464: Chapter 460 Heading North

Scenes from the past flashed before his eyes.

They weren't in order, but in reverse. Like someone fast-forwarding a videotape from end to beginning, all the images flickered past in reverse.

The sensation of the armor shattering at the moment the collective's punch landed still lingered in his nerve endings. Further back was the image of Wei Ziqing's Long Spear flying out of his hand, the shaft spinning in the air and the tip reflecting the afternoon sunlight.

Further back, Lin Yuan's armor was forced to deactivate, its red fragments scattering across the ground like fallen flowers. The silhouette of Lin Xun being sent flying by a tentacle, the sound of Shen Mingyuan's wings breaking, and the pit where Ye Ouyang was hammered into the ground with a single punch.

One by one, scene by scene, everything was receding into the depths.

Passing through this battle, passing through the previous one, and those from even longer ago. Dinosaur Person, Gibbon, Jellyfish, Wendigo.

The dull pain of every injury, the gasping breaths after every victory over an enemy—those pains, that exhaustion, those moments of gritting his teeth to endure—all flashed rapidly before him.

There were happy moments too—Ye Ouyang's excited shout when he first successfully transformed, Wei Ziqing's crisp movement as he sheathed his sword, Shen Mingyuan's triumphant laugh when he finally landed that shot.

The sad and the happy were all mixed together, churning into a blur of light and shadow.

The images receded faster and faster. Further and further. Then, they stopped.

It was the thing he was most reluctant to remember.

The warehouse.

The light behind the iron shelf, Uncle Li's pierced chest, and how he was still speaking even as blood overflowed from the corners of his mouth. What was he saying?

He was telling him to leave, telling him not to worry about him. The voice wasn't loud, but every word was like a nail driven into his brain.

And even earlier—Uncle Li patting his shoulder and saying, "Kid, you weren't late today"; Uncle Li sitting at his desk with a freshly brewed tea reading the newspaper; Uncle Li teaching him how to examine a scene, how to find clues, and how to untangle the truth from a mess of confusion.

Those images were warm, like the winter sun shining on one's back. But the deeper the warmth went, the colder the subsequent image became. The cold wind in the warehouse poured in through the broken window, blowing against his back, chilling him to the bone.

Guilt surged up like a tide, rising from the soles of his feet to over his head, swallowing him whole.

If only he hadn't been so impulsive then. If only he had listened to Uncle Li and hadn't continued the investigation, that night wouldn't have happened. If he hadn't let the hot blood go to his head, thinking he could solve anything, Uncle Li wouldn't have stood in front of him.

If only.

Uncle Li stood before him, wearing that faded police uniform, holding the enamel cup he had used for many years. He looked at him and asked something.

"Do you regret it?"

Lu Jianchuan looked at that face, that perpetually unhurried manner, the man who had taught him everything. His lips moved.

I don't regret it. I can't regret it!

How could he regret it? If he had stopped then, that monster would have continued to kill, and even more people would have died in that warehouse. Wasn't it the right thing to do? Wasn't it what should have been done?

Perhaps the The Authorities would have stopped him, but could they really have stopped him in time?

I don't know.

Perhaps even if I hadn't pursued the investigation then, the The Authorities would have been able to stop him from hurting others in time.

Perhaps... perhaps I had to stop him, otherwise, the The Authorities wouldn't have been able to stop him in time, and then more people would have lost those important to them before he was finally stopped.

But is that fair to Uncle Li? Is it fair to those who believed in you? Is it fair to those you left behind?

Guilt and self-loathing were like two hands reaching out from his chest, clutching his throat, strangling him until he couldn't breathe.

Is it fair to others? Perhaps it is.

The people he saved, those who lived because of his battles—he could face them with a clear conscience.

But only toward those who sacrificed themselves, only toward Uncle Li, he would forever be sorry.

Forever.

Guilt submerged him like water pouring into his lungs, cold and heavy. He sank into that deep water, down to a place where no light could be seen, down to a place where he even forgot how to struggle.

The outside world.

Black patterns spread outward from Lu Jianchuan's chest, flowing along the surface of the armor like a living river surging over a silver-white bed.

