Ark Chess Player

Kal'tsit took out a communicator from her pocket and pressed the number 5 three times.

“Standing By”

A heavy engine roared from afar, like a frantic heartbeat. On the edge of the desolate city, an unmanned black and gold heavy motorcycle sped towards them. The perfect combination of Originium and metal, the sharp lines of the body exuded a cold mechanical feel, and it arrived in front of them almost in the blink of an eye, stirring up a gust of wind.

"Complete"

Kal'tsit looked at Lin Lu's dumbfounded expression and patted the front of the car with some emotion.

"This was your personal motorcycle back then, and its name was..."

Noah.

Chapter Forty-Six: The Abandoned

Time unknown, weather unknown, low visibility.

Chernobog Central District, south perimeter.

The rescue operation for the doctor... has ended.

The disastrous clouds dispersed, filling the sky and obscuring the stars and moon. But the mobile city remained bright; as far as the eye could see, the ubiquitous flames had turned the city into a giant torch, and the thick smoke that made it hard to breathe made the night seem even deeper, with a putrid smell permeating the air.

When Guard woke up again, he found himself in the ruins, with even his beloved knife beside him.

"How did I end up lying here..."

He sat up abruptly from the rough carpet, pain shooting through his limbs. His left arm, the most severely injured, bore the marks of rudimentary treatment. Unidentifiable herbs were plastered on his bloodied arm, the bandages still stained with blood. Neither the smell of the herbs nor the method of treatment suggested the work of a professionally trained Rhodes Island operator; it seemed more like the work of a seasoned warrior applying their experience.

“Oh right, I remember now, we infiltrated Chernobog, evacuated under the Doctor’s command… and then…”

Guard clutched his dazed head; his body hadn't recovered, and even thinking was incredibly difficult.

"A natural disaster, yes, a natural disaster... I lost consciousness because of the meteorite impact. Oh no! How are the doctor and the others?!"

Guard opened his eyes wide. He instinctively tried to stand up, but his weak legs prevented him from standing up immediately, and he fell heavily to the ground.

He exhaled, kicking up dust from the ground. Gritting his teeth, he pushed himself up, and after falling several times, he finally managed to stand firmly, supporting himself on his long sword.

"What's going on? Who saved me...?"

Guard tried to keep breathing, forcing himself to calm down amidst his helpless panic. The large amount of oxygen he inhaled allowed his tired brain to catch its breath. He recalled the battlefield training he had received at Rhodes Island, the voice of Instructor Dobermann echoing in his ears. He had inadvertently gone too far in his thinking and even remembered the corporal punishment. He felt his legs trembling slightly.

Calming down, Guard carefully observed his surroundings. It was a collapsed ruin; judging from the charred remains of pots and pans, it might have once been a coffee shop. The surrounding noise was deafening; it seemed he was still surrounded by the Reunion Movement. Damn it…

Unfortunately, there is no tool to check the time.

Just as Guard was wondering if he had any other items he could use, he noticed that the surrounding sounds suddenly quieted down.

Nothing is more chilling than the sudden silence of a bustling street; the feeling of being abandoned by the world almost takes your breath away. Guard instinctively leaned against the charred ruins of the eaves, crouching down to listen intently.

He heard footsteps, very close, but they didn't seem to be coming in his direction.

"It's you."

"it's me."

"You shouldn't have come."

"I'm here."

In the heart of the ravaged street, two men confront each other, the wind blowing through them sharp and stinging against the skin.

"..."

Guard slowly typed a question mark.

He wondered if he had wandered onto the wrong set; where did this line from a Yan-era novel come from?

But he still listened intently; he needed intelligence, otherwise he would have no way of knowing the current situation of Rhodes Island.

"That's... Helag from the Azazel Clinic?"

Guard glanced at him furtively and muttered to himself.

He was not mistaken; even though it was only a brief encounter, he still remembered this composed and elegant old man.

Even though time has left its mark on Hrag, and his hair has turned gray, his spine remains straight. His words and actions unconsciously exude a mature masculine charm, making people instinctively want to rely on him. When he looks at children, a touch of tenderness always inadvertently appears in his resolute gaze.

Even when he stepped into the Reunion Movement's territory alone, Hrag showed no fear whatsoever.

"This great city... has truly fallen to you, utterly paralyzed by the ravages of natural disaster. I don't know whether I should congratulate you, old friend."

Herag gazed calmly at the nearly three-meter-tall, imposing giant before him, his tone somewhat desolate, as if he were sighing.

"I never imagined that we would both suffer from Oripathy, and even after so many years apart, we are still standing on the same page."

"……Ugh."

The mountain-like monster let out a heavy sigh. His worn-out armor was torn in many places, and the giant halberd he gripped tightly, once incomparably sharp, was now rusted and worn. But the eyes beneath the deer's head glowed blood-red, like an inextinguishable furnace, burning fiercely.

The firelight on both sides of the street illuminated his silvery-white, long-beaked mask, his eerily growing antlers, and his scarlet eyes. The burning flames stretched his shadow long, making him, as the only remaining pure-blooded Wendigo among the Sarkaz, look like a monster straight out of a horror story.

Hrag gazed at him, and sighed with a touch of nostalgia:

"It's been many years, Bozokasti... Should I call you 'Patriot' now?"

"...General."

Patriot's voice was incredibly hoarse, as if a stone was stuck in his throat.

