When Luo Yu put on his helmet and logged back into the game world, he discovered he was only a hundred meters or so above the ground and instantly tensed up.
An ejection seat might look unremarkable, but its technological complexity was anything but low. In fact, it was no exaggeration to call it one of the most complex auxiliary systems on a fighter aircraft.
The entire mechanism comprised thousands of individual components. The pilot needed only to ensure sufficient altitude and pull the handle; every action from canopy jettison to touchdown was automatically carried out according to program.
It could be considered remarkably convenient.
However—
Convenience was predicated on normal circumstances.
Luo Yu would never believe in a million years that the ejection seat Mosquito had cobbled together had thousands of parts. If it had even five hundred, the guy was being generous!
Pessimistically speaking, the whole ejection seat might just be some gunpowder stuffed under the cushion, with a delayed-action fuze to pop the chute.
As for any automated life-saving sequences...
Luo Yu felt that leaving it to fate was a far more accurate description.
The parachute swaying in the wind was like a tiny boat adrift in raging rapids. Through Luo Yu’s frantic, sweat-drenched efforts, he managed to crash into the ground without serious injury.
Using a dagger to slash through the suspension lines that had nearly wrapped around his neck, Luo Yu leaned against a nearby boulder and dry-heaved for quite a while before finally looking up to assess his surroundings.
This was a desolate, uninhabited gravel desert. The ground was strewn with coarse gravel and jagged stones. Looking north, the view was open and unobstructed, while looking south revealed rolling sand dunes and layered mountain ridges.
No matter which direction he looked, there was not a single human figure in sight.
Returning to the ejection seat, Luo Yu dug out a crumpled, dented first-aid kit from beneath the chair.
Inside were a map, a compass, 1.25 liters of fresh water, 500 grams of compressed rations, an emergency water filter, a flashlight, a lighter, and various other survival tools.
In addition, there was a 9mm pistol and two loaded magazines.
For once in his life, Brother Mosquito had not cut corners on such "pointless" provisions, which made Luo Yu heave a sigh of relief.
Yet when he opened the map, he froze.
It was a pre-war civilian map. Never mind useful geographical details—it didn't even have basic contour lines. Meanwhile, the roads, buildings, and landmarks that could have served as reference points had vanished two centuries ago.
"Holy crap... how am I supposed to navigate with this?!"
Just as Luo Yu was racking his brain, he noticed the mountain range to the south.
"Wait, mountains to the south?"
A thought struck him, and he suddenly recalled what Battlefield Guy had shared on the forums about his experiences at Oasis 8.
*To the north of Oasis 8 is a mountain range. Once you leave the Golden Lizard Kingdom's borders and cross those mountains, you hit the Wandering Marsh... hisss.*
Luo Yu sucked in a sharp breath.
Good grief.
He had actually drifted into Academy territory!
Still, it seemed there was some distance between here and the Wandering Marsh. As far as the eye could see, it was just barren gravel desert with no sign of marshland.
"North of Sunset Province... that's all the info I have. Guess I'll still have to head to higher ground to figure something out."
Luo Yu glanced toward the mountains to the south.
Past those mountains lay the Golden Lizard Kingdom. If all else failed, he could head there to ask for directions. Now that the Alliance was sweeping through Sunset Province like wildfire, and even the desert's former hegemon, the Lion Kingdom, had become a de facto vassal of the Alliance, the locals at Oasis 8 probably wouldn't make things hard for him.
Besides, he remembered that the rogue Hawk fighter had seemed to crash in that direction as well.
He might as well look for it on the way.
Gathering all his supplies, Luo Yu checked the pistol's magazine and set off toward where he recalled the Hawk fighter coming down.
He walked south for about an hour.
Just as Luo Yu was starting to wonder if he had taken a wrong turn, he finally spotted the propeller aircraft marooned on a patch of flat ground.
The cockpit canopy was covered in a spiderweb of cracks, and with total darkness all around, it was impossible to see what was inside.
Flicking off the pistol's safety, Luo Yu approached cautiously and shouted in accented Human Alliance language,
"Hey, anyone alive in there?"
No response.
Frowning, Luo Yu pulled out his flashlight and shone the beam forward.