Golden patterns followed closely behind, not filling in but outlining—edging the boundary between the black and silver-white, like some ancient ritual completing its final step.

His armor was no longer purely silver-white.

The pauldrons extended outward, no longer the previous curves that hugged his shoulders, but rising into two sharp ridges like blades, or like the folded wings of some fierce beast.

The edges of the ridges were inlaid with gold lines, glowing brilliantly in the afternoon sun.

The patterns on the cuirass grew denser, black-gold lines radiating from the center like an inverted tree, roots digging into the waist and abdomen, branches climbing up the neck.

The bracers gained a layer of laminated structure, each piece as thin as a cicada's wing, overlapping in layers; it didn't hinder movement, yet reflected cold light like dragon scales.

The Explosive Combustion Form had deactivated at some point. Or rather, it wasn't deactivated, but swallowed up. Those dark red energy conduits had vanished, replaced by the black-gold patterns covering his entire body.

On the pauldrons, the cuirass, the bracers, and the greaves, every pattern pulsed slowly, like a beating heart, like flowing electric current.

He stood in the middle of the ruins, the light on his armor flickering on and off, on and off.

the collective looked at him and tilted its head. It withdrew the hand it had been pointing at Lu Jianchuan, slowly clenched it into a fist, then relaxed it, spreading its five fingers with the palm facing up as if weighing something.

It took a step forward, its boot crushing the rubble beneath, making a harsh grinding sound.

"This situation..." It let out a short laugh, its voice carrying a hint of surprise, but more so a kind of condescending certainty. "Hmph. Is this the classic desperate power-up from a tokusatsu hero?"

It lowered its hand, arms slightly spread, its robe fluttering gently behind it.

"Interesting. But—"

Its voice suddenly dropped low, like stating an indisputable fact.

"Before me, it is useless. On this planet, there will no longer be any creature that is my match."

It raised its hand, a finger pointing directly at Lu Jianchuan's face. That finger paused in the air for a second, then was slowly withdrawn, clenched into a fist, and held at its side.

"Do you know? You are the challenger."

It tilted its head slightly, the hem of its robe blown up by the wind.

"And I will certainly win."

Lu Jianchuan said nothing.

He moved. His feet exerted force, and the ground exploded into a web of cracks as he shot forward like a silver-black bolt of lightning, crashing straight into the collective. The moment his fist swung out, those black-gold patterns lit up simultaneously, and electric current surged from the pauldrons to his knuckles, trailing a blinding arc through the air.

the collective raised its hand to parry.

The moment fist and palm collided, the electricity exploded. It wasn't the previous blue-white arcs, but a brilliant white light, like a lightning bolt striking overhead, like the moment a high-voltage line snaps.

Light blasted out from the point of contact, illuminating the entire ruins. Distant broken bricks were blown away by the shockwave, dust on the ground was kicked up by the air currents, and even Shen Mingyuan, lying on the ground dozens of meters away, was affected by this current—

His body jerked violently, he let out a short muffled groan and gritted his teeth.

the collective was sent flying. It tumbled twice on the ground, crashed through a low wall, and slid for several more meters before coming to a stop.

It propped itself up on the ground, trying to stand, but half of its body wouldn't obey. Its right arm hung at its side, fingers still twitching; its right leg was also numb, and its knee wouldn't bend.

It knelt on one knee on the ground and looked up. Behind the purple mask, a hint of horror finally appeared in its gaze.

Lu Jianchuan did not pursue.

He stood in place, his fist still in the striking position, those black-gold patterns pulsing slowly on his body.

Then he heard it—behind him, the sound of Shen Mingyuan catching his breath through a constricted throat. His body paused slightly, and his fist slowly relaxed.

He turned, walked a few steps to Shen Mingyuan's side, reached down, and grabbed him by the back of his collar. Shen Mingyuan was hoisted up, and before he could react, he had already been thrown out by a massive force.

He traced an arc through the air, flying over the ruins and the rubble piles, landing on the roof of a relatively intact low building. He rolled twice and lay there, baring his teeth in pain.

He wouldn't die. But it hurt like hell.