Chapter Forty: Figurines

Chapter Forty: Figurines

Seeing the giant mecha reporting to its superior, Rose realized she might have made a mistake. She turned apologetically to glance at Yunyang.

“You know too much,” Yunyang said to the mecha, then wrapped his arm around Rose and issued a command. “Open a wormhole. Right next to them.”

Rose glanced at Yunyang’s long spear and instantly understood his intention—she was well acquainted with this maneuver. The wormhole opened, and Yunyang threw the spear through it. One of the giant mechas failed to dodge and was destroyed instantly.

Watching the two black-armored figures cooperate so seamlessly, the remaining giant mecha grew frantic as it witnessed its last teammate dispatched in a blink. Shouting for cover, it took off into the sky without looking back.

Hearing their commander’s desperate cry, the Taotie warriors around them quickly turned their cannons and unleashed a barrage of fire at the pair. The attacks came so thick and fast that there was no way to evade them. Without time to think, Yunyang stepped forward, shielding Rose, and waited calmly for the onslaught.

But no matter how long he waited, he felt no pain or impact from the attacks. Yunyang opened his eyes and saw Rose’s triumphant little face.

He turned to check the area behind him, only to discover, with surprise, that not a single shell had landed within ten meters of him. He blinked in disbelief.

“Hah, I’m amazing, aren’t I?”

“Incredible! I’ll rely on your protection from now on.”

Ten minutes later, with Rose’s cooperation, Yunyang dispatched Taotie attack craft one after another, feeling exhilarated. The fresh Taotie arrivals left behind twenty-some attack craft and two giant mechas as they retreated from the battlefield.

Just as Yunyang was holding Rose’s hand and heading back to the camp, he suddenly felt a tremendous force slam into his back. He staggered forward several steps to regain his balance, and their joined hands were forcibly separated.

Yunyang was about to turn and see what had happened when a translucent, ominous skull engulfed him whole and vanished instantly, as if it had never appeared. Only Yunyang’s disappearance remained, silently protesting.

Rose stared blankly at the spot where Yunyang had vanished, unable to comprehend what had happened—how could such a big man be swallowed by a skull so suddenly?

As for Yunyang, he felt darkness descend, absolute and lightless, and then found himself in a small asteroid belt, littered with meteors.

He had just begun to comprehend his surroundings when a massive meteor, colossal compared to Yunyang, hurtled straight toward him.

Seeing this endless “little” meteor rushing at him, Yunyang kicked his legs in the vacuum in a comically futile attempt to evade, but his position remained unchanged.

Lying in the crater left by the impact, Yunyang questioned his existence, voicing three soul-searching questions: Who am I? Where am I? What am I doing?

Though the impact left him dizzy, Yunyang wasn’t really hurt. He quietly sat up, glanced at the red planet beside him, and muttered, “Am I really that powerful? Did I just land on Mars?”

He looked into the distance and found something amiss. Why was there only one planet here? Where were the eight planets of the solar system? With his current vision and no atmospheric interference, he should have been able to see at least one or two.

Unwilling to believe it, Yunyang circled the red planet atop the meteor and, to his dismay, found nothing else—only this solitary planet. A sense of foreboding welled up in him.

Could he already be outside the solar system? Sent out in mere seconds—what kind of black technology was this?

His first thought was that Frost had orchestrated this, but the idea didn’t quite fit. The demons lacked such tech, the Sun warriors bore him no grudge, and the angels were even less likely—especially since his relationship with them was quite good at the moment.

That left only one person, or rather, one god: Death Karl. He had the ability; after all, he had transported Keisha, so moving Yunyang would be trivial.

But Yunyang couldn’t fathom Karl’s motive. There had been no attack, just a sudden relocation, as if Karl intended for him to fend for himself here.

What grievance could there be? Yunyang had never even met him, yet he was thrown into the void for a cosmic survival game—utterly callous.

To determine his location, Yunyang sat atop the meteor for seventeen or eighteen hours, beginning to feel the strain. He wasn’t just a body; he was a second-generation super soldier, not capable of indefinite survival in space.

Just as Yunyang weighed whether to attempt a jump to the unknown planet, his ever-disconnected system chimed in.

Ding. New random mission.

Mission Name: Find the Way Home

Mission Description: Return to Earth

Mission Reward: 1 Life Point

Description: If you don’t want to die alone in space, get moving and seek the way home, young man.

