Chapter 111
Residents along the coast of J-Nation heard a tremendous roar, rumbling and crashing, but no one had the mood to look back. Under direction, each person carried their belongings toward the designated safety zones.
The waves lashing the shore carried broken fragments of concrete, unnoticed by anyone.
Not far away, the island had already been swallowed by the sea.
More seawater poured into the half-submerged “bucket” building. The water entered the originally sealed basement, washing over the newly applied lime coating. Ancient marks resurfaced from the river of history.
Bacteria, war, experiments—the residual traces behind the lime reappeared, along with the scratches and blood left by the experimenters’ suffering.
This was an island that had once been invested in war and had caused mountains of corpses and seas of blood in another country across the sea, accumulating countless karmic debts.
The player leader had once used this history to motivate players, encouraging them to recreate the past glory of J-Nation.
But now, the players struggling in the water clung to the support pillars, perhaps losing even the chance for tomorrow, let alone the non-existent glory.
Some players hadn’t even considered the consequences of this special building being destroyed.
Some had.
“Damn it.” The leader responsible, who clearly understood the island’s history, turned pale. At the very bottom of the building were some unused special munitions from years past—bacterial bombs.
Since they had only arrived on this small island a little over a month ago, and multiple factions had refused to take responsibility, they hadn’t yet cleared them.
“If those things are released…” Although decades had passed, no one could guarantee whether they had become ineffective.
Boom!
Another massive wave crashed in, shaking the already fragile building wreckage, cracking and shattering it further. Players in the “bucket” were tossed around along with exposed rebar and concrete, and the water turned increasingly red.
Another rumble followed, cracking the cement floor. From the deepest parts of the building, the buried darkness surged with the tide, joining this chaotic carnival.
“How strange… why is Medusa slowing down?” Everyone monitoring the typhoon’s movement asked in confusion.
The giant, whose maximum wind force had reached level sixteen, inexplicably slowed down after entering J-Nation waters, moving sluggishly.
This was not a good thing—the slower the landing, the longer the affected time. A faster typhoon landing would have caused less overall damage.
The level sixteen winds combined with seawater were like knives cutting flesh, turning everything into a meat grinder. If human habitation happened to be in the zone of maximum wind, the people were no different from clothes in a blender—one with blades.
“Fortunately, it’s just an abandoned island. No problem.” The people on land didn’t know that a month ago, the forgotten island had re-emerged. They were simply glad they had managed to make preparations before the typhoon’s landing.
Yes, they had prepared fully for the year’s strongest tropical cyclone.
The external chaos had no effect on the villa district.
The villas were well-built. The tourist county had been upgraded to a red alert; all residents in dangerous areas were evacuated to safety zones, but the villas remained unshaken.
In the small living room off the bedroom, Jiang Jitang sat motionless, barely blinking, only his chest rising and falling slightly. But behind him, the Caster’s Eye burned like a sun, its magical aura rolling, ready to sweep everything around.
The magic sword had already stopped talking. Although their domains differed, the Eye was constructed from top-tier materials and had extremely high potential. It was jealous.
Usually appearing idle, but performing so powerfully at critical moments—truly, it was incredibly jealous!
Time passed; suddenly, a spark appeared in Jiang Jitang’s eyes. He straightened, stretched his shoulders, grinned, and said, “I’m hungry,” with an animated expression.
“Hot milk?” The 45°C warm milk, kept on a small mat, was handed to Jiang Jitang with a straw inserted for convenience.
He grabbed the cup and drank half in one gulp. The remaining half, he sipped slowly through the straw. But it was only 180 ml, so even drinking slowly, it was gone in half a minute.
“My muscles ache… it took three and a half hours. When will I recover to peak form?” Three and a half hours—he had never had such a long prelude. On a battlefield, the fight would have ended before he even started.
But this time, luck was on his side. Borrowing the power of heaven and earth, the effect was comparable to a forbidden spell.
“Parsons,” Jiang Jitang, now fully recovered, was no longer cooperative. He leapt onto Parsons’ back, elbow locking his neck. “How did you know something happened to me, and how did you find me?”
Parsons’ stance was steady; even with Jiang Jitang on top, he didn’t waver. He put down his cup: “Can I not tell you? It’s a secret.”
