"My Top-Tier Omega Wife Flirts With Me Every Day" - Chapter 21

Chapter 21: “Oh, Captain Mo, it’s the fox~ The Sky‑Bird Clan”

From afar, birds trying to approach dispersed in a flash—but too late. Mota manipulated gravity, pressing them into the ocean floor. Crimson bl00d clouded the blue sea. The man pinned to the rock glared in horror, collapse of hope setting in.

He’d merely been ordered to quietly sell catalysts and gather high-quality glands to cultivate mutants, occasionally killing a few for fun. He’d operated underground for a month unspotted—until he drew the attention of a true executioner.

He blamed the brothers Xiediibo and Xiedisong—they abandoned the job half a month ago claiming “something interesting turned up.” As a result, he had to proceed alone. A few days ago, they were caught at a catalyst deal by “divine sight” and his ship capsized in secret.

At that moment, Mota appeared atop his long blade out of nowhere—he nearly wet himself!

He’d fled desperately over the past days, using mutant powers until exhaustion, thinking he could lose Mota’s pursuit at sea. Unbeknownst to him, Mota had actually let him go to learn his landing point—and now captured him all at once.

The rescue vessel sank days ago, and even his bird surveillance had been destroyed. In pain, he twisted, changed tone, and begged.

“Please… spare me… I’ll never—cough—set foot here again… please…”

His tears mixed with bl00d, his cries heartfelt. Mota remained expressionless, gaze fixed on the man’s glands.

“You have something on you that doesn’t belong to you.”

He trembled further and screamed apologies.

“It’s… my boss gave it! I don’t know anything…”

“That’s fine. I’ll collect it.” Mota ignored the pleas, voice even, continuing:

“What about your death-chime?”

Every Mourning‑Bird member carries a small black death‑bell with an ID and tracking chip—used not to summon allies but to mark corpses for division. They ring the bell before killing, calling it “releasing the spirit.”

Still trembling, the man stammered: “On my—even my waist…”

Mota levitated the bell and brought it before him.

“Now, ring your bell.”

The metal was cold. The man attempted to fling it away—but the bell rang crisply.

Dong—!

At the sound, he sensed death drawing near and screamed:

“No! Spare me! Captain Mo… I beg you…”

“Shh. Calm down.”

Mota hopped off the blade and knelt by him. His cold pale finger touched the red bird insignia on the man’s body. His expression turned somber and mournful.

He sang in low, lingering tones:

u he sas ā koon
(“He who yearns for the sky…”)

malie nie ya li ha
(“…the bird will guide you home…”)

yis āje kuhe sa no mu
(“…the long migration has reached its end…”)

Se laā icha pavla ziux nin ca fso
(“…here I offer all praise and honor…”)

Li ha muu
(“…Rest in peace.”)

Each note cut through the man’s scream like a blade. The alpha on the rock bowed solemnly, lanterned by grief.

When the chant ended, Mota’s blade carved along the suture lines. The man’s shriek was brief before the waves swallowed the sound.

When the dark-blue sea swallowed silence, Mota returned to his home in Zone C and ascended to his guest bedroom on the second floor.

The room lay dark. His second clone, staring blankly from the window, was quietly recalled.

Bl00d still stained Mota’s fingers. He pressed a hidden hook on the wall cabinet, revealing a secret door into a hidden chamber—about the size of the guest room.

In its center stood a waist‑high squared altar with an incense burner. Along the walls, nearly two hundred niches each held a glass jar—some empty with clear liquid, others containing a small red jellyfish‑like gland.

These glands were removed intact, rested in nutrient fluid, frozen—standard procedure for preservation. But here, the contents were desiccated, lifeless. Instead of a storage room, it resembled a graveyard for the wiped‑out Sky‑Bird clan.

Each jar had the clan member’s name etched below in special script—names Mota had retrieved over the years, some during arrests, others like today from victims.

By secret agreement with the Association President, he’d covertly handled all recovered Sky‑Bird glands in exchange for freedom to serve. Yet he’d recovered only about half. Many still remained with Qin Mo.

With a cold breath he took down one jar, wrote the little girl’s name on it—her family had raised eagles, one of which Mota had once helped capture just to quiet them. At that moment, the children pleased had chanted after him—so he gifted them an eagle. Their excitement only intensified.

When he placed the final stroke to the name, memories of the girl’s life flicked through his mind like a reprise of mourning.

Gently, he returned the jar and lit incense before the altar. The scent of sandalwood filled the room as the hidden door clicked shut.

…

The next morning, Ling Zhuo—who struggled with reading and writing—submitted a nearly blank written test. He even copied most multiple-choice answers from Mei Jiuhe.

Heartbroken fox .゜゜(？Ｏ`)゜゜。

He was devastated—he wanted first place because the mechanical chameleon said winners get a gift from Mota!

“You—you don’t need to worry,” the black‑haired boy whispered, “I heard the real‑combat score counts for seventy percent of the total, so there’s still a chance.”

“Really?”

“Yeah—just ace the combat,” Mei Jiuhe nodded vigorously and handed him a mint candy.

Fox took it and crunched it loudly, perking back up.

At the evaluation site, a gate as tall as a building appeared and thundered open.

“Dear candidates, Captain Xià Mán will now explain the real‑combat assessment~”

Team 2’s Captain Xià Mán stood smiling on the high platform beside the gate. In a light‑brown custom suit, his golden hair and noble manner exuded princely charm—and a disarmingly friendly attitude when he smiled.

Everyone craned their necks toward the opening—and saw an entire city: overpasses, streets, buildings, greenery, just like outside. The space stretched endlessly.

“Wow!” Curly‑haired Brett was stunned. “Our base is huge, but it actually hides a city…”

“It’s a micro‑city. Inside we’ve placed five simulated dummies and thirty C‑D mutant targets. Your task: enter the city, rescue the dummies, and eliminate all mutants.”

The dummies simulate breathing and body heat, and each wears a voice‑siren on the wrist for easier rescue.

“Your real‑combat scores will be assessed by Captain Xià, Captain Mo, and the President based on your performance.”

Xià Mán clapped and cheered: “Pick up your weapons~”

At the entrance, Sai Jīn (Team 2) and Guang Wu (Team 1) watched as recruits chose weapons. Ling Zhuo, uncertain but worried about score rules, picked a pistol and looped its holster on his thigh.

At the whistle, the five trainees rushed into the simulated city.

“This place is big. Let’s split up, search for dummies, then regroup…” Jiang Yizhi suggested, but before he could finish, Ling Zhuo slipped into a nearby high-rise in a blink.

This was meant to be an individual test. The others paused, then also scattered to search.

Jiang Yizhi’s plan was to rack up kills and locate dummies to earn high marks. But mutants smell humans and hunt them—finding dummies is harder. If he could use others to find all dummies, that’d be ideal.

While a bit regretful, he also jumped into the city.

Ling Zhuo flexed his beast ears away from the crowd and scoped around, listening for cries.

He soon spotted several mutated beasts roaring in the streets, heavy hulking creatures.

In a convenience store behind the register, he found a dummy crouched in a corner, crying for help.

In the surveillance room, a giant wall of screens showed live feeds of the city. Multiple windows tracked the five trainees clearly.

“Oh, Mo‑captain—it’s the fox~” Xià Mán watched Ling Zhuo’s beast ears on screen and smiled meaningfully.

Everyone nearby who’d followed the gossip echoed: “Oh, Mo‑captain—it’s the fox~”

Such a suggestive tone—almost saying, “So that’s the fox from the rumor, the one who had a one‑night stand with you?”

Mota: “……”

How do you handle such gossiping colleagues?