Reading the mission, Yunyang’s mouth twitched. Didn’t he want to go back? But he couldn’t fly. What was he supposed to do? He felt utterly hopeless.

As Yunyang grumbled, he realized he still had one life point and a high-level life jump voucher. His heart lifted.

He eyed the meteor beneath him, considering whether to use a life point on it—what if it transformed into a living meteor?

After much deliberation, Yunyang refrained. Even if it became alive, or even if he could take it with him, it was simply too large.

Suddenly, he remembered his little Yi was still with him. The night Rose was whisked away by Frost, Yi had been left on the bed. Who knew what useful things she might have? Why not ask?

He took out Yi and called softly. No response. Then it struck him that he was in a vacuum. He smacked his head, realizing his own foolishness.

He tapped Yi’s glass shell, and the screen instantly lit up, revealing a little girl.

He watched the girl’s mouth move, but no sound emerged. Yunyang felt at a loss—he couldn’t exactly use bone conduction by biting down.

He shook his head, dismissing the idea, and tapped the small keyboard icon in the corner of the screen, typing: This is space, there’s no sound. Use text.

A speech bubble appeared above the girl’s head: Master, how did you end up in the sky?

Yunyang replied helplessly: I didn’t want to—I was tricked.

Yi: Poor you. Let me pat your head.

Yunyang: Enough. Do you have anything I could use to fly? Hurry, I’m at my limit.

Yi: There’s no air in space, Master. How can you fly?

Yunyang: …

Yunyang: Your master is about to suffocate. Goodbye…

Yi: Master, you can enter my virtual space. It has everything.

Seeing Yi’s reply, Yunyang suddenly remembered that she indeed had a virtual space, one he could physically enter, though he’d never used it before. Now was the time.

Yunyang: How do I get in? Tell me quickly.

Yi: Watch this.

A surge of blue data flowed over Yunyang’s body, and he vanished instantly from the meteor, leaving only his phone floating in the frigid void.

A light-year away from the planet, several ships were speeding through a jump, destination unknown.

But Yunyang knew none of this. He now sat on the sofa inside a virtual villa, munching spicy chips, sipping soda, and watching a little girl explain her figurine collection.

“Master, master, look! This is my proudest creation. Isn’t it beautiful?”

Yunyang stared at the statue—or rather, life-sized figurine—Yi had just unveiled. He was struck speechless.

Wasn’t this the angel girl from the video he watched after acquiring the system? He quickly pulled up a virtual interface, checked the video views, and compared the figurine. It was identical, except for the somewhat vacant gaze—one couldn’t expect a figurine to have lively eyes.

“This angel is stunning, Yi. You’re incredible.” Yunyang praised, patting the little girl’s head.

Relishing her master’s first affectionate gesture, Yi squinted with delight but still corrected Yunyang’s error.

“Master, she’s not an angel. The description says she’s Celestial.”

“Celestial—it’s just a word. She’ll be an angel from now on,” Yunyang insisted. With such beauty and a pair of pure white wings, she had to be an angel.

“Alright, she’s an angel then.” As an obedient child, Yi decided her master’s word was law and offered no rebuttal.

Watching the giant figurine, Yunyang’s gaze grew more intense—not out of animal desire, since it was made of clay.

Yunyang was eyeing the large wings. If he could detach and upgrade them, maybe he could acquire a pair of angelic wings himself.

He’d become a flying unit and ascend to the pinnacle of life. Well, maybe he was getting ahead of himself.

Seeing Yunyang’s increasingly fervent expression, Yi nervously stepped between him and the figurine, her big eyes fixed on him, wary since Yunyang had just been asking for flying gear.

In the end, Yunyang relented. “Alright, alright, I won’t go after the wings. Just make me another one.”

Yi beamed, eagerly opened another bag of chips for Yunyang, and said, “Wait for me. It won’t take long—a few days and it’ll be done.”

Over the next three days, Yunyang ate and slept, slept and ate, waiting for Yi to finish the wings. His requirements were a bit exacting: they had to match the figurine and be black, or else he’d look like a husky.

The figurine had taken Yi, a perpetually idle soul, half a year to craft, with every detail meticulously carved. Making another identical pair would take time, but Yunyang didn’t mind. With food and drink, he was content to wait.