179: Chapter 179 Floating Ascension Appears in the World, Igniting the Faith of the Entire Audience

Prant did not answer them.

He stood there without a word, slowly placing the microphone on the edge of the podium.

Then, everyone saw the pair of silver-gray combat boots on his feet at the same time.

The ring of dark blue light embedded in the soles suddenly burst out with dazzling brilliance.

His entire body slowly rose from the stage floor, his shirt hem gently fluttering from the extremely subtle airflow diffusing from the soles.

There were no ropes around his body, no steel wires, and no visible mechanical supports of any kind.

Right under the gaze of tens of thousands of eyes, he hovered in mid-air several meters above the stage.

Several thousand people below tilted their heads back with their mouths open, someone took off their hat and clutched it tightly in their hand, and the few who had just been holding mocking smiles were all frozen in place.

A few people in the front row holding cell phones frantically pressed the recording button, but their hands shook so much that the image was almost blurred.

In the first few rows, someone suddenly knelt down.

Then Prant did not stay in place, but slowly flew forward past the edge of the stage, hovering just a few meters above the front row of red hats closest to the crowd.

He flew to the left, then flew to the right, waving to the crowd below as he flew.

The sun was behind him, casting a dazzling golden rim over his entire figure.

Someone in the crowd began to scream, tears streaming down their face as they lifted their child above their head, pointing at him in mid-air and shouting:

"A miracle! This is a miracle!!"

In the cultural beliefs of the Federation, only the legendary savior could rise from the ground and fly.

When he finally slowly descended back to the stage floor, and the dark blue halo on the soles faded under the normal daylight, the entire scene completely boiled over.

An old veteran wearing an old-fashioned army jacket knelt on one knee, covering his face with both hands and weeping silently.

Next to him, his young grandson held high the hand-written words "The Saint Returns" temporarily scribbled beside the placard, shouting back and forth until he couldn't form a complete, coherent sentence.

More people hugged each other's shoulders under the lights, roaring and jumping.

The entire venue was shrouded in an extremely violent yet orderly collective emotion.

Then, it was unknown who first burst out that sacred and ancient slogan from the depths of their throat, and the wave of sound was roared simultaneously by thousands of throats that had completely believed.

That volume and frequency were sharper and deeper than any federal election rally before.

"Glory forever! Glory forever! Glory forever!"

No one doubted Prant anymore.

Even technology like zero-gravity levitation, which only existed in science fiction movies, was vividly displayed before their eyes, so letting Prant become the Federal Archon would definitely be better than Biden!

This logic was almost automatically completed in the minds of the thousands of people below the stage.

Faced with the threat of the alien fleet, Prant could not only produce solid, high-tech equipment, but could also fly into the sky himself to wave and greet everyone.

Whereas Biden could produce nothing except martial law and sending the Bureau of Investigation to block the news.

Comparing the two, the answer no longer needed any debate.

Prant stood in the center of the stage, listening to the tsunami-like cheers rising and falling below, slightly lifting his chin, with a faint smile saturated with a sense of satisfaction hanging at the corners of his mouth.

He thoroughly enjoyed this feeling.

Decades ago, when he stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows on the top floor of Prant Tower and overlooked the entire Central District, he enjoyed the exact same feeling, except that the stage under his feet had now become the power map of the entire Federation.

He waited until the sound waves from the audience gradually subsided from fanatical roaring into a low, continuously churning background hum before raising the microphone again.

"Whose research and development was that pair of Levitation Combat Boots you saw just now?"

"It is not the Department of Defense, not the Space Agency, and not any scientific research institution subordinate to the Federation."

"It is my good friend, Elon Musk."

"In the Starship Base of the western wilderness, with his own money, his own team, his own time and energy, he developed this high-tech equipment sufficient to ensure we are no longer helpless when facing the alien fleet."

"But what did Biden do?"

"He suppresses Musk, bans the research and development of these high-tech devices, and locks down all launch licenses for the Starship project using military procurement freeze orders and security reviews."

"Why? Because Biden is shortsighted, because Biden is incompetent, and because Biden simply doesn't know how to lead the Federation to face the threat from Grey Alien."

"The only thing Biden is good at is blocking—blocking the news, blocking technology, blocking your eyes and ears!"

Deafening boos erupted from the audience.

Someone fiercely smashed an empty beer can onto the ground.

Someone raised their middle finger toward the camera direction, shouting that Biden is incompetent.

A middle-aged woman in the front row wearing a red slogan hat pressed her hands together in prayer, bowing slightly toward Prant's direction, her lips moving silently as if praying.

More people simply stood in place, tilting their heads up to look at him, their eye sockets full of ignited hope.

Prant switched the microphone to his other hand, leaned forward, and raised his tone to a nearly solemn level.

"As long as you vote for me, after I become Archon, I will vigorously support Musk's new scientific research projects."

"By then, even more powerful tech equipment than zero-gravity levitation will be developed."

"By then, even if Grey Alien send ten million warships, they will definitely not be humanity's match!"

The cheers from the audience exploded like a volcanic eruption, thousands of people simultaneously raising their fists, placards, and federal flags, turning the entire rally venue under the sunset glow into a boiling red ocean.

Prant had just flown up before their eyes, hovering in mid-air and waving at them, and the glowing appearance of those boot soles was still imprinted on everyone's retinas at this moment.

Therefore, no matter what he said now, they believed it.

Meanwhile, on the roof of an old six-story office building two hundred meters away,

a gunman dressed in dark gray casual clothes was lying prone behind the concrete guardrail at the edge of the roof.

The silenced barrel of a hunter rifle protruded from the gap in the guardrail, and the crosshairs of the high-power scope were aimed right at Prant's head.

His finger rested on the outside of the trigger guard, his breathing steady, and his heart rate maintained at less than sixty beats per minute.

He was a professional,

having served two rotation cycles each in Afghanistan and Iraq, and after retiring, he was recruited by a private military contractor, executing at least a dozen precise elimination missions that never left a trace on any channel.

He had been waiting for Prant's head to stop moving.

But the blond man on the stage was in high spirits, continuously shaking his head while speaking, causing the crosshairs to drift back and forth between his head and neck several times.

The gunman slightly frowned, his finger sliding from the outside of the trigger guard to the surface of the trigger, using extremely subtle force to readjust the rhythm between each breath and the deviation of the crosshairs.