This was the main base's air vent.
At its center stood a protrusion with a small door that looked like a maintenance hatch—and like everywhere else, the area in front was littered with corpses.
Entries like this were never good news, but it was the only intact access point left. If it really led to the lower levels, he had no choice.
Arthur was reluctant as hell to use it.
Maybe that reluctance triggered the scenes from his dream. In a flash, fragments of the dream flashed through his mind. The location was different, but that overwhelming sense of déjà vu pointed straight to that small door.
Unconsciously, he thought of the Ralph from his dream again—and a wave of unease surged in his chest.
"Dammit! Was that real? Or just another dream?"
With that, Arthur activated the autopilot linked to his wristband, then hurried to the back of the ship to put on his combat gear. By the time he finished gearing up, the ship had landed beside the base.
He stood at the open rear ramp, carrying the surgery table. A blast of scorching air rushed up from below, making him jump back. The heat pouring out of the base's air vent was hot enough to roast a person—things below were probably already hopeless.
He waited for the heat wave to pass, then leaped down to the red sand below. The moment his feet hit the ground, the ship flew off to hover above a nearby valley. He didn't want to return to find it blown up by the vent's hot blasts.
Staring at the corpses scattered in front of the hatch, it was clear the attackers had ambushed here long ago. Every clue screamed their goal: to wipe out everyone in the base. His gun would be useless here—and soon enough, he'd be proven right.
Arthur followed the route he remembered from his dream down to the lowest level. Some scenes didn't match, but the similarity sent chills down his spine. This wasn't a tourist spot—he'd never set foot here before.
Unfortunately, there was no elevator (the time-saver from his dream) here. He still had to haul the heavy surgery table in his hand.
The corpses along the way fell into two categories: those torn apart, and those shot down. The latter was unremarkable, but the former was disturbing.
Torn apart? That was far from normal.
Among them were Salome's recognizable soldiers and what looked like random mercenaries—but a few bodies caught Arthur's eye. Their skin was blackened, and they had patterned tattoos. Unsurprisingly, every one of them was decapitated.
These corpses brought back memories of the shadowy figures he'd faced before. If it really was them, tearing through Salome's soldiers wouldn't be a surprise. But new questions popped up immediately:
Where did those figures come from?
Was Zack's identity really what Ralph claimed?
"Sigh—why do I feel like I've hit the worst kind of jackpot?" Arthur muttered again.
Leaving the operational area, he crossed the line between dream and reality. Behind the massive gate, there was no laboratory (as in his dream)—only a huge hangar leading to the valley.
Arthur shone his light into the distance. A transport ship was wedged in the gate, and the area around its open ramp was just as gruesome. After passing through a few more doors, he found an industrial iron staircase leading upward.
God damn it—why wasn't there an elevator like in the dream?
He glanced up, sighed, then gritted his teeth and climbed the stairs one step at a time, still hauling the heavy surgery table.
Finally, he entered the main base and reached a familiar corridor. Damaged bulkheads, post-battle corpses—everything was the same. He followed his previous route to a plaza the size of a community center: Salome's transport ship landing pad.
Huge pillars supported the area, and above them was a steel dome lined with glass—now completely blocked by the battleship he'd seen earlier.
The battleship's bow had torn through layers of gates above, crashing straight down here. Its protruding hull had replaced the old dome gate. This ambush was no accident—and Salome was almost certainly dead. Everywhere his light touched was covered in bodies, and the flickering red warning lights made the atmosphere even more eerie.
He could almost feel Salome's fear from his dream. But what about that weird dream? Why did it match this place so closely? And did those monsters really exist?
Bang!
Debris flew up from a corner, and a nimble shadow darted out from behind it, pouncing at Arthur.
Arthur tossed the micro-surgery table aside, diving sideways to dodge while unholstering the weapon at his thigh. He rolled to his feet, spun around, and fired a shot at the shadow.
The shadow twisted mid-air to avoid the bullet, then pushed off the ground to pounce again. A blade slid out from its waist, quickly attaching to the front of its weapon—a rifle with a bayonet.
The shadow needed to take Arthur down before he could fire again. It swept the bayonet at Arthur's waist, but Arthur was just as agile—he dropped to his knees and rolled out of the way.
Arthur propped his gun against the ground, flipped backward, and kicked the shadow in the chin. The hit must have dazed it. He stepped forward, kicked the shadow's weapon away, then spun around and delivered a roundhouse kick that sent it flying.
The shadow rolled twice on the ground, jumped up, and dived to retrieve its rifle. It spun around, throwing the weapon like a spear at the charging Arthur.
