Under the soundless night, Ji Tianjin stepped forward and patted Su Cha on the back. “Don’t be too sad.”
Rong Shao jerked his head to the side. Sad? Seriously?!
Su Cha wiped his face—smooth and completely tearless. “Give him a grand burial. I’ll pay for it. Just carve on the gravestone: ‘Beloved Friend of Cha.’”
He hoped the guy wouldn’t rest easy even in death.
He stood up. “Anyone else hurt?”
“Only one died,” Rong Shao clicked his tongue at the corpse. “Shen Ningze.”
Su Cha wasn’t sure if Shen Ningze had said anything before he arrived. He tried to read the expressions of those around him. Aside from Rong Shao avoiding his gaze, Ji Tianjin and Li Huai looked no different than usual.
A missile had exploded in the sky above the affiliated school. There was no hiding it. Li Huai walked off to make a call and request instructions on how to handle the situation.
Su Cha could already imagine how Land and the others would react to the news. Objectively speaking, the affiliated school was the safest place there was—but who would’ve thought Shen Ningze was carrying a civilian-banned weapon?
He let out a soft sigh. There was still another troublesome matter left unresolved. Earlier, he had heard the system call his name, but after a quick search, he couldn’t find it—who knew where it had gone?
Meanwhile, Rong Shao was keeping himself distracted by talking, trying not to dwell on the message Shen Ningze left right before dying. “That guy probably didn’t even know how to use a micro missile. Must’ve fired it in the wrong direction.”
Yes, that’s it. The missile had been misfired by Shen Ningze. Rong Shao began to hypnotize himself.
The night was now completely divorced from its usual tranquility.
Three minutes later, several helicopters were circling in the air, and spaceships were moving toward the mushroom cloud to handle gas pollution.
Reporters arrived faster than the ambulances. The school principal’s office phone was ringing off the hook. All teachers were called back to campus, and the military followed close behind, launching another round of full-scale, underground searches.
“All students, please note: after hearing this broadcast, first-years should proceed to the Dexin Building; second-years, to the Chengde Building…”
This time, the announcement wasn’t just made in the dorms. Speakers on the lawns and by the roads repeated the alerts.
With the search this intense, Su Cha was worried they might uncover the system.
Where could it have gone?
After cooperating for so long, they had some basic mutual understanding. Su Cha mentally ran through all the possible hiding spots, then walked up to Li Huai, his tone laced with seven parts frailty, three parts pleading: “Instructor, I’ve got a headache.”
Mixed together, it sounded almost like he was being coquettish. Li Huai nearly dropped his communicator.
“Can I go lie down in the dorm for a bit?”
Li Huai gave him a long look—for some reason, it made Su Cha nervous. Just as he was starting to feel anxious, Li Huai finally said, “Go.”
Su Cha breathed a sigh of relief. He was about to run off but remembered his “headache” persona and pressed a hand to his temple, walking slowly but urgently.
Ji Tianjin stepped up beside Li Huai. “Reporting, Instructor.”
Li Huai frowned. What now?
Ji Tianjin said, “Classmate Su Cha isn’t feeling well. I’ll carry him back.”
“…Scram.”
Ji Tianjin walked over to Su Cha. Su Cha blinked in surprise but still climbed onto his back and whispered, “Master, please go fast.”
He had always been good at finding humor in hardship—but that “Master,” even though whispered, still reached the ears of Rong Shao and Li Huai. Rong Shao couldn’t hold back a snort of laughter.
Ji Tianjin walked briskly, and the two figures soon disappeared into the dark night.
The dorm wasn’t far, and even Su Cha, thick-skinned as he was, felt a little embarrassed being carried like this. “That’s enough.”
They were probably already out of Li Huai’s line of sight.
“Play it through,” Ji Tianjin reminded. “If someone else sees you running into the dorm, that wouldn’t look good.”
Made sense.
Su Cha’s eyelid twitched—was that a veiled jab, saying he knew Su Cha was faking?
The teen’s back wasn’t exactly broad, but Ji Tianjin was already well-trained for his age. His muscles were balanced and lean—just right.
Ding. The elevator doors opened. Snapping back to reality, Su Cha found they were already on the top floor. Feeling a bit awkward, he let go and set his feet down. Then, quickly opening the door, he flashed a weak smile. “Well then, I’ll…”
“Rest early,” Ji Tianjin said, apparently accepting the idea that he really needed sleep.
Su Cha waved a hand and only truly relaxed once the door was shut.
The dorm was pitch black. A familiar mechanical voice rang out: “I thought the host’s leg was broken too.”
