Chapter 516 - 479: Shattered Space

Chapter 516: Chapter 479: Shattered Space

It wasn’t just Bronson.

This time, even Duraga’s eyes, which usually shone with a firm and rugged light, were veiled by a strange haze of confusion.

The Gray Dwarf leader was subconsciously stroking his thick beard, his brow furrowed as his unfocused gaze swept across the bustling streets around them.

It was as if he were trying to recognize a long-forgotten fragment of a dream, or as if some sort of "memory" embedded deep in his bloodline—one unrelated to forging and rock—was trying to surface.

Seeing such an expression on the face of the Gray Dwarf leader, known for his unyielding will, was far more serious than what had happened with Bronson earlier.

The "assimilation" of the time loop was accelerating and spreading.

A cold sense of urgency once again gripped Roland by the throat.

He had no time to revel in the joy of discovering a clue, and even less time to wait for his companions to slowly "recall" their memories or break free from this erosion on their own.

’I have to act. I have to be fast.’

He took a deep breath, as if to inhale the false morning vitality of Silver Radiance City lingering in the air, along with the confusion in his companions’ eyes, and transform it all into the drive for a decisive action.

There were no superfluous questions, no words of comfort.

Roland took a decisive step forward, his movements crisp and clean, and spoke in a clear voice.

"Guys, snap out of it. Take out the notebooks in your pouches, open them up, and then..."

He paused, glancing back at his companions, whose gazes had quickly focused on him at his words. His eyes were as sharp as a sword about to be drawn.

"Stay close to me."

With the experience from the last loop serving as a roadmap, their efficiency was completely different.

Last time, they had wasted a significant amount of time asking for directions, unfamiliar with the vast layout of Silver Radiance City’s Upper City District. By the time they reached the Lower City District, it was already evening, and the fire had just broken out.

This time, Roland didn’t hesitate or delay for a moment.

Relying on his clear memory, he chose the most direct path, his steps quick and steady as he practically jogged through the clean yet indifferent streets of the Upper City District.

In just a few moments, the iconic circular plaza of the Sinking Stairs came into view.

The Guard’s questioning and the formulaic speech about the "Lower City District not being worth a visit" were identical to the last time.

Roland handled it the same way, passed the inspection smoothly, and stepped onto the transparent lift platform that emanated a faint blue glow.

As the platform began its steady descent through the filtering barrier, Roland took advantage of the brief and relatively private space to quickly and clearly recount the events of the previous loop to his companions in the simplest terms.

"So you’re saying..."

Avril quickly grasped the main point, a glimmer of hope shining in her emerald eyes.

"As long as we can find a way to make contact with that... ’thing’ underground, or figure out its connection to the loop, we might be able to break out of this cage?"

"Based on the current clues, that’s our most likely breakthrough."

Roland affirmed with a nod.

Hearing this, Duraga, Galvis, and even Bronson—who had just struggled free from the "Cognitive Interference"—couldn’t help but let out a long sigh of relief.

Although the path ahead remained strange and unpredictable, they at least had a clear direction and a sliver of hope for escape, which allowed their long-taut nerves to relax slightly.

"Then what’s our objective now?"

Galvis asked, his fingers subconsciously brushing over the strings of his Lute.

"Do we go look for that strange creation directly?"

Roland shook his head, his gaze passing through the transparent wall of the lift to the increasingly clear, chaotic scene of the Lower City District below.

"First, we’re going to Rust Alley to find a child named Morne."

Meeting his companions’ slightly puzzled gazes, he explained.

"Last time, I entered that underground facility by sheer coincidence. An attack from the Silver Radiance City Guard Team accidentally broke through the ground."

"And from what I observed, that underground facility has no conventional entrance."

As he said this, the image of Morne’s uncle on the verge of death appeared in Roland’s mind.

"But Morne’s uncle clearly knew what was buried underground before he died. He might know a clue to finding the entrance."

As he spoke, the lift shuddered gently and reached the bottom.

The curtain of light dissipated, and the familiar, oppressive atmosphere and scenery of the Lower City District rushed toward them.

This time, Roland didn’t linger for a second, not even sparing a glance at the numb or wary faces around him.

After getting his bearings, he was the first to step off the lift.

However, finding a specific child in the shantytowns of the Lower City District—a place where relationships were cold and everyone fended for themselves—was far more difficult than expected.

Even though Roland could clearly describe Morne’s general appearance and name, the responses he received were mostly wary shakes of the head, cold avoidance, or people simply pretending not to hear.

Roland knew even less about Morne’s scar-faced uncle, not even his name.

In the densely populated area of Rust Alley, where life had worn away the distinct features from most faces, such a search was like finding a needle in a haystack.

After hitting a wall several times, Roland saw the growing impatience on his companions’ faces and knew he couldn’t waste any more time searching aimlessly.

’We can’t keep running around like headless chickens.’

He stopped, shaking his head to dispel a trace of frustration, and forced himself to think calmly.

Suddenly, an idea flashed in his mind as he caught a detail he had previously overlooked.

In the last loop, the petty officer in the gray uniform had berated Morne while chasing him away, yelling.

"Wasn’t blocking the corpse cart this morning enough for you?!"

The corpse cart.

Compared to an inconspicuous child, a "corpse cart" heading to a specific location on a special mission would undoubtedly leave a clearer trail in the numb community and be more easily noticed by an observant person.

With this shift in thinking, Roland stopped asking about the child and instead began asking around among a few Lower City District residents who seemed relatively well-informed or ran fixed stalls.

Sure enough, compared to the wariness of "looking for someone," some people were more forthcoming about a "public event" like "whether an official corpse cart came to Rust Alley yesterday and where it went." Though still cautious, they revealed information at the glint of a coin.

"It went west... to that wasteland behind the Old Foundry, near the sinkhole... It’s a wretched place, no one usually goes there."

An old man squatting in a corner, mending a broken tool, muttered as he quickly stuffed the Copper Radiance Coin into his coat.

The direction was clear.

Roland wasted no more time and immediately led his companions to turn around.

Just as they arrived, a jarring mixture of suppressed sobs, harsh shouts, and the screeching of metal axles grinding over uneven ground came from a relatively wide side road not far away.

Following the sound, they saw four Guards in gray uniforms with cold, hard expressions, escorting a strange, flatbed-like metal vehicle as it moved slowly forward.

The vehicle was not drawn by any animal; a faint anti-gravity halo hovered beneath it, emitting a low hum as it moved.

And the "cargo" loaded onto the cart...

...was bodies.

Dozens of charred, curled, tragically misshapen remains were stacked in layers like carelessly discarded firewood.

The nauseatingly strong smell of burnt flesh and ash hung in the air, far more intense than the usual aftermath of a fire.

Many of the bodies were carbonized and deformed, making it difficult to identify their Race or appearance in life. Only an occasionally exposed, twisted limb or a half-charred face frozen in terror spoke of their agony and despair before death.

And beside the cart, a small, thin figure was desperately tugging at a Guard’s sleeve, crying out with all his might, his voice hoarse and broken.

"Please... I’m begging you! Let me have one more look... just one look!"

"That’s my father... and my mother... Please! Let me identify them... let me take them... They can’t just be taken away like this... Please..."

It was Morne Gore.