Chapter 54

He still needed to resolve this child’s issue as quickly as possible, or who knew what might happen afterward.

The boy nodded.

This time, Horne did not leave any space between them and sat right next to him, asking softly, “Are you still afraid of me?”

After a long while, the child gave no response. Just as Horne thought this was another one-sided conversation as usual, the child shook his head.

Horne was stunned for a moment, and suddenly his heart settled. He let out a long breath, cracked a smile, and said, “Did you run to the snowfield last night because you were scared too?”

The child pursed his lips and shook his head.

He refused to say anything. Horne suspected the child might be unable to speak, so he took out paper and a pen from the drawer, placed them on his lap, and wrote down four names.

Horne pointed to each name one by one, raising his tone slightly. “Horne—this is my name.

“Ben Yian—you ran away from his house. He is a very gentle person, very comfortable to be around. He is good at taking care of others’ feelings and handles everything for us smoothly. There is no pressure being with him.

“Wen Yu—that sister is the oldest among us. Don’t let her being a girl fool you; she is a sniper, very strong. I’ve never been able to match her since we were kids. She is very smart and calm; I often get lectured by her.

“Han Ya—the one who always shouts loudly. His words are harsh; you can ignore them. He means no harm to you and is a good person. He is reliable on the battlefield too; he is my adjutant.

“So—what is your name?” Horne tilted his head and asked, his eyes filled with a gentle light.

The boy remained silent. After a moment, he shook his head.

“Hm?” Horne did not understand. “What does shaking your head mean? You don’t have a name?”

The boy kept shaking his head.

No name—or perhaps he did not want to reveal it, afraid that saying it out loud might lead to some consequence.

Horne thought for a moment and decided to respect him. “Then, how about I give you a name? Is that okay? Do you mind?”

Horne saw the person in front of him hesitate for a long time, nod, then shake his head in the end, and finally glare at him with wide eyes.

Horne took it as tacit approval. “Let me think…” He muttered to himself, his mind quickly searching through names he could recall.

Though he did not know what the child had been through, good wishes were always there.

“Hm…” Horne pondered uncertainly. “Do you like… Hels?”

He recalled the bedtime stories from his childhood.

“Have you heard of Slavic mythology? Hels, the winter sun god—very fitting for you.” Horne explained as he carefully wrote the three words “Hels” on the paper.

“He is also one of my favorite deities.”

His handwriting was elegant and graceful overall, gentle and flowing, yet each stroke carried a sharp edge.

The little boy stared blankly at Horne, silently meeting his gaze. Then his eyes shifted down to the three words on the paper. After a moment, he nodded, as if he would have nodded no matter what name Horne chose.

Horne relaxed and placed the paper in the other’s hands, saying gently, “Alright then, Hels. Would you like to tell me about yourself?” Horne leaned back against the sofa, propping his head on his hand, trying to appear as relaxed as possible to let the atmosphere ease the other as well.

Hels fell silent again, giving no response.

“Can you speak? Or do you just not want to?”

No answer.

Horne gave up. “It’s fine. If you really don’t want to speak, or can’t yet, we can agree on a secret signal or sign language for communication, if you are willing.”

Hels looked at him.

Horne wanted to pat Hels’s head but feared the gesture might be too intimate and scare him, so he extended his hand halfway and pulled it back. “Or is it that there is the Warfallen Asylum near the Military District, with many kids like you? Do you want to live there?”

Hels suddenly frowned and threw the paper and pen in his hand to the ground in a silent protest.

Horne was stunned. His gaze followed the pen as it rolled quickly, tumbling until it hit the leg of the coffee table with a crisp clack and stopped.

Horne was silent for a moment, then suddenly covered his face and laughed.

Hels turned his head away, refusing to look at him, a bit angry.

Once Horne finished laughing, he came back to his senses and saw only the back of the other’s head, saying a bit helplessly, “I’m not kicking you out, but I made a mistake and now have to accept punishment. I won’t be around for the next few days. Are you willing to go back to that brother’s house? Don’t run off again. I’ll come pick you up in half a month, okay?”

Horne thought this child’s temper was a bit oddly cute. He stood up directly, took a step to the side toward the direction Hels had turned, forcing him to meet his gaze, and leaned down slightly. “Wait for me to come back, Hels.”

Considering the other might still be wary of everyone else, Horne wondered how to help him relax. After thinking for a bit, he reached out his hand and held it suspended above Hels’s head. “Can I touch you?”

Hels glanced upward with his eyes, seeing the gesture seeking permission. He pursed his lips, and after a long time, nodded.

A hand gently came down, carrying the warmth of the palm—different from the chill of the Frost Plains—slowly ruffling his hair.

“Don’t be afraid. I’ll protect you from now on, okay?”

Hels did not answer, just looked up at him.

He followed Ben Yian and left, while Horne went to accept his punishment voluntarily.

Something had gone wrong in the military. During the days Horne was confined, the news spread quickly throughout Loch City.

No one knew who leaked it, and the military did not specify what exactly the problem was, but rumors circulated that the government was drafting a plan for universal arming.

In the government conference room, an internal meeting was underway.

A holographic projection reflected in everyone’s pupils: a simulated human cell diagram filled with data on one side, and on the other, a holographic simulation of an alien, detailing all recorded findings.