The beam struck the canopy glass.
At that exact instant, a creaking rattle came from inside the cockpit, and a face suddenly slammed against the fractured glass.
The hideous visage gave Luo Yu such a fright that his finger nearly pulled the trigger to blast it apart, but he managed to check himself at the brink.
Good heavens!
A gnawer?!
Simultaneously, a garbled sound came from behind the cracked glass.
"Da... da..."
Luo Yu: "???"
What the hell?
He didn't recall having a son, nor was he willing to acknowledge that such an ugly monster could have come from him.
For a moment, he couldn't tell who was insulting whom.
Yet the creature in the cockpit seemed utterly fixated on him, calling out incessantly, though its voice grew weaker and weaker until it fell completely silent.
Luo Yu swallowed hard.
Just as he hesitated over whether to step closer and take a look, a noise suddenly came from behind a nearby boulder.
Hearing the sound, his alarm flared. He snapped his pistol toward the noise and barked sharply,
"Who's there?"
A whisper as faint as a mosquito's hum drifted from behind the rock, laced with an unexpected trace of grievance.
"...Ee-woo."
Hearing that sound, Luo Yu froze on the spot.
His Adam's apple bobbed. Lowering his pistol, he called out tentatively in an uncertain voice,
"...Little Yu?"
"Ee-woo!"
The voice instantly turned cheerful.
A rustling noise came from behind the boulder, and a graceful, slender figure soon emerged from the shadows.
The hem of its scarlet "skirt" rippled like waves as Little Yu skittered forward in brisk, tiny steps, arriving right in front of him.
Its abstract facial contours revealed no clear expression, but the tentacles undulating behind its head like serpentine hair laid its sheer joy bare.
Luo Yu looked with surprise at Little Yu, who could hardly be called a little guy anymore.
Having not seen it for a while, it seemed to have grown a bit taller. The carapace on its skirt had thickened, and its facial features had become closer to human.
However, it hadn't completely copied his appearance; it was more as if it had used his features as a template and blended in softer contours.
Yet what surprised him right now wasn't Little Yu's changes, but how it had ended up here.
Looking back at the "gnawer" in the Hawk's cockpit, realization dawned on him, and he turned to Little Yu with wide eyes.
"Did... you do this?"
"Ee-woo!" Little Yu chirped happily, looking for all the world like it was showing off proudly.
Luo Yu had no idea why he could understand its vocalizations, but the emotion carried in its melodious tone was not difficult to read.
Perhaps it was the bond of shared blood.
After all, it was a special mother synthesised from his own DNA template.
To be honest, the relationship was too convoluted for him to fully untangle.
"...Once this war is over, I really need to visit Lost Valley again and get some straight answers from that guy White Dove."
Then again...
This fellow's skill was pretty overpowered!
Not only could it zombify organisms, but while achieving mental assimilation, it could also allow them to retain part of their past experience and knowledge from when they were human—and even proactively inherit knowledge and experience from the mother.
While the thought was somewhat terrifying when dwelled upon, it didn't seem unreasonable for a game.
Rather, this was precisely what suited an SSSR-tier divine pet!
Mother of Death and the like were complete weaklings by comparison!
"Ee-woo!"
Watching Little Yu circle excitedly around him, Luo Yu had a sudden thought and asked,
"You're saying... you have something to show me?"
"Ee-woo!"
Little Yu nodded vigorously and took the lead, not forgetting to wrap a tentacle lightly around his wrist.
Luo Yu looked back at the wreckage behind him, tapped his earpiece to snap a photo, and then followed Little Yu.
After walking for about twenty minutes, the player and the mother arrived at an open, level clearing.
There, sitting alone amid the expanse of broken stones, was a massive propeller aircraft.
The moment he saw the Dragonfly transport plane, Luo Yu's eyes widened in excitement. He clenched his fists, having to use every ounce of self-control to suppress the "holy fuck" welling up to his lips.
"Holy crap... did you fly this over?"
"Ee-woo!"
Little Yu nodded proudly, its pleased expression practically asking, *Do you like it?*
"Haha! Absolutely fantastic!" Unable to contain his thrill, Luo Yu praised it and reached out to pat Little Yu's head. "Great job!"