He couldn’t reveal it—admitting he had bound Jiang Jitang’s soul back then? That Jiang Jitang had been locked, and that as soon as a strong soul fluctuation appeared, he could sense his location anywhere?
The friend who hated being bound would immediately demand release.
But if he unbound him… he would never find him again, couldn’t sense him, couldn’t be sure he was safe.
Parsons kept a calm expression, hiding the panic he felt when the mark suddenly left C-Nation—he had been neither calm nor composed.
At that moment, he had even considered the worst-case scenario: Jiang Jitang in danger.
His life would lose all meaning, far worse than the first time he had lost someone. Worse, much worse.
The usually meticulous Parsons couldn’t accurately describe this feeling in words, but he knew he could not endure being abandoned again—whether actively or passively.
He needed to confirm this person’s existence, within reach.
“Sorry, I can’t tell you. Can I keep this secret?” he asked again.
For the long-term safety of his friend, Parsons persuaded himself to “keep it secret.” Those moist green eyes looking at him made further questioning impossible.
“Secret?” Jiang Jitang slowly released his hand. “Fine, I’m not that domineering; I don’t have to know everything.”
Parsons turned his head, picking up an electronic pen.
“Then…” Jiang Jitang’s voice came close to his ear, “if I asked you to stay in C-Nation, would that bother you?”
The sudden request made Parsons put down the pen. He tilted his head slightly, seeing Jiang Jitang’s eyes looking at him.
“Would it bother you?”
Saying “would it bother you,” without any hint of forced apology—this was Jiang Jitang’s first request crossing the boundary from friendship.
“Why?” Parsons pressed his lips, trying to ignore the storm inside him.
“I don’t know, I just suddenly thought of it. Maybe you could say I’m crazy tonight.” Jiang Jitang’s fingers subtly tightened, but his face remained casual, only his chest beat faster from the uncertainty.
“Hmm, forget it. I really am crazy. Just pretend I didn’t say anything.” He must have been drenched and dazed by the storm in J-Nation.
“But you said it.” Parsons thought he would never see Jiang Jitang show weakness, until now.
Jiang Jitang knew he had been striving for Chinese citizenship, so this request was more of an emotional statement:
‘I need you.’
“I will stay. I’ll stay in C-Nation.”
“Yay!” Jiang Jitang had no restraint, hugging Parsons from behind and shaking him until he felt dizzy.
“Pasi, Pasi, we’re friends again, right? I need to tell Mrs. Jiang. Mrs. Jiang is my mom; she said you must be a great friend, and you are!”
Parsons felt light as Jiang Jitang collapsed onto the sofa, playing with his phone, seemingly chatting with “Mrs. Jiang.” How would he describe him? What would he say?
Would he meet the mother’s standards for friends?
Even someone as exceptional as Parsons felt a rare twinge of insecurity.
Outside, the storm raged—the perfect background music. Jiang Jitang messaged Mrs. Jiang, praising Parsons as reliable, caring, and handsome—extremely handsome.
Unfortunately, Mrs. Jiang likely had other matters and couldn’t reply immediately. While waiting, he checked other messages.
“The class group is still alive?” The pinned chat was active, hundreds of unread messages.
Class groups always had people chatting; he just never appeared.
“Eh, everyone’s talking about the typhoon?” Most classmates were concerned with current events, so the chat was lively.
Wearing this type of bathrobe for the first time, Jiang Jitang casually leaned on a pillow scrolling his phone, unaware that flipping exposed a patch of rarely seen skin.
Parsons noticed, averted his gaze, and took a long sip of his slightly cooled coffee.
Work, work, work—he loved work.
The class chat speculated about the typhoon’s potential strength. The meteorological forecast had predicted level sixteen—an extremely rare super typhoon. Historically, the strongest had reached only level eighteen.
But the latest report indicated the typhoon was slowing. By the time it reached J-Nation, it might be below level fourteen.
Some felt disappointed.
“Why did it suddenly turn toward J-Nation? No warning at all! So unscientific!” someone asked.
“Probably the karmic backlash from polluting the ocean,” came a ping from Jiang Jitang.
It couldn’t be due to a “teen boy’s prayer.”
