What did he actually want?

He knew perfectly well that without Rick, he wouldn’t have that massive safety net to fall back on, yet he kept acting in front of Rick like he wanted to leave him.

Just now, while waiting for the fleet to arrive and bullshitting with Tzeentch, he had started to understand what he really wanted.

It was the dependence every transmigrator felt after arriving in another world and receiving a cheat ability or a mysterious old mentor living in a ring, mixed with the disgust of feeling trapped by that kind of fate.

You knew that thing could help you, but to some extent, you still felt like you were just being controlled.

Every time danger appeared or help was needed, it was like every step had already been calculated in advance. Like a script.

But real life... what kind of real life had a script?

So even though Morty was doing nothing at that moment, it wasn’t like he was truly doing nothing.

Holding a piece of banana cake, Morty stuffed it into his mouth to recover some energy while continuing to bullshit with Tzeentch.

“Tzeentchy, you’re supposed to be one of the Four Chaos Gods of Warhammer. You were so badass in my dreams, so how the hell did you get ambushed the second you came outside?”

“You’re supposed to be good at scheming, but after all that plotting, you got stabbed half to death. Isn’t that basically slapping yourself in the face?”

Tzeentch, already coughing blood, struggled to roll his eyes at Morty.

Good at scheming...

Did he have any idea that every step he took, the speed of his footfall, the weight behind it, the movement of the air, all of it contained infinite possibilities for calculation?

That was such an insane amount of computation that even the most powerful AI couldn’t control a situation like that.

But when you ran into someone who just stabbed you out of nowhere...

What the fuck was there to calculate?

It wasn’t like he had never wondered whether the Pope was really on their side.

But the one thing he had not expected was that the guy would dare attack him right in front of the Director’s office in the Bureau of Divine Affairs!

Wasn’t that like starting a fight at the front door of a police station and betting the security guard was outsourced?

“Is that the point?”

“What do we do next?”

“If you’re planning to surrender first and then look for a chance to run, then hurry the hell up, because my body is about to give out.”

“If you’re planning to resist until the end, then please give me a weapon, so at least I don’t die like a total bitch.”

“And if you’re planning to watch me die before going out to surrender, then I’ll kill myself while I still have the strength.”

After listening to the options Tzeentch gave him and confirming that the guy’s IQ hadn’t gone offline, that he had only been caught off guard earlier, Morty stood up, went to the guard booth, and took out a first-aid kit.

When Tzeentch saw the universal red cross symbol on the silver metal box, his eyes widened more than they ever had in his life. He raised a trembling right hand, forced down the urge to cough blood again, pointed at Morty, and shouted angrily, “So you knew from the start there was a first-aid kit in the guard booth?!”

“Yeah. I had to see whether you’d realize you were about to die anyway and hurry up to drag someone down with you. And turns out, you really don’t have much malice toward me.”

“Morty! Fuck your grandpa!”

“My grandpa is Rick. If you wanna go mess with him, I’m happy to show you the way.”

“I was wrong...”

“Good boy.”

Morty walked over to Tzeentch, opened the box, pulled out a bottle of rapid wound-sealing gel, and smeared it directly over his wound.

This emergency trauma gel, made through applied biotechnology and chemical technology, really did deserve its spot on the Galactic Federation’s bulk medical supply procurement list.

The Gromflomites’ physiology was clearly completely different from Tzeentch’s humanoid body.

But the moment the gel touched the wound, it immediately covered it and stopped the injury from getting any worse.

“Phew... finally survived...”

Tzeentch reached out and touched the gel covering his wound. Once it came into contact with blood, it hardened like steel and could only be dissolved with a special spray.

He let out a long breath.

Honestly, if he could live, he definitely wasn’t going to consider dying.

If he had to die, then he at least had to die with some dignity. That was the last bit of face he demanded as a product of the subconscious.

“Alright. Inject this stimulant, and then we get to work.”

Looking at the stimulant Morty had tossed beside him, Tzeentch had countless curses he wanted to throw at Morty, but for now, he held them in.

Get out first.

As long as he stayed alive, there would always be a chance to get back at him.

After seeing that Tzeentch could stand again once the stimulant kicked in, Morty, who had already wasted about ten minutes here, guessed the people outside were probably running out of patience.

The people he was waiting for still hadn’t arrived.

As for whether they would come, Morty wasn’t worried at all.

Because he and that commander named Saladin were already thinking along the same lines.

After all, in just about any story, a frontier army marching into the capital is a massive red flag. That’s basically how military coups start...

So what benefit would Saladin get if Morty died?

Rick had split up from Morty right from the start, after all.

So were they supposed to believe that a guy who joined the Golden Noodle Cult after being threatened a little, instead of showing the integrity of a Galactic Federation commander at the critical moment and refusing to bow to criminal forces, would suddenly become righteous now, without even a tiny bit of selfish calculation?

Only an idiot would believe that.

“Let’s go, Tzeentchy. Since the people outside don’t feel like coming in for now, let’s go take a look at one of the Galactic Federation’s treasures first!”