Arknights: The Life Inside-Chapter 69

"Hellfire, reload at any time!"

Even though she wasn't holding her flamethrower, Ifrit still shouted the familiar phrase out of habit. At the same time, flames erupted around her, living up to the name of Hellfire.

Yoren was no ordinary man. Beyond his sheer physical strength, his perception of energy was extraordinary, especially when it came to the Originium Arts that were open for use.

Just before Ifrit's flames exploded, Yoren took a quick scan of his surroundings.

The Turtle Man was outside. In the restaurant, aside from Red, and the two Infected he had knocked down, only a crowd of stunned onlookers remained. And Ifrit's fiery spectacle was no different from a modified suicide truck.

Having been engulfed in flames before, Yoren knew that kind of pain all too well—the kind that could haunt a man in his sleep.

There was no time to hesitate. The restaurant was packed with people, and Yoren wasn't a savior. He could only make one choice: escape, fast.

Boom!

A blast of fire erupted from Ifrit, consuming the entire restaurant in an instant.

Yoren barely made it to the door before the explosion reached him. More accurately, the shockwave hurled him out like a ragdoll.

As he tumbled through the air, he reached for Snowsant, who stood frozen in place. The moment his arms wrapped around her, they hit the ground, rolling into the alley across the street, tangled like a pair of bedsheets caught in the wind.

The fire roared behind them. The blast wave sent the newly arrived military police sprawling, their formation breaking apart before they even knew what hit them.

Yoren released Snowsant and scrambled to his feet, not sparing a moment to check on the others—he had himself to worry about first. If he still had hair, he'd probably smell the sickening stench of burning flesh by now. But even without it, his pants were very much on fire.

He hopped and smacked at the flames, swearing under his breath.

Snowsant, covered in soot and dirt, burst into laughter at the sight.

"Big Windmill, you look ridiculous jumping around like that! Hahaha!"

"What the hell are you laughing at? Help me put out the fire!"

"Oh—right!"

Before she could do anything, Yoren spotted another poor soul a few meters away, flailing just as wildly. Unlike him, this guy's hair was on fire. He bent forward, clawing at his head, like a man possessed.

When Yoren saw who it was, he nearly burst out laughing.

"Hey, Red Knife! Guess you're gonna end up bald like me, huh?"

Red Knife, ever the seasoned fighter, knew exactly how to handle it. He quickly smothered the flames on his clothes and hair before shooting Yoren a murderous glare.

"I swear, Yoren, I'll remember this. Just you wait."

Yoren flipped him off. "You're holding a grudge? I haven't even settled mine! Dark Nova got away too fast this time. Tell him that every time I see him, I'm beating the crap out of him."

Red Knife wasn't one for small talk. He spared a glance at the military police struggling to get back on their feet, pulled up his scarf to cover his face, and vanished into the night.

The fire had spread. The restaurant was only the first floor of a four-story building, and now, the whole structure was going up in flames. People staggered out of the inferno, their screams of pain filling the street.

This wasn't planned. It wasn't organized. Yoren had just wanted a quiet meal, but instead, he ran into an old enemy. His temper got the best of him, and now he was paying for it.

Dark Nova, on the other hand, was in an even worse mood. Sneaking into Columbia had been no easy feat. Before he could even get started on his mission, he ran into a mad dog named Yoren. Not only did he get stomped into the ground, but he didn't even get to enjoy his favorite roasted sweet potatoes.

But the one suffering the most wasn't Yoren or Dark Nova—it was the restaurant owner.

The fat man sat in the middle of the street, smoke curling from his singed hair, staring at the smoldering ruins of his life's work. Tears streamed down his face as he clenched his fists and roared to the heavens:

"My shop! Thirty years—gone! Damn Infected, I'll never forgive you!"

The fire raged on. The military police scrambled to contain it, but it was out of their hands until the firefighters arrived.

Yoren scanned the street. Most of the restaurant's patrons had escaped. Knocked down by the shockwave at first, they'd managed to crawl out, their Terra-born resilience carrying them through. Even untrained civilians had the strength to push through the flames.

But Ifrit was still inside.

Yoren wasn't worried about her getting burned. Her body was built for fire. But she had overextended herself, pushing her limits without the aid of Originium Arts. There was a good chance she'd collapsed inside.

The problem was getting her out. Military police were everywhere. Extracting Ifrit without drawing attention? Not easy.

Yoren adjusted his clothes, pulled up his scarf, and strolled out of the alley as if he were just another bystander.

He weaved through the injured, hands in his pockets, eyeing the flames with feigned curiosity.

"Wow," he muttered. "Hell of a fire."

A military policeman immediately barked at him. "You! Get back! Civilians shouldn't be here."

"Oh, right."

He had only wanted to pinpoint Ifrit's location, but his presence was already drawing eyes. He needed another angle.

Walking slowly, he stopped beside a wounded guest, crouching as if to offer comfort.

"Hang in there," he said, voice low. "The ambulance is coming. Just hold on, like a true Columbian soldier."

A hand grabbed his ankle.

Yoren looked down and met a pair of furious eyes.

The restaurant owner had him in a death grip.

"It was you," the man growled. "You caused this mess, and now you're playing innocent?!"

Yoren quickly pulled his scarf higher. His voice dropped to a whisper. "Boss, you got the wrong guy. I was just passing through."

"Bullshit! You're the only bald guy in the whole damn restaurant! I couldn't mistake that shiny head if I tried!"

The fat man lunged, wrapping his arms around Yoren's waist like a bear trap.

"Military police! Over here! He's one of them! And that girl too—she's with him!"

Snowsant, who had been hiding in the alley, froze.

"Big Windmill, what do we do?!"

The shout turned every head toward her.

Yoren groaned. Damn it, Snowsant.

A deep voice cut through the chaos.

