ME Cuartas
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Chapter 183 - Pangea (LXII)
🕑 Added 2025-01-25 01:00:02 +0000 UTC“Thank you, guys. Really,” Lukas says as he approaches, carrying Chiara in his arms.
She seems to be sound asleep, her face slightly pale but oddly peaceful.
Before I can react, Ayu steps forward, taking Chiara from Lukas’ arms with ease.
“It’s okay,” Ayu says softly, holding her securely as she gazes at her face.
“Well, that’s it,” Lukas says, turning to me. “See you guys tomorrow… hopefully.”
He flashes a grin, gives a quick wave, and dashes off.
I shake my head.
Tomorrow, huh. At least it’ll be something to break the monotony.
I glance at Ayu, holding Chiara steadily without any sign of strain.
It’s fascinating, really. Any of us—even Ayu, with her smaller frame—must weigh over 100 kilograms by now, and that number will only increase with stage progress. Quite some freaks by human standards.
“I’ll take Chiara to a nearby cave I know and set up a bed there,” Ayu says, meeting my gaze. “I’m thinking of spending the night with her.”
I sigh internally. Wasn’t planning for a lonely night anytime soon…
“You two can sleep in our cave. It’s fine, I’ll find—”
“Our cave is our cave,” Ayu interrupts, her eyes narrowing at me.
Sweet, but should I really just stay in the comfortable spot while Ayu handles a critical-state Chiara in some other cave? That doesn’t sit right.
“I’ll help you set things up,” I say reluctantly, aware that Ayu can get quite stubborn once she’s made up her mind. “I’ll bring the wood and leaves.”
She nods and sends me a mental image of the coordinates.
Just a kilometer away? That’s closer than I expected.
I hop off and start scouting for some good trees. I’m grateful this didn’t happen yesterday—every single damn tree within a 3-kilometer radius was reduced to splinters thanks to my hellish training. At least they’ve had time to respawn.
Soon, I spot a decent one and approach. With a heavy slash from my sword, I cut clean through the trunk.
The tree doesn’t even react to the cut—until I give it a swift kick from the side. Calmly, I watch as it topples over, crashing to the ground with a deep, resonating thud.
I kneel by the fallen trunk, sliding my hand along the bark. Not too dense, not too soft—perfect for what I need.
Gripping my sword tightly, I make precise cuts along the length of the trunk, carving it into usable timber. Each swing is deliberate, turning large sections into manageable planks.
The rhythmic sound of blade meeting wood echoes through the clearing as the pieces pile up around me.
Once the trunk is stripped, I climb to the leafy canopy still attached to the upper branches. I grab fistfuls of the broad, thick leaves, their waxy texture reassuring me they’ll serve well as bedding material. I bundle them together, securing them with a length of flexible vine I found nearby.
With the timber stacked neatly and the leaves bundled tightly, I hoist the entire load onto my shoulders. The planks rest across one shoulder, tied together to prevent slipping, while the leaf bundle is slung over the other.
The night air is cool, and the faint rustle of leaves and distant calls of nocturnal creatures fill the silence as I walk.
The cave coordinates are easy to follow, and soon the dark entrance comes into view. With one final push, I reach it, lowering the materials carefully to the ground.
I send my waves in and notice Ayu and Chiara… wait, there’s subtle movement from Chiara.
She’s waking up?
“Ayu, is it okay to come inside?”
“You already scouted with your waves, so don’t bother pretending to ask politely now,” she shoots back.
Fair enough… though, to be honest, that’s instinctive.
I take a deep breath and step inside. Chiara is reclined on Ayu’s lap, her body still but her breathing steady.
Chiara’s eyes flutter slightly, then begin to move gently beneath her lids before they open.
Her gaze is unfocused at first, wandering around the cave before settling on me.
I stare back calmly, more curious than anything else.
As her focus sharpens, her expression shifts dramatically. She jerks back in shock, her eyes widening as if she’s just seen a ghost.
Hey, hey, I’m not a monster…
Ah… shit.
“Chiara, are you okay?” I ask, trying to keep my tone friendly.
She shakes her head, her hands slightly trembling as her breathing grows more erratic.
