Chapter 57

Ganal did not object to the child following them, until they arrived at a place Horne had never imagined.

The southern edge of Loch City, Warfallen Asylum.

It was a large orphanage and shelter that housed not only children who had lost all their family, but also elderly people who had lost loved ones, as well as disabled individuals and mental patients who, for various reasons, could no longer care for themselves and had to come here seeking caretakers.

Even the caretakers themselves were part of this group, as they were completely unable to make a living among normal people and came here to look after others while receiving government subsidies in return, forming a mutually beneficial little ecosystem.

From the moment they entered, they drew constant gazes from those around them. Two security guards flanked them, guarding against any sudden attacks.

No attacks occurred for the time being, but the scrutinizing looks and whispers never stopped.

“Wasn’t it just the other day that the Major killed someone? How come he hasn’t gone to prison yet?”

Horne: “…?”

Someone was sobbing loudly, mumbling that his last friend had gone out of the city a few days ago and been killed by the Aliens. Someone beside him tried to console him—it was the only friend he knew who would come to Warfallen Asylum to visit him, and that friend had gone out a few days earlier to protect people leaving the city, only to be killed by the Aliens.

Someone else said he had been injured years ago while killing Aliens, leaving him disabled, and now he could only sit in a wheelchair, reminiscing wistfully about the days when he could run freely without a care.

There was also an elderly man with white hair, hunched over almost to the ground, his voice barely more than a whisper. Several people gathered around him as he spoke of his childhood.

Back then, no one had heard of extraterrestrial beings yet. Humanity, full of hope, had formed team after team to search for life beyond Earth, drafted plan after plan, and built ship after ship. Amateur enthusiasts often posted online about alien encounters, speculating on how many secret files about extraterrestrial life had yet to be disclosed.

Extraterrestrial civilizations—mysterious and alluring.

“Major! You, you’ve actually come to Warfallen Asylum. Ah, Leader…” Someone recognized them and ran over in surprise.

It was a bald caretaker who limped as he ran, unclear on what had happened. He reached the two men, saluted, and said to Horne, “Major, has the military not gone out recently? It’s been a while since the last purge—won’t their numbers grow again? Can we still wipe them out? When… when will things get better? I’ve heard so much lately. Are humans really done for?” His voice was tense; it was clear he was a supporter of Horne’s, and he had heard many recent rumors.

In this chaotic, soul-draining environment, Horne could still hear his own heartbeat, heavy as if it might stop. He held his breath and said, “Don’t worry.”

Warfallen Asylum was divided into two buildings: one for those who still retained self-awareness, and the other for those who had lost cognition. The buildings were distinguished by the colors painted on their walls—one pale blue, the other gray.

They circled the two buildings and finally stopped in the courtyard between them.

This was the only patch of green in Warfallen Asylum, a greenhouse for artificially cultivated plants and animals. Flowers bloomed vibrantly, a few white rabbits nestled in their hutch, and the rare greenery and fragrance lent a touch of vitality even to the pale, transparent ceiling overhead.

Normally, people would sit here to bask in the sun, but after the three of them entered, the others inside slowly left.

“What do you feel, Major?” Ganal said, his hands clasped behind his back, his face still expressionless.

As he spoke, Hels grabbed Horne’s hand and hugged his arm.

Ganal glanced at the child, knowing this was the “culprit” from the recent incident, but his gaze held no reproach—only the same impartial neutrality.

Horne said nothing, merely patted Hels’s hand and shifted to hold it properly.

Ganal surveyed their surroundings, then turned around, his expression solemn as he said, “Major, don’t you understand yet? After all these decades, humanity knows too little about the Aliens.”

“That’s not true,” Horne said coldly. “At least we know their cells don’t metabolize, that they can self-repair, and that as long as the central hub isn’t destroyed, they won’t die. We also know how evil they are, how utterly repulsive. The Aliens don’t deserve to be spared.”

His tone turned vicious on those last words, his teeth clenched tight.

“Then do you know how they reproduce?” Ganal asked, staring at Horne. He took a step forward. “Do you know their numbers?”

Another step forward.

“Do you know how they reached Earth?”

Yet another step.

