Chapter 1 (1/2)

”Give me a suitable distance, god can also kill him!”

— — War Lord Zero

The dream was like a faded old photograph, shrouded in yellow.

”Hahaha, come chase me!”

”Idiot! You must come back alive!”

”What?”

You're going to propose to me when you get back?

I never said I was going to marry you. ”

”Unless you have 999 roses, I will barely marry you! Hahaha!”

Laughter tinkled in the dream, soft and cheerful.

That swaying white figure was like a lily in the wind, delicate to the point of making people pity her.

An unclear face, but a pair of clear eyes flashed.

In those gentle eyes, whose figure was reflected in them?

”Li”, in his dream, he gently called out a name, but there was no response.

As always, the dream was fading like a bubble, and he was about to fall back into a long, deep sleep.

But this time, something unexpected happened.

In a daze, he seemed to hear something else.

”What the hell did I think I'd find a treasure? It turns out to be a stinking man!”

”Hahaha, Hans.”

Aren't you a man when you get thirsty?

”I've heard that you've done that thirteen-year-old rumba boy before.”

There was a burst of raucous laughter.

”Shut up!”

Be careful that I break your chrysanthemums.

However, this brat was quite pretty when he got up.

”I've never been a handsome man in the old days, so I might be able to open it today.”

As Lang laughed, he suddenly felt something touch his body.

A signal was sent out from the depths of his consciousness, and dozens of data was transmitted to every part of his body.

He didn't know how long he slept, but his movements were only about five percentage points slower than when he was at his peak.

His body shifted 30 centimeters to the side before he suddenly sat up. His hand habitually moved to his right side and a cold metal feeling came over him.

He raised his arm and thrust the cold, heavy object upward.

He slowly opened his eyes when he felt something touch him.

After a moment of discomfort, his gaze gradually focused, and he came to a wretched face.

Judging from his brown hair and pale skin, he was a Caucasian.

And now, the face's owner, his chin pressed against a bright black barrel, his eyes intertwined with a mixture of fear and anger.

”God, he's awake.”

”Hey, kid.”

”Let go of Hans or we will be impolite with you!”

Voices came from behind the white man, and he looked past the hostage in his hands.

They were a dozen or so men dressed as miners, black and white, even two yellow men.

They had weapons in their hands, if spades and hammers could be called weapons.

There was no doubt that they were targeting him with all the tools that could show violence.