Now he wouldn't even need someone to pick him up.
He could fly back on his own!
Holstering his pistol, Luo Yu climbed into the fuselage in high spirits and made his way familiarly into the cockpit.
He hadn't flown this transport often, but he had taken the controls once or twice; operating it wasn't overly difficult.
The cockpit was overrun with slime mold. Crimson mycelial clusters nearly engulfed the seat and had crept over the console and flight stick.
While the sight looked rather grotesque, Luo Yu had spent so much time around Little Yu that he was thoroughly accustomed to it and didn't find it much of a bother.
Settling into the familiar seat, Luo Yu reached out and flipped the master power switch. But the moment his eyes landed on the instrument panel, his eyebrows twitched violently.
The needle rested firmly below the zero mark. The battery had been sucked completely dry, down to the very last drop.
With a pained grimace, Luo Yu released the throttle lever and slumped back into the seat.
"Fuck me!"
Just when he had been handed a shred of hope, despair had snatched it right back.
Thinking about it, it made sense.
How could a Dragonfly transport possess that kind of range? He shouldn't have indulged in such unrealistic fantasies from the start.
As Luo Yu sat there with a long face, Little Yu, who had just followed him into the cockpit, knew none of his woes. Hearing a familiar phrase, it chimed in excitedly,
"Fuck!"
Hearing the word from behind him, Luo Yu nearly choked on his own spit. He bolted up from his seat and hurried to lecture the little creature.
"Don't copy that! It's not a nice word!"
"Ee-woo?" Little Yu tilted its head, the tentacles behind its neck undulating with ripples of confusion, seemingly unable to understand his reaction.
While Luo Yu was busy scolding Little Yu, several figures approached the Hawk fighter the pair had passed earlier.
If Luo Yu were still there, he would have been astonished to find that the pilot of the Sabre he was supposed to have blown up had not died, but survived.
Yet even though he was alive, his battered, soot-stained state was hardly enviable.
At this moment, an avant-garde pair of handcuffs bound his wrists, and he was flanked like a prisoner between two heavily armed guards.
Several men in white uniforms stood before him, whispering with great interest as they studied the slime-mold-infested propeller aircraft, seemingly conferring over something.
"Mutant slime mold? There's slime mold in a godforsaken dump like this?"
"The infected subject's cells and tissues have undergone necrosis along with the slime mold. All vital signs are completely gone... looks just like a desiccated corpse."
"Fascinating... definitely worth researching."
Taking in the gruesome carnage inside the cockpit, Yukar's face turned pale.
The thing that had opened fire on him in the sky earlier was actually a gnawer...
What kind of absurd technology did those barbarians possess?!
Turning living humans into gnawers—what sheer evil!
The man leading the group turned back toward the detained Yukar and remarked with keen interest,
"Sunset Province shouldn't have slime mold. This filth must have been brought in from outside. Perhaps you could enlighten me?"
"I don't know," Yukar said, his face ashen as he glared at the man. "How could I know what those bastards calling themselves the Alliance are up to? Why don't you go ask them?"
"The Alliance..." A man who looked like an attendant repeated the word, pondering for a moment before saying, "I think I've heard of them."
Another attendant spoke up.
"The survivor settlement that mingles with the Enterprise seems to be called the Alliance."
"Mm." The lead man nodded. "I've heard of them as well."
Yukar stared tensely at the group, finally unable to hold back.
"Who on earth are you people!"
The lead man made no attempt to conceal it, stating concisely,
"Li Ke. Operative with the Foreign Affairs Division Special Projects Group, Class-B Researcher."
Upon hearing the first part, Yukar's face was completely blank. Only when he heard the word *researcher* did it click instantly.
"You... you're from the Academy?" A trace of disbelief laced his voice.
"Indeed," Li Ke said, glancing at him with a faint sneer. "Stupid Wilante, congratulations on finally noticing the obvious."
"What do you want?" Yukar asked warily.
"That is not for you to worry about."
Li Ke lightly flicked his index finger.
Yukar felt a slight prick on his wrist.
He glared furiously at the man, about to demand what had been done to him, only to discover his throat felt frozen. Not a single syllable could escape.
