Apocalypse Forecast

The Moon, Kepler Base original site.

A chaotic rescue scene, divided by a pure white temporary oxygen tent.

Inside where the extreme cold hadn’t dissipated, investigators removed their helmets, bowed their heads, and stared at the eyeless corpse in front of them.

"Has the identity of the deceased been confirmed?"

A captain from the Jurisdiction Bureau, directly under the Decision Room, asked.

"It’s been confirmed with the Silver Stele Workshop, this body belongs to the alchemist Ragnar himself," the assistant replied. "According to the site reconstruction and the scholars’ investigation, the killer’s identity has also been identified... It’s William Buckle, the security chief of Kepler Base."

"Was there any enmity between them?"

"No, none. Since William came here ten years ago to serve as security chief, he has never quarreled with anyone outside of work and is recognized as having a good temper," the assistant said. "With Ragnar’s personality, he should also disdain engaging in conflict with personnel from the same base."

"Alright, let me guess..."

The captain, who hadn’t slept for almost forty-eight hours, squatted down, gazed at the empty eye sockets of the corpse, and suddenly said, "This William Buckle, before coming to Kepler Base, should’ve served in the Dark Side Prison, right?"

The assistant hesitated, then looked down at the screen in his hand, pulled up the file, but found part of it was sealed.

Top Secret.

"No need to look anymore, such top-secret files on the Moon are only found in the Dark Side Prison or The Sixth Research Institute. People from The Sixth can’t possibly be outside..."

The captain rubbed his face. "Inquire with the Dark Side Prison in my name."

In less than five minutes, a definitive answer appeared on the assistant’s screen.

Just as the captain had suspected, before William Buckle came here, he indeed served in the Dark Side Prison for twelve years.

The area he served was Zone B1.

Where Grandmaster Pobrus was detained!

An eerie coincidence.

"...That’s the connection, isn’t it?"

The captain’s eyes focused on the corpse, but his hollow gaze fell into the void, becoming ominous and frightening. "Personnel serving in the Dark Side Prison can never return to Current Circumstances and can only look for positions on the Moon and Border. As compensation, they’re given highly paid positions of high standing at various bases and departments..."

He paused and instructed, "Check the destinations for guards from Zone B1 after retirement!"

Fifteen minutes later, a report appeared before the captain.

In the past ninety years, a total of forty-one guards had left Zone B1. Of them, thirty-four voluntarily stayed in the Dark Side Prison, transitioning to logistics units, forty went to the Border, and the rest dispersed across various research bases on the Moon...

But when reorganizing, it was discovered that on such a vast Moon, among hundreds and thousands of institutions, over eleven had come to this narrow region between the Storm Sea and Island Sea.

And without exception, amid various accidents... quickly, they met their end tragically!

"When did the last instance of death occur?" the captain asked.

"Seventy years ago..." the assistant said. "Since then, there have been no transfers to the Kepler area until William’s retirement two years ago."

"Precisely when the Helios Workshop was interfacing in two cycles."

The captain chuckled mockingly. "Then, check Grandmaster Pobrus’s medical records, when did the signs of source substance decay and soul shrinkage begin?"

"Ninety-one years ago..."

In the long silence, the captain lit a cigarette at the corner of his mouth, muttering to himself.

Twenty years have passed.

"Since back then, he was already preparing to escape, Pobrus... Truly a grandmaster is a grandmaster, none should be underestimated."

The assistant was astonished. "Pobrus isn’t deceased?"

"Yes, he is deceased, no doubt, but the question is... how is a person’s death defined, my friend?" the captain laughed.

He raised his hand and pointed at his forehead. "Is it the destruction of the body or the dissipation of the soul? Only one corpse being dead, what’s the significance? Haven’t the site failed to find any remnants of the soul?"

"Not the curse bomb’s corrosion?"

"Let’s not consider why someone would go to such lengths to invade the Dark Side Prison to kill an old man forgotten by the whole world. Suppose, I mean, if there’s even a slight possibility... What if, before he was killed, his soul was already gone?"

The captain raised his eyes, a gleaming light brightened behind his pupils. "What if he had already escaped before that?"

That’s right, escape.

Source Studies Grandmaster Pobrus completed a feat unmoved by countless in hundreds of years by himself.

Escape from the Dark Side Prison!

And if it weren’t for recent anomalies in lunar monitoring and bizarre occurrences at Kepler Crater, which received focused attention from the Astronomical Society and thus got correlated, no one might have found any clues.

Only the Original Dark Legion’s professional hunting dogs have such keen senses.

Smelling unusual traces beneath seemingly ordinary deaths.

"Tony, what do you think?" the captain asked as he looked up.

"I’m looking while sitting." The horse-faced man smoking beside him shrugged. "I’m still on vacation, man, being dragged to work is one thing, am I supposed to play the backup role?"

"This is the time to use your thinking for validation."

The captain stood up and suddenly asked, "If you were Grandmaster Pobrus, how much would you sacrifice for freedom?"

Tony chuckled softly, grinned under the mask, as if he empathized.

Understanding a determination transcending ordinary people.

"Certainly, at all costs..."

He could assert with certainty.

Even if he himself were part of that price!

Then, the answer was clear.

Known condition one, what Grandmaster Pobrus specialized in was human source substance.