Needing someone to carry him inside?
Too?
Ignoring the sarcasm, Su Cha didn’t bother with the lights and rushed toward the sound. “You’re not…”
By the firelight from outside, he clearly saw the mechanical doll’s long leg was missing one. The system was eerily calm. “I’ll have to install a prosthetic.”
Su Cha’s heart clenched. He thought Shen Ningze had gotten off way too easy. He slumped down beside it, fingers twisting unconsciously. Thinking of the system’s once-prized long legs, he said in a suppressed voice, “You lost a leg, and Shen Ningze only lost his life.”
The more he thought about it, the more bitter he felt. Su Cha was silent for a full five minutes before suddenly looking up. “Wait.”
He turned to the system. “What kind of material are you going to use for the prosthetic?”
“Latest titanium alloy.”
Su Cha: “And how’s that different from the old one?”
“No difference.”
“…” Su Cha gritted his teeth. “Then why didn’t you say that earlier?!”
“The host is making a fuss over nothing.”
Spatial abilities were the Fog Star’s natural talent. Su Cha had originally been worried about how to get away with things if Land came to the dorm, but unexpectedly, even up until 3 a.m., Land neither insisted on speaking to him nor sent a military doctor over for an examination.
That was thanks to Li Huai, who said Su Cha was a light sleeper and had a headache—if they really cared for him, they shouldn’t disturb him for now.
…
While Su Cha narrowly escaped disaster, Luan Zheng’s nightmare was only just beginning.
Xie Rongjue and Land had made some sort of deal. Starting in the latter half of the previous night, Land began helping to clear out the list of targets Xie Rongjue had provided.
Luan Zheng deliberately chose underground tunnels beneath bustling commercial areas. This way, even Sanses would have a hard time tracking them down—not to mention cleaning up as easily as he had with Fasite, sweeping through an entire desolate star.
This time, he had arranged for genetically modified soldiers to meet him at each checkpoint along the escape route. It should have gone smoothly. But at the first potential exit, Fog Star warships had already blocked the way. They had no choice but to detour.
Shen Ningze, at least, had said something human before he died—dragging others down with him. Just in case, he had specially told Su Cha during the day to pay more attention to the underground. With a clear direction, the search was now smooth and easy.
To inflict more pain, the Fog Star troops pursued them at a deliberate pace, gradually breaking their spirit defenses. This cat-and-mouse game ended for good the moment they learned Luan Zheng’s illegitimate son had carried out a school terror attack.
“Kill.”
Just after coldly issuing the order, Land suddenly made a gesture. “Leave the leader alive. We’ll negotiate with the Galan Empire later and take him back.”
His psychokinetic threads extended infinitely, sensing the underground terrain. Illusion or reality—either was easily detected by a Fog Star adept at space manipulation. Before long, a Fog Star soldier reported, “Just as we predicted, many tunnels have been excavated beneath the commercial district.”
At the same time, the empire reinforced the border with more troops to guard against illegal crossings. Layers of aerial defense were also established—any aircraft heading for desolate stars would undergo emergency inspections.
Within this inescapable trap, several suspicious individuals were captured—but all turned out to be decoys sent by Luan Zheng. He had people impersonate him, fleeing in all directions to scatter the empire’s attention.
“Boss, what now?” Based on data from the drones they’d secretly deployed and intelligence gathered by Cheng Qing’s rats, the outside was sealed tight. Even the Fog Star troops were searching, and they didn’t have the firepower to clash head-on.
Luan Zheng fell silent for a moment. “We split up.”
His subordinates were stunned. Their numbers were already down to just over fifty—splitting up now would make them even more vulnerable.
“If we really get caught, no matter how many of us there are, it’ll just mean a bit more resistance time.” Luan Zheng’s back was soaked in sweat, but his expression remained composed. “Groups of ten. Follow the pre-planned routes. Each person takes a few paths randomly. Whether they make it out or not depends on their luck. Those who do will regroup at the waste star Huihe.”
The death soldiers, long brainwashed and PUA-ed, were moved. Their boss still cared about their lives.
“You go first. I’ll choose my path last.” Luan Zheng called his subordinate and Cheng Qing over—he clearly only planned to bring the two of them.
Squinting at the others as they left per instructions, Luan Zheng whispered to his subordinate, “Go back.”
His subordinate was stunned.
Luan Zheng said, “Everyone already believes I’m escaping. After the military raids my properties, they won’t keep many guards behind.”
He only brought two people because too large a group would attract attention.
The three of them carefully made their way back.
