I'll Wait for You on the Highest Rooftop

For humanity, Red Shoulders were generally no longer the despair-inducing entities they had been forty years ago. Over those forty years, humanity had upgraded through four generations of source energy apparatuses, doubling the combat efficiency of source weapons. Progress had also been made on every front, including high-end weaponry and life source energy. Even compared to Xilang Peak four years ago, humanity's top combat power now possessed stronger weapons, greater experience and conviction in battling Red Shoulders, source energy airships capable of risking their lives to coordinate, and recent upgrades brought by the newly equipped tenth-generation devices. An improvement of roughly thirty percent was a staggering figure. Consider athletics: if an elite, world-class athlete saw their performance boosted by thirty percent, what would that even look like? Yet none of this changed the fact that Red Shoulders remained terrifying entities. Especially under current conditions, humanity had no way of judging their scale and numbers—what if they began appearing in swarms? Wen Jifei, Rusty Sister, and Wu Xu facing two Red Shoulders at the same time—in a conventional battle, the outcome would almost certainly have been death. Because even with the most ordinary black-armored Great Spikes, one plus one was far greater than two. That was why Wu Xu had to divide the battlefield. His way of dividing it was to unleash Near-Death Surge and trade wound for wound, heavily injuring one of them first to leave for Rusty Sister and Wen Jifei, before drawing away the other, "fresh" one on his own. It had been the best, perhaps only, choice in that moment. No one had witnessed the process except Wen Jifei and Rusty Sister, and Xu'er likely hadn't even consulted them before acting. Yet wrapped within that silent choice were care, warmth, and a willingness to shoulder the burden—things Han Qingyu, Wen Jifei, and Rusty Sister all understood. In over four years together, that guy had never put such feelings into words. None of the others could bring it up with him, either. Even if you tried, he would only look at you in silence with that numb face and vacant stare... as if saying, *Are you crazy? Why are you being so cheesy?!* "How long has he been gone? You can't reach him?" Han Qingyu asked, dragging his column sword as he met the Red Shoulder. "Not long. His communicator might've gotten damaged in the fight," Wen Jifei said. He knew this because they could still reach each other, but Wu Xu was no longer on the channel, and neither was Yang Qingbai. He hadn't had time to ask about Yang Qingbai yet. "Rusty Sister, how are you holding up?" Han Qingyu parried a slash from the Red Shoulder and asked again. "I'm fine. Didn't shatter," Rusty Sister replied, meaning that where her iron armor had caved in at the shoulder, it hadn't fractured. This was perhaps the only stroke of luck right now, because past experience showed that once the iron armor cracked, the fading of Rusty Sister's life would begin. Aside from that, Yang Qingbai was in the air driving a train, leading around thirty Great Spike craft on his own, struggling and wheeling in a solitary, aimless flight. Wu Xu was wounded, had ignited his Near-Death Surge, and had drawn off a Red Shoulder to parts unknown. The sense of helplessness this brought Han Qingyu was even greater than when they had been forced into flight three years ago. Back then, they hadn't been strong; but now, he—they all—believed they had grown powerful, yet when faced with this new reality, they still couldn't protect the people beside them. "Good... That's good, then... Let's kill it." With that, Han Qingyu struck. All the struggle and helplessness inside him transformed into fury, pouring toward the Red Shoulder before him. It was already wounded. The gash Wu Xu had left across its abdomen had been continually torn open by Wen Jifei's bullets until it had become a gaping hole. As he attacked, the iron armor roared in pursuit behind him, and furious gunfire rang out not far away. ... *I wonder if Qingzi arrived in time...* Wu Xu glanced helplessly at the damaged communicator on his chest. At the same time, the Red Shoulder behind him let out a crazed roar as it pursued him relentlessly. The human before it was clearly heavily wounded and looked like he could be overtaken and killed at any moment. Yet as it chased him along the way, it could never bring the battle to an end. *Run! The further I lure it away, the better.* So Wu Xu thought. But where should he run? *Whatever. I don't know Linzhou anyway. Wherever there are fewer buildings, wherever looks deserted, that's where I'll go.* Neither the Rejecters nor ground monitoring could locate Wu Xu and that Red Shoulder. However, they could easily track Yang Qingbai and the airship, because he was up in the open sky, and the spectacle unfolding there was simply too magnificent. From Huaxia to the Coalition Council, and particularly across the Coalition's airship research institutions, countless eyes were fixed on this unbelievable aerial pursuit. Judging by the disparity in craft numbers and performance, Yang Qingbai should have died long ago. Yet he hadn't; he was still holding on. Time and again, he miraculously survived that airborne encirclement. It was, perhaps, the greatest aerial combat performance to date in humanity's history of source energy aviation. And humanity's source energy aviation history was less than two years old. "Fuck! Your father lived again!" Narrowly evading a ramming attempt from below, the tail of the Needlefish scraped right past the nose of the Great Spike craft. Yang Qingbai drew a ragged, deep breath. Under his visor, blood trickled from his nostrils and the corners of his mouth. Even the specialized flight suit could no longer offer complete protection. Yet he hadn't noticed. Just as he hadn't noticed the upturned faces and gazes of soldiers and civilians on the ground, or the rapt attention directed at him from every corner of the world. The Rejecters didn't dare distract him too much either, for every second Yang Qingbai lived hung by a single thread. Only on the pilot's channel did various pieces of intelligence and data—essentially meaningless by now—continue to pour in: "Southwest corner: two more shuttle craft have appeared, expected to be drawn to you shortly." "The number of Great Spike craft behind you has reached thirty-four." "..." "*Cough!