Chapter 48: Proxy Master Contract? -1

{The injury itself is not the main issue; we should be able to find a healing ability at the headquarters. However, Ma Chao’s ability is something we can’t handle… That’s probably why he let Xiaoyu go. She might not survive the next midnight slumber.}
[What does that mean?]
{Zhao Anlong once said that anyone who catches Ma Chao’s attention will die by his sword while sleeping. For now, we can only try to keep her awake. Otherwise, Ma Chao could directly enter our base.}
“That damned bastard.”
Yang Zicang clenched his fists.
That so-called Ma Chao had actually laid his vicious hands on a girl of only seventeen or eighteen years, and he wished he could tear him limb from limb right then and there.
At that moment, Yang Zicang was so agitated that he no longer had the mood to make more thorough preparations for entering the Postal Symbol World. After all, resources here were scarce; his original plan to search for high-tech items—like a generator, a steam engine, or a machine tool—had to be abandoned.
[Give me a few days, and I’ll finish him with my own hands.]
Yang Zicang voluntarily returned that 1N investment, severed the Mental Link, and said to Liang Xi:
“Liang Xi, I need you to accompany me to our new station again later.”
“You mean to clean it up?”
“No, I want to go back there again.”
Liang Xi stared at him in shock. At that moment, the boy was truly envious; he too wished he could enter and gain a skill.
……
A few hours later, the two of them carried water, food, flint, a few books, and a sword, ready to return to the New Crossing Point.
Luo Bin, who had been eagerly trying to tag along, was silenced by Yang Zicang’s cold glare.
Luo Bin, watching the two leave, clicked his tongue.
“That Wang Yu’an is a real fool.”
……
This time, the straw mat was spread with a soft woolen blanket. Although it was summer, the temperature inside the extradimensional space was not high.
Beside him were several reference workbooks, covering basic physics, chemistry, and pharmacology materials. The sword and the metal sphere lay on the other side of his body, while the statue was clasped in Yang Zicang’s hand.
He had instructed Liang Xi that these items could be moved aside after he fell asleep thoroughly.
At the same time, Liang Xi also allocated seven hundred years from the remaining thousand years of temporal sequence to him, in case of emergencies.
He had made up his mind not to stop until he had turned the place inside out. Without formidable power, he wouldn’t survive even a few days.
Raising his right arm, the model glowed and materialized at his fingertips, coalescing into the shape of an envelope. The surrounding environment turned chaotic and began to spin.
[I begin my second use of this complete stamp emblem. Remaining uses: 1/3.]
His consciousness was drawn out, swept again into a chaotic vortex, and sent to the other side of the mental world.
[The Lost Court, the Azure White Star, at your service.]
……
“Squawk, squawk.”
A flock of wild ducks flapped their wings in fright and flew away in a flurry.
Yang Zicang held his head and stood up. He found himself still on the same hill he had been on when he left last time.
The clothing from his last visit had vanished, replaced by what he was now wearing. All his belongings were scattered beside him, but the small statue was missing—just like how the “book page” hadn’t appeared during his first entry.
Yang Zicang bent down to pick up the metal ball Liang Xi had found, tossing it in his hand. He turned to look at the weed-choked small platform behind him; the thatched hut had long since fallen into disrepair, but new traces of abandoned offerings had appeared in front of it.
“Every time I enter, a comet has just passed. It must have been several decades by now.”
Yang Zicang felt a pang of emotion. It seemed that during the decades of his absence, someone had learned of his ascent up this mountain and come here to pay homage.
The distant landscape had changed somewhat. A new small town had appeared at the foot of the mountain, and more bamboo groves and trees dotted the horizon.
It seemed that this time, even without his presence, those who had obtained spiritual artifacts and battle tools a thousand years ago had finally managed to survive the nightmare calamity on their own.
……
He sorted the items he had brought in, especially the several books.
Development across the continent was uneven, but there were no significant era-spanning disparities. Most areas were still in tribal systems, but with these books, Yang Zicang believed that rapid progress would emerge in this world.
After all, basic science was the foundation of all inventions and creations.
He arrived at the bustling town. Most people were still dressed in primitive animal hides, with only a few wearing linen clothes.
Over twenty years later, Yang Zicang left this small town and headed to other places.
……
Draped in a gray fur cloak, the “Chief Follower” Zaguda knelt before the statue of the deity.
His life has already passed more than half, yet since he once saw that sage in his youth, he has never again beheld his true countenance.
