I'm fighting Kal'tsit? Really?

Angelina leaned closer to the window, trying to find the trail left by the signal flare. However, with the conspicuous warning signal in the sky, the chaos already present in the post station intensified, and she had no idea where the messenger of the natural disaster was now.

"Go help people first, Ange!" Provence's voice came from behind her. "I'm searching the geological logs. That messenger might have left behind data on the ley lines. We need to know where the natural disaster will occur. Can you go and find the messenger's location first?!"

“I understand!” Ange turned around and exchanged a glance with Saria… Well, although she couldn’t see what Saria’s attitude was now, the Vyvan had obviously nodded to her as well.

Then the staff in her hand began to work, and Angelina leaped out of the window, her coat fluttering in the wind. After a brief moment of falling, she was instantly lifted into the sky.

At least for this moment, the sky is her domain.

Meanwhile, Seria and Provence appeared much more experienced than the little fox. The moment the signal flare went off, they began searching the handover room for any usable clues.

The first thing Provence sought out was a portion of the documents that were sealed in the archives.

Disaster messengers must leave regional records in the handover room so that when subsequent disaster messengers arrive at the station, they can find and analyze the data and documents recording natural disasters and regional conditions. Similarly, geological reports and detailed records of natural disasters are also sealed in the room.

The laboratory was right next to the archives, where the messengers used to analyze geological data.

The moment she pushed open the wooden door to the archives with her tail, the blue light activated by the detection system swept across Provence's pupils, then slowly opened a passage for her.

Inside the archives, eight sets of double-layered metal filing cabinets are arranged along the wall. Each drawer has a copper label slot embedded on the outside. The faded ink of "[Terra Calendar 1093-1097, Southwest Quadrant Geological Activity Monitoring]" is marked on the outer label, with some kind of blue residue, possibly from dried Originium crystallization inhibitor, on the edge.

Provence tried to open the cabinets labeled "[1097]" one by one in order, but she struggled to open them and found a huge pile of file folders crammed inside, almost blocking the entire cabinet.

When she removed the file folders, she found that the cabinet was almost the same mess, as if it had been forcibly ransacked, with documents and envelopes scattered everywhere, covering the floor.

It even looks like someone has tidied it up, otherwise there would be no need to put those file folders inside.

Combining the commander's previous statement with the facts, some questions now seem to have been answered.

But Provence wasn't too bothered; he simply removed the top part and reached deep into the cabinet—

Given the potential impact of power outages, paper-based documents are gaining popularity, especially after the devastating "Black Bee" typhoon in Ticalonto last year. However, in most cases, Colombian messengers store large amounts of data electronically.

When her hand finally touched the deepest button, the lattice storage rack automatically rose, and the crystal bar sealed in the hexagonal groove fell into her hand.

According to the operating instructions inside the cabinet, these black prisms should be inserted into the differential scanner in the adjacent laboratory for reading. The dates marked in white paint on the crystal bars indicate that the last data update was thirteen days ago.

Provence barely paused, using the force of its tail to spring up from the ground and turn to run towards the laboratory.

She rushed to the door, grabbed the doorknob, and twisted it forcefully.

Click, click.

It cannot be opened from this side.

"Oh no..." Provence then realized that they hadn't entered through proper channels and therefore didn't have a key.

She turned to Saria: "The door is locked, we need to find the key—"

boom!

Before she could finish speaking, Saria's fist had already slammed into the door.

The enamel-covered arm pierced straight through the mechanical lock, and the entire door twisted and deformed under the impact. The alarm system didn't even have time to sound before it was destroyed along with the lock.

“I’ve found some clues,” Saria said, shoving open the rickety doorframe with her shoulder. Her gaze swept quickly across every corner of the lab. “The messengers here seem to be having some problems. We need to hurry and catch up with Operator Angelina.”

"The question?" Provence followed closely behind, stepping over the threshold. "Was he silenced?"