“Do you know when their next attack will come?”

“Do you know the rules of their survival?”

“Do you know what they’ll do in the end?”

The shadow loomed over Horne from above, almost pressing against him. Horne tightened his grip on Hels’s hand, refusing to retreat. He simply tilted his head up, meeting Ganal’s gaze without flinching.

A crowd had gathered behind the greenhouse glass, a dense black mass. Their hands pressed against the glass, faces smooshed against it, like a silent horde of corpses watching the scene inside.

“Even if you’re absolutely determined—and you manage to keep exterminating them nonstop while you’re alive—what about decades from now?” Ganal’s voice was thick with accusation and aggression.

Horne stared straight at Ganal, even as that icy shadow drenched him from head to toe.

“What about after you’re dead, Major? Have you thought about that?” Ganal halted his advance, giving some space. He gestured backward, pointing at the transparent glass behind him, at the densely packed people standing there—the curious gazes, the scrutinizing ones, the looks of disgust.

“Look at them. Look at these people. Look at the one who just came up to talk to you, asking when things will get better… Those who follow you—what can you ultimately give them in the end?”

Ganal’s voice was like encroaching darkness: “Have you ever thought that your actions could truly leave your descendants, humanity’s future generations, with the… so-called peace you envision?”

Perhaps because he had gotten too close, Hels suddenly let out a shrill roar and shoved Ganal hard, forcing him back a step.

Horne immediately pulled Hels behind him to protect him and said calmly, “Sorry.”

Ganal made no comment on the child’s behavior. He simply straightened his clothes, his face calm. “The information we released wasn’t my decision alone—it was the result of discussions among dozens of high-level government officials. It wasn’t some impulsive choice either. We considered livelihoods, production conditions, sustainability, the future of all humanity, and more. The road ahead is long, both now and in the future, Major. Do you understand?”

Before Horne could respond, Ganal continued, “I know what you’re thinking, and I know what you’re fixated on, but the government won’t foot the bill for your personal grudges.”

Horne clenched his fists. Though there were indeed personal grudges, he wasn’t losing his head. With that in mind, he looked up and demanded, “What about the Immortality Particle, then? Gene fusion with the Aliens? Aren’t those things humanity needs?”

Ganal’s expression turned icy in an instant. He glanced sideways—the crowd was behind the glass, able to see them talking but not hear the details. He said coldly and slowly, “Major, I must remind you…”

“Live by the rules.” With that, he turned and strode away.

Horne stood alone in the center of the green space, fists clenched tight. He didn’t move for a long time, letting the whispers from behind the glass grow louder until they seeped through the door cracks into his ears.

He had stood motionless for so long that Hels looked up and tugged at his hand.

Horne snapped back to reality. He took a deep breath, placed a hand on Hels’s head, bent down slightly, and forced a relaxed smile. “It’s fine. Let’s go.”

The people around gradually dispersed, though some cast curious glances back.

Horne had just stepped out of the greenhouse when a voice called from behind.

“Horne.”

The voice was familiar, one he hadn’t heard much in the past two years. Horne was surprised; he hadn’t expected to encounter him here.

In an ordinary dorm room at Warfallen Asylum, the occupant had stepped out temporarily, leaving just the three of them.

You Wangwang explained that he often came here to visit old comrades-in-arms and had simply happened to be there today, just in time to see Horne and Ganal arrive.

“I know what you’re after with him,” You Wangwang sighed, his gaze drifting to the windowsill.

A photo frame sat there, holding a group picture: the two generals from back then, a young Horne, You Wangwang, his late wife, Bai Yin, and the current occupant of this room.

In the photo, Horne was only a few years old, while Bai Yin was a bit older. He couldn’t even remember when it was taken—only a vague impression of the clothes he wore.

Sunlight slanted onto the photo, and everyone in it was smiling.

Horne couldn’t recall the details from that time. He seemed to remember playing with Bai Yin for a while as a child, but after Bai Yin went to the Air Force Zone, they gradually lost touch—especially after his mother, Bai Lun, passed away later.

It was all too distant.

“Horne,” You Wangwang’s voice sounded aged, “I haven’t meddled much in your affairs these past two years. Have you moved on?”