"Boss, you're hurt. Don't worry—I'll catch him for you."

Something in that voice was almost hypnotic. The restaurant owner loosened his grip, momentarily dazed.

"Oh—oh, right! Please, help me catch him!"

Before Yoren could react, a heavy hand clamped onto his shoulder.

The next thing he knew, he was airborne.

The man—whoever he was—hoisted Yoren over his shoulder like a sack of grain, legs pumping as he sprinted down the street.

The fat boss gaped. The injured onlookers gaped. Even Snowsant stood frozen in shock.

Then, as if remembering something, the man turned back, scooped Snowsant up with one arm, and kept running.

Steady. Unstoppable.

As if, no matter what lay ahead, he would never stop moving forward.

The sturdy man who suddenly appeared had a magnetic voice and skillful movements. Even with Yoren and Snowsant hanging onto him, his running remained steady and graceful.

Yoren was taken aback when he was suddenly lifted by the waist. Yet, the moment the man's palm touched him, he could tell—this man had no ill intentions.

Even so, he couldn't just let himself be carried away. He had left something behind!

Yoren shouted into the man's shoulder. "Wait a minute, my invincible Ifrit is still in there!"

The sturdy man didn't slow down but asked, puzzled, "What dragon?"

"Ifrit."

"A pet?"

"A person! A little girl!"

The man glanced back. By now, the injured had reacted, and no matter how capable or charming he looked, he was clearly kidnapping a suspect. The infected wielding powerful Originium skills had become a serious threat in the city. With that realization, a large force of military and police quickly gave chase.

The sturdy man turned his gaze forward and spoke decisively. "No, we can't turn back now. I'll take you to safety first, then figure out how to rescue the little 'dinosaur.'"

"It's Ifrit."

"Oh."

Yoren looked back at the raging fire. The man was right. He had snatched both him and Snowsant within seconds—his reaction speed was top-tier. But even if he was strong, he couldn't take on an entire squad of soldiers and police alone. More importantly, he couldn't risk harming them.

To the public, the chaos might still be seen as an accident caused by a personal conflict between the infected. But the moment he fought back against law enforcement, it would be redefined as a terrorist attack. Ifrit was still in that restaurant, and as long as the flames continued, she wouldn't be discovered. The fire wouldn't be extinguished anytime soon, and it was unlikely the authorities realized one of their own was still inside.

Being carried like this was uncomfortable, but the man's steady strides made it bearable—almost enjoyable. Snowsant, floating like a pillow, looked completely at ease, as if riding a carousel.

The sturdy man took a complex route, twisting and turning through narrow alleys, quickly losing their pursuers. His breathing remained even, as if accustomed to carrying weight over long distances. Though his speed wasn't overwhelming, his endurance was admirable.

After about twenty minutes, the sounds of pursuit had vanished. Suddenly, the dim alley opened into a vibrant street. Neon lights flickered across towering buildings, and the bustling nightlife of the city sprawled before them.

"Where are we?" Yoren asked.

"The commercial district."

"Why bring us here? There are too many people."

"The most dangerous place is the safest place."

The man set them down. "From now on, just walk like normal. Don't act suspicious. I'll take you to a friend's bar—it's safe there."

He patted Yoren's shoulder lightly and motioned for him to follow.

"Wait."

Yoren stood still, head lowered. Then, suddenly, he raised his fist and swung at the man beside him.

Their fists met lightly in mid-air. Looking at the familiar face, memories flooded Yoren's mind. He lifted his head, unable to hide his joy.

"Brother ACE, long time no see."

He had already recognized him during the escape. This was his older brother.

Unlike the fully armed man from Mandel City, ACE now wore a simple yellow jacket, jeans, and a baseball cap. His demeanor had changed, but his large hands remained strong.

ACE gently patted Yoren's shoulder, a relieved smile crossing his face. "Yoren, I didn't expect to meet you in Columbia. Seeing you and Snowsant again—it's a surprise."

Snowsant finally realized who had been carrying her. She leapt up, clinging to ACE's waist like a sloth. "Brother ACE! It's really you! You came to save us! I missed you so much!"

Reliable men were always adored by children and the elderly. Among the group from Mandel City, aside from Yoren, ACE was probably Snowsant's favorite.

ACE ruffled her hair gently before his expression turned serious. "Now isn't the time for this. You still have a companion to rescue, don't you?"

Yoren nodded. "Yes. She's very important to us. I promised to protect her. And... she's an infected."

He added, almost as an afterthought, "Just like us."

ACE's expression faltered. "Yoren... you really have Oripathy."

"Yeah. A lot happened after Mandel City, but at least I'm alive."

In Terra, Oripathy destroyed lives. Long before the disease ravaged the body, it crushed the heart. Despair took hold, and the rest of one's days were spent in darkness.

But there was no despair in Yoren's eyes. His life hadn't been broken by the disease.

Though ACE didn't know what Yoren had been through, he could see it—this wasn't the same boy from before. There was something burning in his gaze. Hope. Curiosity. A sense of purpose. A drive that refused to be extinguished.

And something deeper still, something no one else could understand—the tears of a demon and a goddess who had seen the origin of all things.

ACE nodded. "Well done, Yoren. You've grown."

"Of course. I work hard with you as my role model, ACE."

Yoren said it offhandedly, but ACE's expression froze. A bitter smile flickered across his face.

"Me? A role model? Can someone like me really be an example for others?"

"Huh? Brother ACE, what are you talking about?"

"Nothing."

It was then that Yoren noticed. ACE looked different than he had two months ago. His beard was unkempt, his hair messy under the cap. Up close, he resembled a weary man, burying his past in work, masking a life that had fallen apart.

Yoren narrowed his eyes.

It seemed that in the time since they last met, ACE had his own stories to tell.