Chapter 36.5: The Shadow Plot (Vol.1 extra)

The old man's figure looked even more hunched beneath the dim light of the room.

"...Hm?"

Trace's gaze suddenly shifted toward the indicator monitor beside him. One of the readings had fluctuated—only for a fraction of a second, but enough to make him frown.

"What exactly did you do?"

That particular spike normally meant someone had entered the Under-Reality. The problem was that, according to every record the Americans possessed, Ashes had never entered and exited it in such an impossibly short span of time.

An instant?

You couldn't possibly do anything in that amount of time.

Ashes... what kind of game are you playing?

"Heh... heh..."

The old man's laughter gradually faded as every muscle in his face relaxed.

The next second, his breathing stopped, leaving nothing but silence behind.

Trace watched him for several moments before cautiously stepping forward and placing two fingers beneath the old man's nose.

Nothing.

At last, the tension that had gripped him for so long loosened ever so slightly.

But there was no time to relax.

He immediately picked up his encrypted communicator.

"Sir. Ashes has been confirmed deceased for approximately ten seconds. Requesting authorization to begin memory extraction."

As he spoke, he started a stopwatch while simultaneously unlocking a specially designed American metal case.

The latches sprang open, revealing an intricate array of precision equipment. His hands assembled the device with practiced efficiency, every movement swift, economical, and completely free of hesitation.

Once finished, he inspected the setup twice before pressing his left hand against the old man's body while placing his right onto the portable memory storage unit. The communicator rested in front of him as he silently waited for the final command.

Just one authorization left.

Come on... hurry.

After all, neural activity in a dead brain could only remain viable for roughly two minutes.

Suddenly, the communicator began flashing rapidly.

The same authorization message appeared over and over across the screen.

【Memory Reading Ability — Authorization Granted】

Without the slightest hesitation, Trace activated his ability.

Let's see... just how long you've lived, old man.

The instant the memories poured into him, he found himself standing upon a vast, desolate plain untouched by civilization.

Tribespeople clothed in crude animal hides and woven leaves surrounded a blazing bonfire.

And then—

Children.

Dozens of them were being thrown into the flames.

Without warning, the perspective lurched into motion.

It ran.

It fled desperately as scenes of survival and savage beasts flashed past one after another.

Then he saw someone familiar.

Xia Jiuwei.

Standing beside her was Lu Nian'an, the black-haired investor who had earned a growing reputation in the financial world.

Trace's pupils contracted.

Impossible.

He couldn't begin to understand what he was seeing, but instinct screamed that this was critical—intelligence important enough to alter the balance of everything. Whatever happened, he had to bring this information back to the organization.

Centuries slipped by.

Then he realized something was terribly wrong.

The memories had already spanned over three hundred years, yet civilization remained trapped in what appeared to be the Stone Age.

A growing sense of dread spread through him.

One thousand years.

Fifteen hundred.

Three thousand.

Ten thousand.

The memories still refused to end.

A splitting headache erupted inside his skull, his thoughts unraveling by the second.

No...

I have to go back.

I have to bring this information back...

...

Wait.

Back?

Back where?

His consciousness became sluggish, yet the memories continued racing forward at several times their normal speed.

His awareness slowly sank away until only instinct—and the most primitive reflexes—remained.

War consumed the distant horizon.

Corpses blanketed the wilderness.

He simply stared.

A strange thought surfaced in his mind.

What a terrible war...

"Sir, Trace's memory backup has exceeded five minutes."

Watching through a high-powered sniper scope, the marksman stationed outside noticed something unusual.

Thin strands of black smoke were beginning to rise from the memory storage device beside Trace.

"Sir, the operation has become unstable. Request permission to initiate rescue."

Silence answered him over the radio.

Several seconds later, flames suddenly burst from the device inside the cabin, swallowing nearly half its casing in an instant.

At almost the exact same moment, the cold voice of command finally came through his earpiece.

"Rescue immediately. All personnel prepare for evacuation."

Bang!

The special forces soldiers outside kicked the door open and stormed inside.

Working with practiced precision, they restrained the burning device before forcibly folding its expanded modules back into place.

Metal slammed against metal.

Within seconds, the machinery had collapsed back into its original form—a black suitcase—though thick black smoke continued pouring from the seams.

One soldier immediately drew a black canister from his belt that resembled an oversized pepper spray and emptied its contents directly into the zipper gap.

Hiss—

A piercing jet of freezing suppressant erupted from the nozzle.

White vapor leaked through the seams, and in less than five seconds the flames were completely extinguished.

The suitcase fell silent once again.

Moments later, the special forces carried it out of the cabin, leaving behind nothing but blackened scorch marks.

The roar of an engine echoed from outside.

An off-road vehicle skidded to a halt before the cabin, and its door was thrown open.

"Shit. What happened this time?"

A middle-aged man strode inside, surveyed the room, and quickly noticed Trace standing perfectly still.

After several seconds of silence, he issued his orders.

"Everyone, clear out everything inside this cabin. We evacuate in ten minutes."

He paused briefly before adding,

"And one more thing."

"Orders from above. Ashes's body is to be recovered."

The room immediately sprang into motion.

Meanwhile, the man walked over to Trace, secured him in transport restraints with practiced ease, hoisted him over his shoulder as though lifting cargo, and carried him out of the cabin.

Inside the van, the man lowered Trace onto the floor and sighed as he looked into his vacant, unfocused eyes.

"You..."

"I have no idea how the higher-ups are going to deal with you this time."

Ring—

The communicator in his pocket suddenly rang.

He answered immediately.

The voice on the other end remained as emotionless as ever.

"Trace still has value. Do not dispose of him for now."

The man lowered his head.

"Yes, sir."

The call ended, and silence once again settled over the vehicle.

He looked at Trace and slowly shook his head.

"I warned you a long time ago."

"Don't push yourself so hard."

He leaned back in his seat with a quiet chuckle.

"In this line of work..."

"...once a tool loses its value, it's thrown away."

He lifted his gaze through the windshield toward the silent special forces soldiers waiting outside.

For a long while, he simply watched them.

Something resembling envy flickered across his eyes before exhaustion finally won out and he looked away.

"Move out."

Beneath a sky choked with gray clouds, a loose convoy of unmarked vehicles wound its way down the mountain road.

Not long afterward, one of the vans briefly passed a black sedan traveling in the opposite direction.

The man turned his head slightly.

His ability allowed him to sense the two occupants inside without even looking.

He watched the sedan disappear into the distance and remained silent for a long time.

Finally, he muttered under his breath,

"...We're all just people fate never cared about, aren't we?"

"Hell..."