Chapter 41

The starry sky was flowing blue, and the snow was eternal white. Hidden within eternity, it became just a point in eternity, utterly unremarkable.

Horne walked through that gate piled high with snow atop it. He stopped in disbelief, took one more step forward, stopped again, then advanced further.

No wind could be heard, only echoes of the past resounding in his mind. Not a single lamp lit the dim city, yet it seemed to glow with light.

The former Military District had been near the North City Gate, and Horne’s home was at the district’s farthest edge. When he awoke to face an entirely unfamiliar world, his first thought was to go home, so he returned near the North City Gate, only to find it had become a slum.

Now, the Military District lay before him.

The true Loch City was beneath his feet.

Buried in ice and snow—the once true Loch City.

Horne walked forward, faster and faster, his heartbeat quickening with each step. When he spotted that familiar house, its familiar outline, he rushed toward it almost uncontrollably.

Part of the house was already buried in snow, as was this old Loch City, long since silently swallowed by the snow in solitude, for a century.

After humanity surrendered, the Aliens built a new human city, but they also needed a central zone for their rule: the Tower District. The original Loch City wasn’t large, so they constructed a new Loch City farther north, in what humans had once called the Scandinavian Snowforest, modeled roughly after the old one. With the gates shut, it was forever besieged.

A century passed, and all history became their history. They knew the past might not be fact, but it could be a tool.

Horne scooped up snow with his hands, trying to dig out what lay buried beneath, but the snow was cold, and the past very distant.

Hels stood not far behind him, not stopping his actions.

The attic had a window right by the bed.

Horne wiped the snow from the window and pushed it open with force. A rotten wooden stench assaulted his nose; inside was pitch-black depth, but Horne remembered what it looked like.

He turned his head and said to Hels, “This is my attic, and my study too!”

The study had once held many books, but perhaps due to the light, Horne saw nothing on the shelves—it seemed entirely empty.

As he spoke, snow from the roof, lacking support below, fell in a large chunk, covering the window he’d just cleared.

So he followed his memory: from home to the Military District, then all the way to the ruins of the government building, and from there to the Mausoleum Garden.

Many things were awakening, but each came with extreme physical discomfort.

The tombstone’s upper half alone protruded into the air, but even so, in the military section, Horne unerringly found the one he sought.

The words below were gone, but the top half bore two names:

Al Zimarin

Yaro Zorina

His father and mother.

Horne knelt there.

The three control towers of old Loch City had snapped in half and now nearly vanished, deeply buried in the snowfield.

Horne emerged from the Mausoleum Garden area and collapsed to the ground, dry-heaving. The familiar dizziness from his treatments rampaged through his mind.

His stomach churned violently, though he hadn’t eaten anything. Horne retched until his eyes were bloodshot, tears streaming down.

—Stress reaction.

Hels squatted down and lightly patted his back.

The pains grew more pronounced, seemingly worse than at Siselen’s, harder to endure.

Many things crowded into his mind.

It took a long time before Horne felt a bit better. He slowly stood, feeling weak, when suddenly a whooshing sound cut through the air.

It came fast. Horne instinctively shoved Hels backward. “Watch out!”

A faint thud, then pfft—it sank into the snow and vanished.

Horne knew that sound well: a silenced pistol.

Both quickly stood. Horne scanned their surroundings warily, and froze at the sight.

Unnoticed, a group of people had encircled them in a ring, guns trained on them.

Horne’s first thought was that these must be the humans Hels had mentioned surviving on the Frost Plains, living near old Loch City.

But soon he realized something off. If they were those humans, they’d know Hels—why shoot?

Horne’s hand went to the gun at his waist. He stepped half forward to shield Hels, grabbed Hels’s wrist with his other hand, and whispered, “Be careful.”

Hels, behind him, let out an extremely faint chuckle.

As Horne registered the meaning in that laugh, a mound of snow flipped open, revealing a door in the ground.

For the first time, a color beyond black, white, and blue appeared amid the snowfield—warm orange light.

A person emerged from the snow, followed by many more climbing out one by one from underground, but they said nothing, only silently watching Horne.

Horne stared at the first one out, eyes widening, lips parting as he murmured breathily, “…Han Ya?”

He wasn’t dead? Quickly, Horne shut his mouth at an even more unbelievable sight.

Han Ya tore off his mask, revealing his face.

Instantly, that dry-heaving sensation surged to his throat; his hands trembled.

He seemed to remember something, and after a long pause, he spat out the uncertain words again: “Han Ya?”

Now he knew who Han Ya was.

Han Ya frowned, scanning the circle of armed people, irritably saying, “Lower your guns. Haven’t you seen Colonel Horne’s photo…” He trailed off and shut up, as if the mask really made him unrecognizable.

They lowered their guns.