The villa Luan Zheng chose was one used annually for private parties—not too remote, but not flashy enough to draw notice either.
As usual, Cheng Qing released rats to scout the surroundings first. A few minutes later, the rats returned—with a person in tow.
“To have raised a student like you is a disgrace to the First Military Academy.”
Before they could see the figure’s face clearly, Cheng Qing already recognized the voice. “Principal?”
Xie Rongjue had predicted they might return and had arranged for several school principals to watch the villas. The original one assigned here was the affiliated school principal, but due to the missile incident, the First Military Academy’s principal came instead.
Luan Zheng didn’t hesitate—he and his subordinates attacked simultaneously.
“Ambushes are what rats do best,” the principal shook his head. “Your 3S-level spiritual power is weak. I suspect it was forcibly boosted.”
While struggling like a trapped beast, Luan Zheng gritted his teeth. “The group’s genetically modified warriors over the years weren’t few. If I die, you’ll never get the complete list.”
“The ingredients for advanced suppressants are now under strict control. Within a month, even basic suppressants will require detailed registration to obtain.”
Without suppressants, the fate awaiting those gene warriors was clear: exploding bodies and death.
Luan Zheng had planned to use this as a bargaining chip—even if caught, he could argue for exile. But upon hearing that sentence, his expression turned extremely ugly.
“You won’t die. His Majesty still has use for you.”
The words were light, but they reminded Luan Zheng of the experimental secrets—suggesting the principal believed His Majesty might hand him over to Fog Star to squeeze the last value out of him.
…
A tumultuous night passed. The next day was the academy’s one-day weekly break.
At 7 a.m., Su Cha was awakened by a knock, reminding him to get ready to go to the energy chamber.
The system was hidden in a fold of space. When Su Cha left the school gates, it managed to sneak out with him. From a distance, Su Cha saw Land—dust-covered from travel, with someone’s blood still on the hem of his uniform.
Seeing Su Cha standing there unscathed, Land didn’t mention the previous night. He bent down slightly, resting a hand on Su Cha’s shoulder. “Your Highness needn’t worry. It’s almost over.”
Su Cha nodded. “I believe you.”
Given Land’s abilities, the remnants of the live experiments were likely mostly cleared out overnight.
“The energy chamber opens at 9,” another person waiting nearby reminded him. Su Cha didn’t recognize the man, but he wore a distinctive badge only government officials could have.
Once aboard the aircraft, the official gave more detail. “Everyone else is scheduled to enter after 10. You’ll have a private session in the chamber.”
Su Cha asked if there were any precautions.
“Remove all metal accessories in advance. You are not allowed to carry anything that has been packaged through spatial means.”
Su Cha mulled it over. The system should have already slipped away by now, so there was no need to worry. Ever since their reunion, the system had been appearing and disappearing mysteriously, which gave him an unsettling feeling.
The energy chamber wasn’t far from the royal palace. Su Cha passed through layer after layer of checkpoints; the security was stricter than ever before. He even had to provide a blood sample for database verification to prevent impersonation.
Only now did Su Cha understand why the official had urged him to hurry—by the time all the procedures were done, forty minutes had already passed.
At the final two metal doors, neither Land nor the official was allowed to go further. A guard took over to lead the way.
Su Cha followed and completed one last biometric scan. The guard opened a door at the end of the corridor.
In that instant, Su Cha was a little stunned.
He had assumed the energy chamber would at least look like the perception room—some sort of room filled with high-tech equipment.
While the space was indeed large, it contained only one object: an oval-shaped item made of layers of reinforced steel, taking up two-thirds of the chamber’s area.
Though it might be an insult to the technology involved, only one term popped into Su Cha’s mind: Kinder Egg.
From every angle, it resembled one.
Even after all the outer security checks, that wasn’t enough. The guard typed a long string of numbers into an electronic panel and turned back to say, “Go on in.”
A long staircase led straight into the ground. Before Su Cha could react, the floor grew damp, and water rapidly rose up to his calves.
It was a little hot.
There was also a stinging sensation. Su Cha frowned and was about to shield himself with spiritual power when a voice came from above: “This is energy fluid produced by burning meteor sand. Don’t resist it.”
The water didn’t stop even at shoulder level—like being stewed alive.
The guard was already walking away and communicating with someone: “Keep an eye on the dosage—he’s short, don’t drown him.”
With that, he shut the inner door.
“…”
The water finally stopped rising after going up one more centimeter.
Su Cha took a deep breath. Trying to stay positive, he told himself it was just like soaking in a hot spring.