Click!
As the rifle flew, a short gun appeared under the shadow's arm—its barrel glowing in the firelight.
The thrown rifle glinted in the red warning lights. Arthur dodged sideways, and he heard the faint click of a trigger. A burst of flame erupted in front of him, and a bright bullet with a white trail raced toward him.
Arthur pushed off the ground, leaping into the air. He rolled mid-flight and pulled the trigger twice at the source of the flame.
The weapon Ralph had given him was no ordinary gun. Its bullets had two layers of gunpowder—like子母 rounds—and would explode again after hitting the target.
The first bullet grazed the shadow, flying straight into the barrel of its short gun and exploding inside. The second bullet collided head-on with the incoming bullet. The intense gunpowder blast sent both men flying.
Arthur twisted his waist mid-fall, landing on one hand. He watched the shadow crumple to the ground, motionless, with blood-like liquid oozing from its dark body.
He wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth and ignored the shrapnel cut on his arm, then walked over slowly. He kicked the shadow twice, then knelt down and rolled it over when he saw its chest rising weakly.
"Don't move!"
Arthur froze. The man had pressed a weapon to his own abdomen—it was the same short gun with the blown-out barrel.
But even if it could still fire, what good would it do? Arthur had already pressed his gun to the man's forehead.
"Do you really think you can pull that trigger?"
"Damn it—lost to some random bastard even at the end!"
The man laughed bitterly, dropping his bloodied hands to the ground. He lay there, helpless, his body covered in wounds. In the faint light from Arthur's shoulder lamp, his injuries were plain to see.
Arthur didn't care what the man said. He pressed his gun against every wound on the man's body. When he pressed it to the man's chest, the hidden wound under his clothes made him flinch, and blood gushed out.
"Looks like this wound'll kill you. Salome."
"You—know me?" Salome panted, his breathing uneven. The wound made it hard for him to breathe. "Ha… ha… but… anyone who doesn't recognize me… is rare. Do me a favor… put me out of my misery!"
"No. Keep your life for now."
With that, Arthur grabbed the micro-surgery table and stabbed a sedative needle into Salome's arm.
The first micro-surgery tables had been developed after the Battle of Kalba—a war between Basuhata and Mahaviya over the Kalba star system.
Basuhata had suffered heavy casualties when they stormed the enemy's capital in the final battle. They couldn't treat the wounded on the spot, and their medical tables were severely insufficient. Long hours of use caused frequent malfunctions, dooming many soldiers who could have been saved.
After countless experiments and improvements, the bulky medical tables were shrunk down to portable size for medics on the battlefield. They could heal ordinary wounds in minutes, but their biggest flaw (due to their size) was limited power and supplies—only enough for one or two uses.
Arthur opened the surgery table and unfolded its internal components. He cut through Salome's thick leather armor, revealing his chest: scarlet, turtle-shell-like skin oozing dark red blood. Through the charred wound, white bone was visible, mixed with tissue he couldn't tell was muscle or organ.
Salome's left palm was still bleeding. His skin was charred, and the bone of his index finger poked through the skin from the explosion. The man had incredible stamina—even in this state, he'd still held that broken gun to Arthur earlier.
The surgery table's mechanical arm moved along its tracks, its repair laser emitting faint white light as it darted between Salome's wounds.
As he waited, Arthur replayed everything in his mind during that long, tense minute. The unresolved questions were too stubborn to ignore—he still couldn't make sense of it all. When the machine finally stopped, he decided to ask the man in front of him. Maybe Salome had some clues.
Arthur knelt down in front of Salome, prodding his arm with the gun.
"How do you feel? Still breathing?"
Salome jolted awake, pushing the machine's arm away. He tested his limbs, then slowly climbed to his feet.
He sat cross-legged, rubbing his forehead with a sigh. "Not dead yet… for now." He glanced at Arthur again, then gasped when the faint light hit Arthur's face. He pointed straight at Arthur's nose. "You're the one who stole—"
Arthur pressed his gun to Salome's forehead. He watched Salome's other hand creep toward his waist—but there was nothing there. Arthur had already patted down every possible weapon spot, taking anything that could be used as a weapon.
"Stole?" Arthur pressed the gun harder, then pulled it back. "You're the ones who took it. I'm just here to get back what belongs to them."
"Ha! Take whatever's left! Take it all!" Salome snapped, spitting. He pointed to his upper abdomen and closed his eyes. "Your Slagspawn should've been smarter! A Hasas's heart is on the upper right side! C'mon—shoot me here and get it over with!"