The second known condition, from ninety-one years ago, Publius’s soul began to show signs of collapse due to aging, the Source Substance dissipating, until recently, before his death, he had lost all ability to use Alchemy.

The third known condition, among all those who retired from the Dark Side Prison’s B1 area, those who came near the Kepler Base, all died under reasonable circumstances for various reasons.

The fourth known condition, that inhuman obsession Publius had shown towards the Miracle, even to the extent of the monumental mistakes he made because of it!

To accomplish some purpose, to escape from here.

He would not hesitate to kill himself.

"But, could such a thing be possible?" Tony asked, "Isn’t this too sensational?"

"Don’t forget, he is a Grandmaster, Tony."

The captain said, "The Fifth Stage Sublimator might have limits, but for a Grandmaster, as long as the preparations are thorough... nothing is impossible, let alone this mere ’suicide’?"

The only thing a cage cannot block is the soul’s desire.

He was thinking.

He was always thinking.

For him, escaping from here was just a matter of desire.

The two exchanged a glance, without speaking, yet simultaneously felt an indescribable chill.

They had both realized, in the world’s strictest guard and blockade, under constant surveillance where no privacy existed, right in front of everyone’s eyes, what the man who craved freedom did.

In countless long, deep nights, enduring unprecedented pain, bit by bit... he tore his soul apart.

Using strand by strand of dissipating Source Substance to implant the shattered soul, little by little, into the guard close at hand.

To avoid triggering surveillance, the Source Substance had to be extremely thin, hidden in words, hidden in thoughts, hidden in his gaze.

Relying on accidental eye contact, unanswered confessions, and groans when talking to the doctor.

He shredded his own soul, tore it to pieces, and then fused it into others’ souls, finally recombining it, letting them carry away part of his soul.

Once, and again, then once more...

Creating Hell from his own soul, then day after day, extracting the essence of freedom from this narrow Hell.

Thus, Source Substance gradually became scarce, the soul gradually collapsed.

This painful suicide repeated for ninety years, how many successes and failures, only Publius might know.

Each person’s departure would carry a part of his corpse, the remnants of his soul.

Like sowing seeds, quietly growing, quietly waiting, until one day, the host hears some news, sees some object, dreams some unusual dream, ultimately ushering in an irreversible erosion and transformation, becoming a part of Grandmaster Publius.

"If this is true, he would have divided his soul into at least eleven parts, no, counting William, it should be twelve parts," Tony sighed, "Is something like this really possible?"

"Don’t forget, Tony, he is a Grandmaster."

As long as the price can be paid, a Grandmaster is omnipotent...

The captain extinguished his cigarette, softly saying, "For such an inhuman existence, what could be impossible?"

"If such groundless guesses are used to write the report, I’m afraid the bosses above won’t believe it, right?"

"Who wouldn’t agree?" The captain stood up, taking a last glance at the corpse on the ground, "But besides this, what else can be written? In the end, it is a possibility... how to verify it will be left to the bosses above to worry about."

Three hours later, in a temporary settlement base on Kepler Crater, in a private bedroom, the captain completed his sixth investigation report.

After drinking a small glass of alcohol, he wrapped himself in a blanket, fell into a deep sleep.

Snores were heard.

This report, via the satellite between Earth-Moon space as a hub, was sent to the Current Circumstances, arriving at London Branch Watt a minute later, and then forwarded to the Central Decision Room·Suspended Floor.

Over six hundred people in the analysis team received the preliminary review, conducted information synthesis and aggregation, and thirty minutes later submitted the third batch of discoveries and hypotheses.

After verification through the axis mechanism, fifteen minutes later, this report was forwarded to a higher-level institution.

An hour later, the meeting concluded.

After finishing the video conference, Secretary General Yegor in pajamas, sat in the study, smoked a cigarette, and didn’t drink.

He lowered his head and signed a new order.

In the seventh hour, the Moon entered an emergency regulation state, everyone forced to stop all activities, heading to thirteen shelters.

At the same time, the Moon’s orbital path began its fourth adjustment, in an emergency situation, temporarily decoupling from the Current Circumstances gravity.

After the orbital inclination was adjusted, a massive celestial cycle completed a revolution, making slight acceleration, relying on the gravitational slingshot effect to escape from the orbit.

A simulated moonlight remained suspended in the Current Circumstances’ sky.

And in the midst of countless intersecting star trails, on the eternally dark far side of the moon, silver-white dust rose.

In the vacuum, the lunar seas cracked, with forty-seven ring-shaped metallic objects, six kilometers in diameter, blazing blue flames, rising into space.

They seemed to be pierced by an invisible axis, stretching out straightly.

Pointing distantly at Jupiter’s direction.

Tightly locking on the Demon’s Eye.

In the center of countless concentric circles, beneath the cracked shell of the Moon, a pure metallic object, dormant for over sixty years, silently awaited.

The Heavy Mass Cannon, weighing enough to compare to a medium-sized island, lay in wait.

Quietly waiting.

Waiting for the result of observations.

Waiting for the arrival of war—

Meanwhile, under the aim of the Heavy Mass Cannon, in his sleep, Huai Shi struggled a little, feeling suffocated.

Almost suffocated by the Broken Dog lying on his face.