The water temperature wasn’t particularly high—not even 40°C—but Su Cha felt as if he were being scorched alive. His vision blurred. When he forced himself to raise a hand, the skin still appeared fair and normal, as if the pain were just an illusion.
But the heat was bypassing the skin—it was burning through his blood and bones.
“Huu—” Su Cha exhaled slowly, thinking he could endure this. It felt similar to his previous shallow-level awakening.
But before that thought had even fully settled, his brain spasmed. His vision went black, and he nearly collapsed face-first into the water.
Something was wrong.
Su Cha realized something must have gone awry. The energy chamber shouldn’t cause pain beyond a person’s physical limit—otherwise, Shen Ningze wouldn’t have dared to compete for this slot. That guy’s physical condition was even more fragile.
In just a short time, Su Cha felt like his soul was being torn apart.
Had someone tampered with the energy chamber?
Highly unlikely. The security here surpassed even top-secret facilities. Anyone with a grudge against him was currently too busy saving themselves—there was no way they could infiltrate this place.
Several times, Su Cha came close to passing out. His soul and body felt on the verge of separating—and the system even appeared as a faint afterimage.
Wait, the system?
The mechanical doll appeared without warning, like a physician making rounds. Two fingers pressed lightly on Su Cha’s arm, and gradually, Su Cha started to feel better.
The pain had come like a tidal wave—but now it was peeling away in thin layers. Su Cha gasped for breath, unable to speak a single word.
He didn’t have to. The system spoke first: “Someone is summoning your soul.”
His wavering gaze instantly focused. In the interstellar era, it was rare to even see anyone praying to gods, let alone summoning souls. The only ones capable of such an act were a few… “old acquaintances.”
“Your soul is gradually healing, which might have raised suspicions.”
A killing intent flared in the depths of Su Cha’s eyes. Had his clan failed to extinguish his soul lantern? In the past, his broken soul and the great distance had hidden the truth. But now that his awakening was healing his soul at an accelerated pace…
“I had planned to forgive them for the sake of shared blood,” Su Cha said coldly, “but they’re getting greedy.”
Forcibly summoning his soul—there was definitely more to it than met the eye.
A skeletal steel hand with no flesh clamped down on both sides of Su Cha’s temples. The system said calmly, “The ‘love your enemy’ philosophy doesn’t work on me. If you try to preach it again, I’ll twist your head off.”
Su Cha gave a slightly embarrassed cough.
The system continued: “You should know exactly why you chose a high-level plane and took on an identity that’s spoiled and doted on.”
Su Cha looked up at the empty space above. So it had been turning a blind eye this whole time.
Just as the mechanical doll was about to leave, Su Cha hesitated and said, “You’re hiding something from me.”
The system’s back visibly flinched.
“You only appear briefly each time—is your body malfunctioning?” Su Cha frowned. “Or is my presence overloading you?”
“Please don’t overthink.”
Su Cha said, “Then look me in the eye and say that.”
After a pause, the system turned around.
The silence stretched between them, and eventually the system gave in first, rattling off all in one breath: “Fine—I’m actually retired. I go to the flower market every morning, then to the library in the afternoon, and take strolls down the tree-lined boulevard at night.”
“…”
“I also have a pet bird. I walk it every day.”
All of Su Cha’s worry instantly went to waste. He took a deep breath and asked, “Are you even human?”
“I’m not.”
The system vanished again. Su Cha suddenly noticed he could barely feel any water. Looking down, he saw the liquid in the energy chamber had turned into bubbles and was quickly evaporating.
His head still throbbed—the aftereffects of the forced soul summoning hadn’t completely worn off. But the abundance of power coursing through his body reminded him: his physical resilience had jumped significantly.
The upper door reopened. The guard saw Su Cha pale-faced, yet oddly tinged with a flush. The energy fluid could be absorbed into the body, and what couldn’t be absorbed would evaporate quickly. Su Cha’s clothes were soaked; he was drenched in sweat.
The guard was surprised—he had never seen someone react like this after entering.
Su Cha forced a smile. “Feels great. I think I can smash ten giant boulders in one go.”
“Don’t say things like that,” the guard warned seriously. “Especially not around the Fog Star people.”
“…”
As they walked to the door, the Fog Star soldiers stationed outside—who had been waiting restlessly—turned their heads in perfect synchrony.
Land’s timing was often even more mysterious than the system’s. Before Su Cha could react, Land was already in front of him. “Where does it hurt?”
Su Cha waved him off with a smile.
Land exposed him on the spot: “When His Highness smiles, the corners of his mouth tilt downward by 3 to 5 degrees more than usual.”