Not enemies. Horne gradually relaxed. Turning his head, he caught the amusement at Hels’s eye corner.

He’d fully pulled Hels into his protection. This suddenly reminded Horne of the tunnel scene; his gaze dropped to the wrist he still gripped.

…

Flames danced in the simulated campfire. People came and went nearby, walking and talking quickly. Horne sat to the side, a blanket draped over him, cradling hot water and sipping it slowly. The red at his ear tips didn’t match his icy expression.

This was the entrance hall, warm-toned overall, coated in fluorescent material to ease claustrophobia. Four support pillars stood in the center, with alloy beams propping the arched ceiling.

Humans had built a new base underground in old Loch City, living there for a century, though limited conditions kept their numbers to just over a thousand.

“Hello, Colonel Horne. Welcome to the Underground Base in Loch City.”

A girl approached with a computer, cheekily winking at Horne. “I’m Yan Yue, the base’s archivist. The base asked me to receive you. Want to take a casual tour?”

The base entrance was small. He and Hels had been led here through that underground passage, but someone had immediately pulled Hels aside upon arrival, leaving Horne to wait.

“Don’t wander. Stay here; I’ll show you around soon.” That’s what Hels had said then.

Thinking of this, Horne set aside the blanket, stood, and said indifferently, “Thanks for the trouble.”

Yan Yue was a cheerful girl, humming tunes the whole way and explaining the place during the pauses.

Since her birth, she’d lived here. They studied human knowledge in this sunless place. They called the surface world the “Frost Plains World” or “Frost Plains Era,” describing the post-human apocalypse of ice-covered survival. Underground, they extracted and preserved various genes, researched them, and manufactured weapons against the Aliens.

“Not far from the base, there’s a permafrost layer. Know the Svalbard Global Seed Vault? Like that—everyone’s DNA samples are stored here.” Yan Yue finished, eyeing Horne, then her eyes crinkled into smiling arcs.

The Underground Base was compact, divided into three levels: living level, biological level, research level.

The bottom was for daily life.

Prefabricated cabins, two beds per room, lined in corridors, with a central recreation area.

“This is Zone A. Each zone has a recreation area in the center for trading daily goods. Six zones total,” Yan Yue explained.

The so-called recreation area was a large standalone room with entertainment facilities and isolated sub-rooms for classes.

Hard to imagine long-term life in such confines, but Yan Yue quickly clarified: “By zone, we go to the snowfield once a week for sun—max half an hour. If no sun, then…”

She covered her mouth, laughing. “Too bad—off to the artificial light room to squeeze in. Resources are tight; only one room, but hey, you get sunlight and a free sauna.”

A few people sat in a circle in the recreation area, playing go from the look through the gaps. Passersby drew lifted heads.

Horne was too conspicuous; since the elevator, eyes followed him constantly.

Almost everyone here knew each other; new faces were rare. Yan Yue whispered to Horne, “It’s fine, no malice—just curiosity. I’m curious about you too, Colonel. People here often talk about you.”

The stares were unabashed, but Horne didn’t mind being a topic. Suddenly, he thought of something. “Do you wear masks?”

Yan Yue paused, touched her chin. “See?”

She tugged at her skin to show Horne—no mask.

Her skin reddened a bit; she grinned and let go.

Horne tore off his own mask without hesitation. Only then did he realize: if the base knew him, they’d recognize his face, but upstairs, he’d worn it.

Yan Yue gazed at him, eyes bright.

“What?” Horne felt uneasy under the stare.

“Colonel, you’re even better-looking than your photos.” Yan Yue’s fervent gaze was nearly naked; then she laughed and looked away.

People kept greeting Horne—unfamiliar faces, but he breathed a sigh of relief.

These faces were real.

Bitterness welled up next. Real should be normal, but after wearing masks so long, rare authenticity felt precious, even exhilarating.

Somehow, word of Colonel Horne in the living area spread fast. He’d lingered in Zone A just five minutes when people poured in from other zones, solely to greet him.

“Colonel Horne!”

“I’ve heard of you!”

Horne didn’t know how to handle the crowd and simply bowed to them.

Seeing it escalate, Yan Yue tugged him back to the elevator, up to sublevel two.

In the elevator, Horne gently brushed off Yan Yue’s persistent grip on his sleeve, leaning down slightly. “I touched dirty stuff on the way here; it’d soil yours.”

Yan Yue waved it off. “Haha, no worries! I love rolling in the dirt too. Let’s roll together sometime!”

Horne’s lips quirked; he gave a light laugh.

One elevator wall bore a poster with the words: You don’t have to be a hero, but you can’t be an accomplice.

Horne stared at the phrase, lost in thought, reminded of that line in the Holographic Game waiting area in the Red Light District.

“Written by the Supreme Commander,” Yan Yue explained.

“Supreme Commander?”