Seria gently shook her head, handed Provence the identification documents, and immediately began to observe the surroundings: "I'm not sure. I just checked the room, and there were obvious signs of ransacking. Personal belongings were torn apart, and there was a lot of dried blood that hadn't been cleaned up. I don't understand why the perpetrator chose not to clean up the scene immediately—"

Before she could finish speaking, her pupils suddenly contracted, and her body reacted before her mind could process it.

"Get down."

She gave a low shout, her voice almost exploding close to Provence's ear, and without the slightest hesitation, she reached out and grabbed his collar, pulling him forcefully to the ground.

Before Provence could react, her neck was gripped tightly, and she was thrown backward. Before her brain could process what was happening, her back was pressed against the cold tiles, followed by a violent gust of air brushing past her head, and then a sharp whistling sound as something exploded with a bang where they had just been standing.

By the time she slowly got up, Saria had already stood up, her gaze fixed on a corner of the room.

The white light emanating from the palm enveloped the corner of the wall, neutralizing the initial impact and source of infection.

“Originium bomb.” Saria turned to the silent Provence and explained, “We’re lucky. They probably wanted to wait until someone was completely inside the room before detonating it with a delay, so as to maximize the coverage of the kill radius. Otherwise, we wouldn’t have been able to protect the contents of the lab right now.”

However, Provence just nodded blankly. In the immediate aftermath of the explosion, she thought of the crystal bar in her hand, not her own life.

But soon, she no longer had the time to think about what the current situation really meant.

Only when they shifted their attention from the sudden explosion to the scene inside the room did they realize that what they were looking for was already there.

In the 60-square-meter space, the geological analysis table alone occupies one-third of the entire room. A microscope with an Originium dust filter is fixed on the table, and a glass slide is still clipped to the objective lens.

Half of a waveform diagram remained on the blackboard on the wall, unerased. The height of the resonance peak, marked in red chalk, had exceeded the warning line. Next to it, in white chalk, was written: "[10km southeast? Level 5.]"

"This appears to be the epicenter predicted by the previous Cataclysmic Messenger." Saria gently placed her hand on the blackboard, looking at the data. "Can we deduce the time elapsed since the Cataclysm?"

"It will take time, but roughly based on the cycle above, it is most likely to happen sometime today. The current soil temperature indicates that a natural disaster is imminent. Fortunately, we can still determine which way to evacuate people."

Provence slowly walked to the blackboard. She looked down at the ground, where a notebook lay quietly open on the anti-magnetic safe in the corner.

The safe showed signs of forced entry, but it was now completely empty.

She cautiously approached; the latest page contained notes from thirteen days prior.

So she picked up her notebook and quickly flipped through the last part:

[This is a record from Kellerb, the messenger of natural disasters.]

[For the past three days, I've been gathering information about the climate on the western side of the Gaspar Wasteland, hoping to find traces of a natural disaster... Strangely, the weather phenomena I've been observing recently have all been normal, yet the soil temperature has remained consistently off.]

[Through the instruments, I also detected some unusual leyline fluctuations (note in red above: rejected by Commander Roy during the handover to the control panel). I sent these clues to Ticalendo, hoping my crew could find some new leads. Perhaps this also means a research paper? I don't know.]

Something's been off at the post station lately. The soldier who greeted me earlier seems to have been transferred back to the rear, and a new batch of better-equipped guys has arrived. I think this is a good thing for them. That's how it is in the wilderness; you don't get much money here, and there's not even basic bathing or entertainment... Forget about all that. I hope those who come after me won't care about my notes here. Messengers of natural disasters should have faith; pleasure is too far removed from our lives.

Seriously, I hope this isn't a big problem. I'll go find the commander here later and ask about the details.

(From this point on, several pages of the diary were torn out, leaving only the last few sentences written.)

I really wish I had my own diary, so I wouldn't have to tear up the official notes.