* Can you tell me something useful?" Yang Qingbai managed to squeeze out words in a rare lull. "Like... is there any way to save me?" Silence met him on the other end. At the Coalition Council, a throng of air combat officers, researchers, and council members were packed together outside the entrance to the supreme command headquarters. "Save him!" Voices rose in an impassioned wave as they pleaded urgently. Saving him would provide invaluable experience to elevate the combat capabilities of the entire air force; saving him would yield countless aerial combat insights to assist further improvements in human airships; saving him would carry immense symbolic significance, boosting the confidence of all mankind. Or perhaps, for some of them, they simply couldn't accept watching him die like this—when so many were looking up at him, yet no one could lift a hand to help. "We can't save him. Even if every source energy airship in the entire Huaxia War Zone took off right now, there would only be twenty-two! Even if every single one of those ships were destroyed in midair, we still couldn't save him." "Humanity does not yet possess aerial superiority." "He's on his own." This was the conclusion reached after calm deliberation by the command staff—cruel, but true. This was a war. To date, over fourteen million people had perished across the globe. "Alright," Yang Qingbai muttered into the silent communicator with a faint chuckle. "I'll try on my own." "The sea... Fuck it, I might not make it there after all." "Still, I didn't wait three years just to go out in a blaze of glory right off the bat. I haven't even broken through this dome yet." Yang Qingbai cut off communications across almost all channels to focus entirely on piloting, on surviving into the next second... He stopped thinking about direction, routes, and even energy consumption. A sudden feeling of immersion washed over him. Yang Qingbai felt as though he were no longer flying over a city, but drifting alone across a vast, boundless galaxy... Perils lurking everywhere, endless and vast. With no road ahead, and no way back. Yet it was thrilling. Even knowing he was hurtling toward death, Yang Qingbai still found it exhilarating—an instinctive joy of flight that welled from the depths of his soul. ... At roughly the same time, the pilot of another human aircraft about to enter Linzhou's airspace suddenly chose to bank away. "Reporting to the Commander: conditions in the airspace over Linzhou are currently extremely perilous. We are preparing to divert around it and proceed to the Shenghai battlefield." The man in the cabin was explaining the reason for the turn to an old man. In this world, there was only one person who could be addressed simply as "the Commander." This morning, with the battle in Yuzhou temporarily stabilized, Chen Buer had boarded a dedicated aircraft to rush to the Shenghai battlefield. "Oh? Why? What's going on over Linzhou?" the old man asked curiously. "Reporting to the Commander..." The aide detailed the situation in the skies over Linzhou, adding, "Starting last night, Stream Vanguard engaged the enemy across three locations. That craft belongs to them, and the pilot is named Yang Qingbai..." ... *Crackle! Crackle!* Static suddenly flared across the channel that had already been shut down. It seemed some highest-level frequency was forcibly breaking in. "Fuck! Are you out of your mind?" That wondrous immersion had been broken, and the gloom of marching toward death rushed back. Yang Qingbai cursed in irritation. The person on the other end didn't take offense. With a gentle chuckle, the voice over the communicator said, "I hear you're driving a train up in the sky, young man?" An aged voice, sounding somewhat familiar. Yang Qingbai was stunned. "You..." "Chen Buer." "Commander?!" "Who else?" Chen Buer said. "I just had someone check. Not far ahead and to your left along your flight path, there's an area with very tall buildings... Well? Since you're so skilled, do you have what it takes to drive that train over here?" "Huh?" Yang Qingbai gasped in astonishment. "I'll wait for you on the highest rooftop." "I... I can try, but Commander, the Great Spike craft behind me..." "Don't worry. I am Chen Buer." "...Yes! Commander!" The cluster of buildings wasn't far, visible within sight. Yang Qingbai took a deep breath and began working to create an opening. At the same time, to the northwest of Linzhou, behind the tallest skyscraper among a cluster of high-rises, a human aircraft was rapidly pulling away, hauling up the dead iron chain it had used for rappelling. The aircraft soon vanished into the horizon. Yet it had left a person on the rooftop. A white-haired old man carrying a blade named Zhanhong across his back, standing calmly on the rooftop amid the whistling high-altitude wind.