"You actually remember me."

“We fought side by side, how could I forget? If you hadn’t led the Shield Guards through the blizzard to charge into the fortress, I, Barclay, Semyon, and Black Crossbow Donpson would all have died at the hands of Silver Spear Pigazos of Kazimierz.”

The patriot looked up with reminiscence and exclaimed, "It was my soldiers who were brave. They didn't care about sacrifice."

"Hmm?" Hrag keenly sensed something was wrong and asked, "Why... how come you speak so differently from decades ago? I've seen you give passionate speeches in front of soldiers, and even I felt my blood boil because of it. This is no simple matter."

"The infection has changed my vocal cords. Now, it's very difficult for me to speak continuously, isn't it ridiculous?"

As if he had figured something out, Herag slowly shook his head and sighed, "It's not just your vocal cords that have changed, but also your identity."

Patriot raised a massive shield the size of a doorway, smeared with the symbols of the Reunion Movement like a burning flag, and brought it down heavily, causing the ground to tremble.

"Times have changed, sir."

“Yes, times have changed.” Herag rested his left hand on the 180-centimeter-long black greatsword and said solemnly, “This era is enough to make an Ursus general give up his military career, and it can also make the best battlefield commanders spread the flames of war on the land he was once proud of.”

"...I am a Sarkaz, and I am ultimately unworthy."

“If your military achievements, your strategic planning and command, and the victories you won at the cost of your life are not enough—then almost all of Ursus’s senior generals should be sent to the Royal Court.” Herag said calmly, unsure whether to laugh or grieve, “Although almost all of them are dead.”

"Time is the greatest killer."

The Patriot's voice was like a broken cassette tape, intermittent and fragmented.

"Besides, His Majesty said that soldiers serve the country, not their rank. No matter how outstanding a battlefield commander is, in the end, he cannot escape his identity, past, status, race, and everything else."

Hrag immediately said in a deep voice, "But His Majesty also said that what unites the Ursus people is not blood, but faith!"

Patriot saw through his thoughts and said calmly, "...But what about now?"

"Now? May Your Majesty rest in peace!"

Chapter 47 Rhodes Island, Worthy of Your Companionship

"The current emperor still treats you as monsters, not warriors of Ursus. In less than three years since he took office, he has overturned all the policies established by the previous emperor over the past thirty years and spread terrorism to every inch of Ursus's land. The propaganda persecuting the infected has become a means to divert attention from domestic contradictions such as the epidemic, famine, and riots. The first reaction of the poor who cannot afford to eat when they see the infected is not sympathy, but ridicule, because there are people who are worse off than them."

A look of disgust flashed in Hrag's eyes. Even though he had sworn allegiance to the empire and the emperor, the person he respected was not this tyrant.

“That magnanimous emperor has passed away, and I understand that. Ursus, with its countless war beasts, is enough to engulf the land. I am nothing, and I am unworthy of anything. I don’t care about the current emperor; I only want to stand shoulder to shoulder with my warriors.”

The patriot sighed deeply, as countless memories seeped through the cracks in the door, carrying endless sorrow.

Perhaps he was truly getting old; such sentimentality was truly unbelievable. Patriot gave a bitter laugh to himself. He took a white bottle from his military bag, adorned with the image of the Ursus Crown Eagle spreading its wings. The crystal-clear liquid swayed gently in the transparent container, reflecting a diamond-like brilliance.

"General, please sit. There's some wine left; I brought it from the north."

"...I don't have much time left. Let's catch up over drinks another time."

Helag concealed his excitement without a trace; more important than the tempting wine, the children at the clinic were waiting for him to return.

"Really... It's nothing." Patriot quietly put the bottle back in his bag and said calmly, "It's alright."

Patriot didn't know if he would ever have the chance to chat so calmly again. In order to catch up with the general, he had instructed his soldiers to collect supplies beforehand, and strictly forbade them from intimidating or venting their anger if they encountered any survivors of Chernobog along the way.

As a battlefield commander, Patriot knew the importance of supplies before troops could move, but... he couldn't change Talulah's mind on his own.

We can only take it one step at a time.

"General, I thought you were dead."

"Keeping an identity is also a form of death; I am no longer connected to the past."

"This place is not ideal as a place of seclusion."

"Yes, Chernobog is no longer a habitable place, regardless of whether it has been hit by natural disasters."

Hrag sighed deeply, knowing all too well that Chernobog's treatment of the infected had escalated over the years. Even the military and police sided with those who harmed the infected, and the public had gradually come to believe in this.

All violence against those infected is justified.

—This justice turned Chernobog into a dead city.

"I heard you're leaving."

Patriot's voice brought Hrag back to his senses, and he shook his head slightly.

“There’s no room for us here, and besides, my clinic was devastated and I have nowhere to go. I only decided to stay because I heard rumors about you.”

“I’m not worth it,” Patriot said in a deep voice. “This is dangerous.”

"Don't worry, even though I'm old, I haven't forgotten how to wield a knife."

Herag raised his longsword, brandished it, and chuckled, "Besides, I just wanted to see how one of my few remaining comrades was doing."

"That doesn't count; there's no connection."

"Heh, you're as quick-witted as ever," Herag asked with a light laugh. "Remember Black Crossbow Donpson?"

"I was by his side when he passed away."

"I heard his grandson was in the Reunion Movement, is he still alive?"