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Chapter 97: Awakening
From the crash of the shuttle to stumbling into the "Blue Lake" bar, and then Grant’s sudden appearance up until this very moment, Tang Fang had been like a silent observer, watching every twist and turn unfold before his eyes.
He tried countless times to speak, to rise to his feet, but his body wouldn’t respond. The damned Epsilon girl’s memoir kept playing in his head, scene after scene, never ceasing.
Time seemed endless—perhaps centuries or even millennia had passed. Eventually, the once picky eater grew into a graceful young woman.
She wore a sleek black robe that hugged her curvaceous form. Around her pale blue wrist was a silver moon bracelet, tinkling melodiously with each step she took.
On her forehead was etched a rune—a golden "ε," just like all Epsilon people.
This was a small valley where Tarola blossomed on both slopes. The light of Baruch and Baluno danced upon crystalline petals, creating shimmering halos of silvery white.
Tarola was not only a flower but also a mischievous little sprite. It stored sunlight during the day and, under the cover of night when Baruch and Baluno slept, secretly admired its stolen treasure.
At such times, the silvery glow would spill over the plains and mountains of Cerephus, draping the vast land in a dazzling, pristine veil.
Liana swept her gaze over those crystal blooms, unable to suppress a faint smile. Then, she turned her attention to the gentle cascade ahead. The azure stream flowed like smooth silk threads, intertwining softly. They moved quietly, like a sleeping child, spilling into a mirror-like pool below.
Stars twinkled above, their soft glow mingling with the mist that hung around the valley like morning fog. Truly, it was an idyllic retreat.
But the tranquility didn’t last long. Through the hazy night sky, shadows streaked across the heavens—one, then two, then three...
A deafening roar echoed from the skies, disturbing the placid waters of the pool. A gust of wind lifted Liana's robe, revealing a pair of delicate crystal boots.
Looking up at the gathering fleet of starships, their trident-like shapes glinting with silver light, panic flickered in her eyes. She whispered something, her small hand pressed against her lips.
Just then, figures appeared at the corner of the valley. Her parents ran toward her, faces etched with worry, waving and shouting. Seeing them as salvation, Liana sprinted toward the valley entrance.
The scene froze, then gradually faded to black. A cursor blinked, and a line of text appeared:
“Power on.”
“System restart, OK!”
“Init…”
“Prepare data…”
“…20%...30%...90%…”
“Release.”
“Run now!”
“…”
As the cursor flashed, Tang Fang felt a sudden brightness followed by a heavy sensation coursing through his spine.
Like electricity surging through newly connected circuits, bioelectric currents pulsed through him. Neural pathways reconnected to his brain, unleashing a flood of sensory feedback akin to a dam bursting after years of buildup.
The most vivid and intense sensation was pain. Every bone in his body felt disjointed, causing him to grimace. It wasn’t surprising—being hurled meters away by an explosion on Planet Namie, crashing to the ground, enduring the chaos of a runaway shuttle—it was miraculous he hadn’t felt this agony sooner.
“What nonsense is this, ‘power on!’ and ‘run now!’? I’m not some robot,” Tang Fang muttered under his breath. With a sudden effort, he pushed himself upright. Just then, little Sam made a dash for the door but was caught by the scruff of his neck.
“Stop right there. Where do you think you’re going?” Tang Fang demanded.
“Ah!” Sam jumped, startled that the man who’d been unconscious on the couch moments ago had suddenly awoken. He froze mid-step.
Monroe, standing opposite, was equally stunned. Despite the commotion caused earlier by Arroz and Housen, Tang Fang hadn’t stirred. Why wake now?
“You’re finally awake…” Arroz said with relief.
“Well, look who decided to join us! That nap of yours lasted quite a while,” another voice chimed in.
Arroz and Housen were ecstatic, as if they’d found their anchor amidst a storm. The thick cloud of anxiety that had loomed over them dissipated instantly.
At that moment, Old John emerged from behind. Spotting the expressions on Arroz and Housen’s faces, he paused, his weathered features betraying decades of life experience far beyond that of younger men.
Though he didn’t know much about Arroz and Housen’s origins, their actions since entering the bar spoke volumes—they were hardened warriors who had stared death in the face. So why did they defer to this young man?
He had assumed Arroz led the group, followed by Housen, with Tang Fang trailing behind. But he couldn’t have been more wrong. Their leader wasn’t the battle-scarred veteran—it was this twenty-something kid.
“You’re too young for this kind of thing,” Tang Fang remarked, snatching an old M-504 assault rifle from Sam’s hands and tossing it casually to Old John. Turning to Monroe, who stood dumbfounded at the doorway, he added, “Don’t worry. Grant’s got plenty of fight left in him. Let me grab a drink to clear my head, and we’ll check out what the military’s brought to the table.”
Monroe was baffled. This guy had been unconscious since arriving—how did he know Grant’s name? And how could he be so sure Grant was still alive?
Ignoring Monroe’s confusion, Tang Fang addressed Old John. “Old John, bring me a whiskey on the rocks.”
Old John blinked, staring at him as though seeing a ghost. Not only did this young man know Grant’s name, but he also knew his own. Was Tang Fang’s coma an act? Yet the reactions of the others suggested otherwise.
“The longer you delay, the worse Grant’s situation gets.” Tang Fang’s cold words struck Old John like thunder.
The elderly bartender swallowed hard, hurriedly retrieving a bottle of whiskey he’d kept hidden for over two decades. His hands trembled as he poured it into a glass, then remembered to add ice cubes from the bucket.
“Thanks,” Tang Fang said, raising the glass to sniff its contents. Satisfied, he nodded, tipped his head back, and drained the glass in one gulp.
“Let’s go.” Setting down the empty glass, he glanced at Arroz and Housen, who grinned eagerly. “Enough rest. Time to get to work.”
Housen rubbed his hands together in excitement. Arroz shrugged helplessly, hopped off his stool, and joined them.
Little Sam stared at Tang Fang, his eyes swirling with astonishment, confusion, suspicion, and a hint of exhilaration.
“Oh, and save that bottle for me—it’s mine. Keep an eye on this kid, will you?” Tang Fang said, stretching his stiff neck before walking leisurely toward the exit under Monroe’s watchful gaze.
“Aren’t you taking a weapon?” Monroe asked, eyeing Tang Fang’s casual attire.
Tang Fang offered a faint smile but gave no reply. Pushing open the door, he stepped outside. As Housen passed by, he flashed Monroe a sly grin and followed closely behind.
Monroe hesitated for a moment, then remembered something and rushed out the door. “Wait! I’ll guide you…” But his words trailed off as a line of heavily armed soldiers emerged from the shadowy alley between the supermarket and gym next door.
Some wore bulky armor, their arms mounted with ominous-looking cannons, resembling lumbering bears. Others sported lighter gear, wielding oversized rifles with peculiar designs.
Monroe glanced at the battered M-505 slung over his arm, then at the advanced weapons carried by the strangers. Beads of sweat formed on his brow.
Arroz patted him reassuringly on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. They’re on our side.”
“They… they are? Ours?”
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