[If any messengers or my friends are reading this notebook later, please leave. The commander here wants to conceal the Cataclysm; they want everyone else to perish along with this outpost. I should have known when all my belongings were taken during the search. Now they're looking for me; perhaps I should fight them.]

I'm going to risk my life.

Friend, hurry and leave, lest you lose your life. This natural disaster only gives us thirteen days to catch our breath.

There's no hope here.

The ink smudged into a large blotch here, as if someone had pressed the bottom of a wet coffee cup directly onto the paper.

Turn the page again, and a photo falls down from above.

Provence's fingertips hovered above the dark brown stain on the surface of the photograph.

In the image, even the dust mask couldn't hide the wide grin on the young man's face. His left arm tightly embraced a wide-eyed film girl, while his right hand flashed a V-sign that tilted the camera angle by half an inch. The girl's ears were flushed red, her chin resting on the protruding studs on the boy's shoulder armor. Her eyelashes, framed by the harsh sunlight of the wasteland, formed two golden curves, reflecting in her purple eyes.

At least in this photo, their gaze is always looking towards the future.

--------

Pegasus gently pushed the power armor by the wrist holding the heat exchange valve at the back, and the military armor that he had almost crushed into dust instantly became like a bird with broken wings, plummeting straight down the plaza below in an arc.

Perhaps the hovering system in the power armor reacted to the situation; the thrusters erupted in chaotic blue flames three seconds into the fall, sending it hurtling straight toward the distant billboard like a comet streaking across the sky. Its left leg armor plate, unable to withstand the pressure, was torn off, scraping against the inn's sign and slicing through the screen displaying the arms company's advertisement.

The dull thud of the impact slowed the soldiers below by a fraction of a second. They saw the back cushioning layer of the power armor crumple up like a crushed aluminum can.

The Rust Hammer member, enveloped in the dust rising from the ground, slowly walked toward the commander who had fallen from the sky.

No one dared to attack him with crossbows anymore, and even the remaining soldiers didn't know why they were still there.

Yes...that's right, a natural disaster is about to strike. The disaster messenger has lit a signal flare. All we need to do now is follow the messenger's instructions to evacuate. There's absolutely no need to stay here and continue fighting this rusty hammer bastard.

Thinking this, the first person put down the crossbow in his hand.

Then came the second, and the third.

The soldiers who had insisted on staying put were now powerless to resist their panic. They knew that they would die in no time if they faced someone who could destroy the main outpost with his bare hands and take down Colombia’s strongest power armor. So the signal from the sky became their only way out.

They didn't even bother with Angelina, who was flying in the air and using her Originium Arts to help them escape, even though they had just received orders to capture her.

This is the purest form of struggle, a mere attempt to survive.

After most of the soldiers had run away, Gerald walked over to the power armor and removed the levitation system from it with his hands—although he didn't really understand this part, it didn't mean he couldn't ask Saria for help later.

"Cough...cough cough."

A muffled cough, the resonance of the metal cavity, emanated from inside the power armor, each vibration causing fresh beads of blood to seep from the deformed control compartment. Although Gerald had added a layer of wind upon landing to prevent direct impact on the power armor's integrity, the direct impact still caused considerable damage to the commander's internal organs.

His true death is probably just a matter of finding someone to give him a blow to the head.

And just as death never hesitates to use its claws—a soldier-like figure slowly emerged from the exit where the other soldiers had retreated, walking straight toward them.

Behind the mask, purple pupils gleamed with hatred under the crimson sky.

“I see.” The commander could only lie on his side, watching the Grim Reaper who wanted to kill him approach step by step. He breathed slowly, understanding dawning on him, and even had the composure to smile and say, “I thought it was something else, but it turns out to be a friend of the Cataclysmic Messenger… Thank goodness, thank goodness it’s not someone from Thor Industries or Blacksteel.”

He strained to move his neck, trying to see what the person who had defeated him looked like: "You were also hired by that person? I'm really unlucky."