Cold sweat beaded on his forehead.
The look in Yukar's eyes turned to sheer horror.
Li Ke casually shifted his gaze away from him, looking once more toward the Hawk fighter whose cockpit was overrun with slime mold.
The slime mold and its infected host had reached the end of their lifespans together. Human cells and slime mold cells had withered simultaneously, with no spores released to carry genetic information.
It was the first time he had ever seen such a bizarre form of symbiosis.
Undoubtedly, it was an evil technology.
However—
His eyes sparkled with avid curiosity, and he murmured under his breath,
"Fascinating."
...
The next day, dusk.
Hauling fully loaded tanks and armored grenadiers, the long serpentine convoy finally wound along the mountain road and reached the checkpoint below Hill 330.
Sitting in one of the trucks near the center of the column, a man whose thick beard was tucked into a scarf looked toward Hill 330, his face revealing an involuntary surge of emotion.
Past that mountain lay a plateau, and beyond that was the territory of the Honey Badger Kingdom.
Through countless trials and hardships, he had finally returned.
It was not just Marshal Yade of the Restoration Army who was emotional; the soldiers of the Restoration Army advancing alongside the Skeleton Corps were equally stirred.
Unlike those soldiers, however, most of the players sitting in the trucks wore gloomy expressions.
Many of them had been driving for nearly two days without encountering even a shred of decent resistance.
Having so much energy with nowhere to spend it was infuriating!
At the very front of the convoy, the checkpoint barrier was lowered.
With a rifle slung across his chest, Construction Site Boy and Bricks walked forward with a few Strength-type players, grinning as he yelled toward the halted convoy,
"Vehicles ahead, halt! Leave your toll behind!"
Sitting atop a tank hull, Elven King Fugui shouted back with a cheeky grin,
"Are two 155mm rounds enough? If not, we can throw in another!"
"We'll take 'em! Do you do home delivery?"
"Guaranteed doorstep delivery! Just point to a spot, and we'll send them right over!"
Construction Site Boy and Bricks's eyes lit up, and he chuckled.
"That generous? In that case, help us blast our corps commander to kingdom come!"
Sitting next to Fugui, Elaina burst out laughing upon hearing that.
"Brother, sounds like there's a story there."
Elven King Fugui pressed curiously as well.
"Do tell! How did Brother Edge mistreat you guys this time?"
Construction Site Boy and Bricks sighed, looking thoroughly sorrowful.
"Ah! It's all tears! Ever since our corps commander requisitioned a batch of tricycles from logistics, Brother Edge hasn't treated us like human beings!"
Beside him, a newbie named Outlaw also wore a miserable look.
"Pedaling tricycles the entire way shook us half to pieces. This game is too hard!"
Another newbie nodded in heartfelt agreement.
"Seriously! Completely inhuman!"
As the newbies babbled their complaints, Brother Edge came walking up from behind the checkpoint, accompanied by In Debt God, who was on crutches.
That guy was truly pitiful.
Earlier, he had led a few Intelligence-type newbies in a charge up the hill, only for his glory to last less than three seconds before he collapsed just a couple paces up the slope.
If he had actually died, that would have been that, but he hadn't fully kicked the bucket.
Later, during battlefield cleanup, his teammates dug him out from the pile of corpses, only to discover he had merely taken a bullet to the leg, missing all vital areas. The reason he hadn't been able to reconnect was likely that he had bumped his head on the way down, suffering a physical concussion.
Considering Intelligence-types rarely got the chance to charge, and unwilling to waste even a sliver of experience, In Debt God hadn't opted to let his teammates "deny" him.
Listening to the newbies' grievances, Brother Edge looked a bit awkward. Just as he was about to placate everyone, In Debt God beat him to it, chuckling slyly.
"See, that's where you're mistaken. Gene sequences only get stronger when you push them! On the surface you're sweating bullets, but in reality you're growing through that sweat. Doesn't that make you feel a whole lot better?"
The newbies paused, momentarily struck by how reasonable it sounded, nearly falling for it.
Yet the builder didn't buy it for a second. Knowing the guy all too well, he tossed his rifle aside and rolled up his sleeves.