“Damn, missing person.”
“Wow, the school heartthrob’s back.”
“Where’s Boss Jiang? How come we never reach you? Married young?”
The once quiet class chat warmed again. They weren’t concerned about the typhoon, only about his status.
Outside, the storm raged, but Jiang Jitang happily chatted with classmates late into the night. He fell asleep groggily, woken the next day by the smell of bread.
“Did I sleep in bed yesterday?” Too sleepy to remember.
Never mind. Not important.
No one was beside him—only folded sleepwear.
With messy hair, Jiang Jitang took two minutes to wake, noticing the two heaps of blankets on the bed. He concluded: Parsons slept terribly.
Alone, he never messed up the blankets. But during the past two nights in East Capital, the blankets had been bundled together.
‘I didn’t realize Pasi’s sleeping standards were so strict, yet his sleeping posture is like this… How did I never notice?’
He got up, folded the blankets, and pressed the button beside the bed. Curtains opened; outside it was already bright. Yesterday’s storm had left no trace.
The sky was still gray, drizzling lightly, no wind.
Workers in the distance were dragging broken wood and other damaged public facilities.
Because the storm had weakened, its final landing strength was level twelve. Level twelve winds could lift small cars into the air and smash them down; wooden buildings could not withstand the force.
But because the evacuation was timely, and J-Nation had ample typhoon experience, no casualties were reported.
However, the government said a group of people had been trapped on an uninhabited island, likely in grave danger. Therefore, ships and planes were dispatched for possible rescue.
J-Nation civilians had two opinions:
One, sympathize—they were fellow citizens facing disaster, save as many as possible.
Two, criticize—they ventured out during a typhoon, causing trouble for society, irresponsible, and should be left to die.
The government didn’t really want to rescue them, but some trapped included heirs of political families and wealthy children.
“Our own hands are full, and they’re making trouble. Damn player organizations.”
The typhoon caused minimal human loss but significant economic damage. Tourist cities suspended activities, coastal homes were damaged, cars flooded—insurance companies furious.
The ruling party had to issue apologies.
J-Nation TV showed officials bowing repeatedly in apology, though no concrete compensation or measures were offered.
The meteorology bureau chief was scolded worst, already bent at 120 degrees from bowing; two others resigned to quell public anger.
All part of the routine.
Though Jiang Jitang hadn’t seen this, he could imagine it.
Faced with this, his expression was detached.
As a civilized person, he maintained the principle of war not affecting civilians. As for everything else, it wasn’t his doing—blaming misfortune or the J-Nation government wasn’t on him.
He changed into clean, dried clothes, and, following the scent, went to the dining table where breakfast was ready: two slices of toast with textbook-style fried egg, cheese, and ham, paired with hot sweet milk.
Simple, but nutritious.
“Delicious. Did you make this?”
“Mm.” Parsons wanted to explain that ingredients were limited, but seeing Jiang Jitang enjoying it, he didn’t care. His cooking couldn’t compare, yet Jiang Jitang said it was good.
Cooking seemed interesting; maybe next time he’d try again.
While finishing breakfast and milk, Jiang Jitang sent a voice message to the minister, asking them to bring the prepared electromagnetic pulse disruptor.
Test it before taking it away; if usable, take it; if not, redo. He wanted a powerful disruptor.
“By the way, Minister, who’s behind this? The Federation?”
“Kind of. You know the Federation’s wealthy heirs entered the Cube World; they control the Federation’s player department or are the department. They want your healing abilities and special food. Recently, two high-level dungeons issued advanced item-deprivation tools.”
“So that’s why they sent me to J-Nation—to monopolize. Even a government department… high-ups are like this?” He sympathized with Federation players; they got nothing yet took all blame.
Additionally, he raised a matter, but the minister rejected it immediately.
“Jitang, the J-Nation play dirty. A gentleman doesn’t stand under a dangerous wall. We’ll return first. When you’re ready, we’ll send someone for you.”
The plan was rejected, but Jiang Jitang nodded: “Fine, I’ll return today. No need for a big operation. I can come back whenever I want; don’t worry.”
He lazily hung up, then immediately perked up: “Since we’re here… go blow up the shrine?”