Horne: “What do you think?”

The two generals and You Wangwang had been close since their youth; the families knew each other well. You Wangwang had watched Horne grow up and looked after him. But after the two generals died, Horne threw himself into nonstop raids against the Aliens day and night, and their interactions dwindled.

You Wangwang’s gaze lingered on the photo, thick melancholy in his eyes. He said, “I know you’re a kind and intelligent child, destined to lead humanity onto the right path someday. We’ve grown old—you young ones are humanity’s future. But right now, I still want to remind you: some things, know when to stop.”

“What do you mean?” Horne asked, sitting up straight and staring intently at him.

You Wangwang shifted his attention from the photo, meeting Horne’s eyes squarely. He said slowly, “I don’t want you getting involved in this mess.”

The room fell so quiet that even heartbeats became audible.

Horne lowered his eyes and was silent for a long while before saying, “So the government really is researching human-Alien gene fusion?”

You Wangwang let out a silent laugh. He took a deep breath, then slowly looked out the window again, his thoughts drifting to the past. “Do you still remember the question I asked you on your eighteenth birthday?”

That day, guests had come to their home after a long time—a rare gathering in the living room. You Wangwang suddenly said that since Horne was now an adult, it was time for some adult questions.

—What do you think is the most precious thing for a person?

Horne had thought long and hard before answering: freedom.

Trapped in this city, unable to see Earth’s former landscapes anymore—alive, yet like caged birds. So You Wangwang told him that to gain freedom, one must learn responsibility.

The year the two generals died, You Wangwang asked again. Horne, his eyes vacant, answered: trust. You Wangwang told him then that to gain trust, one must learn vulnerability and boundaries.

“Got any new ideas now?” You Wangwang asked.

Horne looked at him, then followed his gaze out the window.

After a long pause, Horne uttered a single word: “Heart.”

You Wangwang laughed, his face wrinkling into a rare expression of benevolence. He turned his attention to the child who had been sitting quietly beside them.

He said, “Guard your heart.”

Horne said nothing. You Wangwang hadn’t answered his question, but he knew the answer now.

As long as that heart remained—whether in a human or a being fused from human and Alien—it would still be himself.

After a moment, Horne murmured an “Mm,” then added, “Can’t I do anything?”

You Wangwang shook his head. “Look, that’s why I hope you’ll take a leave of absence.”

Horne froze for a second, then suddenly realized. He clenched his fist abruptly.

You Wangwang spoke slowly. “You’ve lived under the protection of the two generals. After losing that protection, you’ve lived for a single goal. You don’t know what’s happening in everyday peaceful life. You even think Ganal’s consolidation of power means he’s leading the government in some scheme—but that’s not it. He’s the leader, yes, but more of a pawn. Your persistence will disrupt many things. Haven’t you noticed yet?”

Horne heard his own heartbeat.

He had noticed.

He heard the cries of birds, the surging of the ocean, the chaotic footsteps of crowds. He saw pairs of bloodshot eyes.

The photo in the frame had been taken over a decade ago. He had been even younger than Hels back then, part of an incomparably happy family. He didn’t have to worry about anything, oblivious to the world. His hardest daily task was training, and in the evenings, he would bury himself in the study, poring over humanity’s past glories, dreaming carefree dreams.

You Wangwang stood up, walked over to sit beside Horne, patted his hand, and said softly, “Since you like reading books, you must know a lot about the events in history. You should understand that in an environment full of mutual scheming and self-interest, those who are willing to give selflessly and those who keep others in their hearts are easily mocked as saints, holy mothers, holy fathers—and there’s another name for them: fools. When evil is justice, if you try to keep yourself pure and uninvolved, you become the evil.”

Earlier, Horne had been wondering why You Wangwang, who was family friends with them, had suggested that he step down when he had left his post without permission. At that time, You Wangwang had wanted to pull him out, but the general had not agreed and merely gave him a light punishment, leaving him in place.

“Horne, I’m just a pawn too. Sometimes I can’t even protect myself, let alone protect you. Just know that no one will deliberately target you, unless…

“You’re too dazzling, too genuine.”