"Don't listen to this Intelligence-type yap! The punk is definitely mocking us! Brothers, on me—let's show him the strength of an ox!"
Seeing the builder lead the charge, In Debt God panicked instantly.
"Holy crap, I'm wounded! Don't you dare!"
Unable to flee on crutches and seeing that pleading was useless, he could only look desperately toward Brother Edge.
"Brother Edge, save me!"
Brother Edge glanced at him and took a step to the side.
"Maybe you wouldn't be in this mess if you drew less aggro."
"Exactly! Not even the Administrator himself could save you today!" The builder turned to Outlaw beside him. "You guys, grab an arm each and hoist him up! I'll go find a utility pole!"
"On it!"
Several Strength-type players hoisted In Debt God onto their shoulders with wicked grins, ignoring his frantic squawking as they carried him up the hill in search of a pole.
Sitting in his truck, Yade stared dumbfoundedly at the commotion ahead. After a long while, he asked,
"Over there... what's going on?"
Brother Mole cleared his throat.
"Ahem, nothing... those Strength-type brutes are probably just pent up from boredom. Don't worry, they're just messing with a good buddy. No one's going to die."
Compared to the Agility-type's speed and the Constitution-type's endurance, the Strength-type was indeed less popular nowadays, but who knew what the future held?
Every patch brought its own gods.
For a veteran player like him who had lived through every meta shift, this was just routine.
In truth, objectively speaking, Strength-types remained the best choice for beginners: rapid leveling and zero entry barrier.
No matter how other paths were buffed, nothing could change the fact that over half the Awakened in the Alliance were Strength-types.
Yade froze, staring blankly at the corps commander.
*Pent up... what did that mean?*
He wasn't sure if it was a language issue,
but the phrase sounded decidedly strange to his ears.
Without explaining to the NPC—or even realizing that an absurd misunderstanding had formed—Brother Mole waved out the window. Soon, the checkpoint barrier was raised, allowing the convoy through.
Stepping out of the vehicle beside Brother Edge, Brother Mole smiled.
"We just received orders. Command wants us to cross Hill 330 and push northwest along the edge of Oasis 3."
Brother Edge asked,
"The attack route was adjusted?"
Brother Mole nodded with a grin.
"Yeah. According to intel from Battlefield Guy, the Legion plans to abandon Oasis 3. Our mission is to cling to the heels of those routed troops and wipe out as much of their fighting strength as possible. That way, we'll face less resistance when pushing into Oasis 2."
Brother Edge whistled.
"Looks like we'll have to handle the rest of the road on our own."
"Right. Besides, the trucks you left halfway won't arrive until the day after tomorrow, so you can rest here for two days. Heading north from here, you shouldn't encounter any stiff resistance—in fact, you'll probably have locals welcoming the righteous army with baskets of food and jars of drink. Just push forward alongside the Honey Badger Kingdom's Restoration Army. It's time for us to fight a couple of tough battles instead."
Speaking in a teasing tone, Brother Mole suddenly remembered something. Glancing back toward the rear of the long convoy, he added,
"By the way, on our way to Hill 330, we ran into several routed units. Some were led by Wilantes, others by auxiliary officers. We've disarmed them and told them to keep following their original route. Barring any surprises, they should reach Hill 330 around this time tomorrow. Please absorb and organize them when they get here."
Brother Edge frowned slightly.
"Clone regiments?"
Brother Mole nodded.
"Yeah."
Brother Edge scratched the back of his head.
"Those clones... how should we handle them?"
In previous encounters, the clone regiments fought until the very last clone fell before the junior officers considered surrendering.
Clones surrendering alongside their officers was a first for him.
Honestly, the Alliance had yet to establish a concrete definition of whether those beings counted as human.
This wasn't about being overly sentimental.
It concerned a very real dilemma: should they be treated as regular prisoners of war for rehabilitation and trial with the aim of liberation, or should they be categorized under "purification" like mutants?
They weren't mindless animals, but rather intellectually disabled individuals with incomplete faculties.
Brother Mole shrugged, putting on a helpless expression.
"How should I know? Keep an eye on them for now. As for what to do with them... ask the Administrator."
Chapter 472