“Great immortal king. Please bestow your sacred decree. Why have you left… have you, abandoned us?”
In the great hall.
Hundreds of robust men clad in rough armor held strange sacred relics in their hands, gazing at their leader at the forefront, their faces filled with sorrow.
Since the desolate ancient era, every sixty years, signs of monsters appear, lasting about a year. During that year, the person destined since primordial times to confront the disaster would emerge.
He was called “The One Who Comes Between the Two Jiazi.”
That year was called “Inter-Jiazi”, but last time, the respondent “Immortal King” did not appear here.
The followers of the Holy Flame scattered across the continent have today returned together to the sacred hall.
Over the past twenty-plus years, these warriors in special long garments, holding sacred vessels, have traversed the continent and confirmed a message—during the last Inter-Jiazi, no trace of that sage was found across the entire mainland.
After the prayers and confessions were done, the leader of this band stood up, his eyes showing majesty.
“Dear warriors, you have worked hard. The city has prepared fine wines. In the next seven days, please feast and enjoy yourselves to the fullest.”
“Whoo-woo-woo-woo!”
Everyone rested on their weapons, letting out rumbling cheers.
Zaguda smiled slightly—perhaps these warriors were an incarnation of the Undying Lord, or maybe the ethereal figure in his memory was merely someone the previous leader had found.
……
Supported by two elegantly built girls, Zaguda returned to the rugged stone palace at the rear of the sanctuary.
He could feel the vitality in his body waning year by year.
Legend held that every time a chief successor passed on his role to the next generation, That One always attended the ceremony. He couldn’t help but wonder, what if when his turn came, That One didn’t show up?
“Father.”
A boy with slightly yellowish hair approached.
“Did you practice martial arts today?”
“Um, yes, I did.” the boy replied, his tone unconvincing.
Zaguda nodded in satisfaction. “Only the bravest warriors can become followers. Don’t let me down.”
The round-faced boy chuckled.
“Father, the warriors have returned. I want to go into the city and gather some rewards for them.”
Zaguda cast a cold glance at this child of about fifteen or sixteen, whose evasive eyes irked him a bit.
“Don’t cause any trouble.”
Ashi Zaguda, whose cheeks still jutted outwardly, took heavy breaths, a rare joy spreading across his face.
“Understood.”
He eagerly bolted away, and as he passed the maidservants by the door, he even grabbed the thigh of the girl under her skirt.
……
“It really answered!”
Morie lay excitedly in bed. The Wish Talisman had just responded.
“Quick, go to sleep.”
Wrapped in something like dozens of small, green unripe fruits, he tossed and turned, finding it harder to fall asleep.
“Damn it!”
Three minutes passed here, and half an hour went by there, while in the Emblem World, countless years might have elapsed. Boppoli watched him, a bit puzzled, but the yellow-haired boy still came up with an idea.
“Mori, I have a plan, but you need to hold on; I’ll open the door in a few minutes.”
Mori, from inside the blanket, turned his head and asked warily, “What are you going to do?”
“Just watch.”
Before long, the air was thick with the pungent smell of charcoal and alcohol.
……
Mori found himself awake in a forest; after hesitating for a couple of seconds, he came to his senses, quickly sat up, and perched on the edge of the bed.
Could that damn bastard be scared of suffocating himself?
“You’re Mori? Hello, can you understand my language?”
Suddenly, a voice rang out. Mori looked up. In the forest, a young Asian man holding a black spear stood as if passing by, staring from behind the grass at him… and at the wooden bed under him.
“Hello, uh, yes.”
The two exchanged glances. Mori looked at the sun in the sky and said in fairly standard Chinese, “Are you the master of this dream? May I ask your name?”
“Just call me Zicang. Which country did you come from, speaking Chinese so well?”
“I’m the so-called foreign teacher here. The cities nearby are basically all from your hemisphere.”
He stood up from the dark solid wood bed, stepping onto the soft grassy ground, his eyes scanning the forest with caution.
In the distance, bird calls and the faint sound of flowing water could be heard; sunlight filtered through the gaps in the canopy, casting dappled spots onto him.
“These cities?” Yang Zicang tilted his head and glanced at him.
“Huh, you don’t know? Someone who managed to obtain a Complete Stamp Emblem hasn’t even heard of the existence of Hubtown?”
“What kind of place is that?”
Mori ruffled his brownish-yellow hair:
“Really no clue? Uh, let’s put it this way. The world has quite a few of those peculiar cities like the one you’re from, and Hubtown is what connects them. I guess we’re not from the same city.”