"Maybe not."

Gerald sighed softly and walked up to the soldier who was advancing.

The soldier slowly raised her head and looked at the person standing in her path.

"You want to stop me?"

Unlike her eccentric demeanor in front of Angelina and the others, this "soldier" now exuded a ferocious, bloodthirsty aura. Her pretense and disguise had long been forgotten; she now resembled a monster that had lost its mind.

"Although I can sense your urge to tear someone to pieces, I hope you can act quickly and not be disturbed by some people."

Gerald pulled a dagger he had picked up from the ground from his pocket and tried to hand it to the soldier who was suddenly at a loss: "Want to use this? It's better than a crossbow, I've tried it."

The soldier, witnessing this unexpected turn of events, remained silent for a moment before nodding and taking the dagger from Gerald's hand.

He could sense the vengeful aura emanating from this soldier.

But to be honest, he didn't care who was right or wrong, or whether revenge was blind or not. Even the question of whether to kill, to turn into a human pig or to skin him alive, was irrelevant to him. He did it for one very simple reason.

This woman doesn't have much time left to live. There's no need for anyone else to interrupt this revenge process and reveal the truth. Let him remember these things he's seen countless times and is destined to forget.

Hearing a tragic story from a stranger can make him feel worse.

But clearly, some people don't think so.

"Hurry! Evacuate to the exit immediately! The cataclysm is coming!" Angelina, who had been flying back and forth countless times, desperately using Originium Arts to guide others and carry supplies, finally returned to the center of the post station. She stared blankly at the scene before her: "Wait a minute—are you, the one who fired the signal flare?! That soldier!"

what.

The wind carried the footsteps of the other two people to his ears.

His brows, hidden beneath his hood, relaxed slightly as he looked at the little fox girl who had descended from the sky and stood between the three of them.

The good news is that there will always be children who are willing to listen to these stories, which may be sad or painful.

Chapter Sixty-Five: Flowers Blooming in the Story (4K)

"In short, you two, please evacuate first! A natural disaster is about to strike!"

Angelina knew that her words sounded somewhat abrupt, even lacking in emotional intelligence—but what could she do when, like her friends in Liberi who were kept in the dark, she had no idea what was going on from beginning to end?

All she could do was try her best to do what she was best at.

As soon as she finished speaking, she immediately felt three gazes fall on her simultaneously—gazes filled with different emotions, yet all imposing, making her freeze instantly, as if she had been frozen in place.

...Angelina realized something at that moment.

Today will be the hardest day of her life so far.

Gerald found the girl's frozen expression of fear even more intriguing.

The girl from Volper in front of me started by finding Provence and collecting data from her monitoring ring; then she ran wildly across the wilderness for half an hour to help warn of the natural disaster; then she accidentally entered the post station, escaped from the post station, and met Seria and herself; finally, she came to the post station to take on part of the duties of a messenger of the natural disaster, guiding others to evacuate.

Even though she had no idea what was going on at all.

She just kept running and moving forward, as if everyone else knew what they had to do, but she was the only one being passively swept along.

A sense of responsibility guided her, and even though her job as a messenger had never required her to do this, Angelina did it without complaint.

This kindness, stemming from the depths of her heart, cannot be altered by hardship. Even when facing storms and trials, she can forcefully push through the rain and forge her own path. She will experience setbacks and hardships; her future is destined to be anything but smooth sailing. But her journey will surely be as brilliant and dazzling as crystal under the sunlight.

At least that's what Gerald thinks—he's becoming increasingly interested in Rhodes Island.

"Good luck, ma'am." Gerald left a trail of wind beside Angelina and took the lead in making his exit: "I'll leave this to you. Be careful."

He deliberately left a wind mark on Saria before the operation, so he could track her location at any time. The buildings in the post station were not far apart, and he had heard their conversation clearly, having already digested the key information.