An old man with white hair, representing the biological research institute, explained unhurriedly the specific report compiled over the past two years. At the end, he added, “The immortality particles in the aliens’ bodies can, as of now, alter plant properties to prevent wilting. But for the lab mice fused with immortality particles, the survival rate is only fifty percent, and it’s unknown if they can survive long-term.”

He paused, looking at the crowd of dozens below—not just government officials, but also the military’s top brass and merchants from Loch City’s major institutions.

He continued, “The human survival rate so far is zero. We are not clear on the main reason yet, but during the experiments, we need the subjects to remain calm and conscious and provide timely feedback. None of the current subjects could do that; it is a technical hurdle—they always cry and make a fuss.”

Someone below suggested perhaps publicly recruiting volunteers, but was interrupted by the person next to him. “That would cause panic.”

The conference room fell silent for a moment.

Humans placed too much value on their genes, proudly believing in the purity of their lineage as a kind of fearful psychological obsession. Many insisted humans and aliens could not coexist peacefully, but years of war had led some to think that if there was a chance, why not.

But such hopes were weak, for the aliens had broken their word multiple times. Even if peaceful coexistence were possible, accepting alien particles flowing in one’s blood was another matter entirely.

The man on stage scanned the crowd below and said solemnly, “We need someone who does not reject the fusion, who volunteers as a subject—ideally someone with little time left. That way, we can give them hope of survival. If successful, they would become the first immortal in human history. Of course, before that, we must ensure this person will keep their mouth shut.”

The meeting ended quickly. A few officials lingered to chat briefly before leaving one by one, until only Ganal and General Leon remained.

Ganal asked how things were handled. General Leon said everything was normal.

“Hm, there are too many stubborn elements following the major. They need to realize he is just a wet-behind-the-ears child who cannot see humanity’s long-term future.” Ganal prepared to leave but suddenly stopped, sighed, and said, “Before, I thought the major was a good kid, but as leaders ensuring humanity’s survival, we cannot focus only on superficial matters. The road ahead is still long.”

His momentary lament ended there. He quickly regained his seriousness, waved his hand, and said, “Also, keep an eye out for a suitable experimental candidate.”

General Leon thought quickly and said gravely, “I’ve recently reviewed the military archives. Someone who fits the subject criteria and can undermine the major…

“…There really is one.”

Ben Yian had originally planned to take responsibility for Horne and confront Matthew, but upon arriving at the City Defense District prison, he saw the medical vehicle driving away. He immediately asked about the situation and received news: Matthew had committed suicide.

He left a terminal message posted on the city-wide platform: I have always been grateful to the major for saving me back then, but I don’t understand—my parents didn’t die at the time, so why did he only save me and not them? He is so great; couldn’t he have tried a bit harder? Consider this life returned to him; I don’t need his charity.

When Ben Yian read the message, he trembled with anger and immediately ordered it deleted, but inevitably, many people had already seen it.

In prison, Horne saw the message on the terminal. He remained calm throughout, saying nothing and giving no replies to anyone, whether accusations or consolations—he did not want to hear them.

Good intentions did not always bring good rewards, but abandoning even that meant total defeat. Perhaps sometimes, what others wanted was not his kindness, but to drag him down to hell to claim a spot in heaven for themselves.

Whatever.

Half a month later, Horne returned to the training grounds and immediately resumed his previous tasks, drafting applications and attack plans.

Previously, they had detected an alien hive cluster not far to the north. Though their exact numbers and breeding methods were unknown, decades of killing had not reduced their population; they could only eradicate their gathering points within a certain range.

Coincidentally, on the day Horne emerged, dozens of aliens invaded from the north, and a group flew in from the south. Han Ya took men to the north, while Horne sent Ben Yian to try the south.

It was just a small-scale ordinary incursion; such invasions happened countless times a year. As long as no one was in the snowfield, there would not be major issues.

After ending a training session, Horne stood straight on the training field, his gaze sharp as a blade watching the soldiers disperse. Someone walked slowly, turning back frequently.

Horne noticed him and asked, “Is there something else?”

The soldier kept his head down, stammering, “Major, Matthew and I were close…”

Horne knew what he wanted to ask and said flatly, “Hm, I have submitted a detailed account of the incident to the higher-ups.” His head ached; it was inexplicable, a suffocating entanglement with no room to breathe. With Matthew dead, it had all become his problem from start to finish.

“No, Major,” the soldier defended, “I’m not questioning you. I just think you are not the type to let your subordinates take the blame for you…”

Horne was stunned for a moment, then slowly took a deep breath and exhaled. The sunlight softened his expression.

“I understand. Thank you.”

Messages from outside the city gates kept coming back via terminal. Horne monitored them constantly as he headed to the general’s office.

The previous supply request had been held up too long; he had to inquire personally.

“Major, your current task is to recognize your mistake,” General Leon skipped the supply topic.

The general’s office had once been Horne’s favorite place; when his parents were alive, it was like his backyard. After the owner changed, the office was cleared out—the decor unchanged, but all items replaced—and Horne began to feel extreme aversion to it.

He felt suffocated just standing there, his heart sinking continuously.

Horne’s expression remained indifferent as he stated his purpose. “Recognizing my mistake does not conflict with our need to exterminate the aliens.”

The general set aside what he was doing and looked at Horne seriously. After a moment, he said earnestly, “In that case, Major, let me tell you some news.”