What the hell? Am I Chiara’s heart demon now?
I shrug slightly, keeping my expression neutral. “Chiara, it’s me—Alonso. Lukas left you with Ayu and me. It’s ok. You’re safe.”
But she doesn’t seem to react to my words, her body still tense and unmoving.
Before I can say another word, Chiara’s tendrils suddenly shift, curling forward to form a barrier that hides her face.
Oh, come on! Seriously?!
But then, I sense a wave.
“Leave Chiara with me.”
I glance at Ayu, who slowly moves her hands, gently brushing Chiara’s hair. Chiara trembles slightly at the touch but keeps her focus locked on me.
This is serious...
I take a deep breath, my gaze lingering on Chiara. She’s obviously in a different mental space right now. I’m not even sure leaving Ayu with her is the right call. What if she suddenly lashes out with those tendrils?
“Alonso, it’s okay. Leave me with her. I’ll call you if necessary,” Ayu transmits to me again, her tone steady but firm.
I hesitate, my eyes on Chiara. She looks more like a frightened child than anything else. It’s… odd. But she doesn’t appear dangerous—at least, not right now.
“Alright,” I finally respond. “But anything you need, just let me know. I’ll bring your backpack and gear from home and grab some extra food and water. I’ll also set up the bed outside before I leave.”
Ayu nods, and I step back, casting one last glance at Chiara and Ayu tending to her.
Ayu looks more friendly and concerned with Chiara than I would have expected. Is it because her condition reminds her of her dad? Or is it just that Ayu is that good of a person?
I smile at her. “I’ll miss you tonight.”
She smiles softly in return. “I’ll miss you too.”
With that, I turn and walk away, leaving them behind.
Imani spits blood as he crashes into the rock face, the force of the tentacle’s strike reverberating through his massive frame.
Pain surges through his ribs, but he doesn’t falter. Gritting his teeth, he plants his feet firmly and dashes forward, evading the follow-up tentacle swipe with surprising agility for someone of his size.
The octopus looms before him, its massive head already damaged but proving tougher than expected. His sharp eyes focus on the wound he inflicted earlier—it’s the key. One more strike in the same spot will end this.
Imani grips his hammer tightly, the veins on his forearms bulging as he channels his mental waves, enhancing his movements.
He lunges forward, his tendrils extending from his back to anchor him mid-dash, giving him the stability to avoid another sweeping tentacle. With a low growl, he leaps, closing the distance between him and the writhing beast in an instant.
A tentacle lashes out, but Imani spins his massive frame, avoiding the strike while positioning his hammer overhead. He channels another wave, accelerating the swing as he brings the hammer down with devastating force.
The blow connects directly with the earlier wound, the octopus’s tough flesh yielding under the sheer power of the strike.
A sickening crunch echoes as the hammer drives deep into the creature’s head, splitting it wide open.
The octopus shudders violently before collapsing, its remaining tentacles twitching weakly as life drains from its massive form.
Imani steadies himself atop the creature’s massive body, gripping his hammer tightly. He leans down, digging into the cracked skull and prying out the glowing orb embedded within.
Stage 1 - 5.671%
With a powerful leap, he clears the water and lands heavily on the shore, his body wet and streaked with the remnants of the fight.
He exhales heavily, chest rising and falling as he watches the creature’s lifeless body sink into stillness.
“That was a good one. Do you have time for a chat?”
Imani frowns, his eyes narrowing. Lukas?
The moon hung high in the night sky, its pale light casting long shadows across the open clearing. Wang stood at the center, his sword gleaming in the dim glow.
His stance was perfect—rooted, balanced, firm. Slowly, he drew a deep breath, the cool air filling his lungs before he moved.
The first motion was a measured sweep of the blade through the air, cutting cleanly and silently. Wang’s steps followed, precise and fluid, his movements flowing like water over polished stone.
He shifted his weight smoothly from one foot to the other, pivoting into a quick thrust, the blade an extension of his intent. Every swing, every stance, every strike was a product of years of solitary practice—the sword his only escape, a quiet rebellion against a father who never acknowledged it.
His father’s voice echoed sharply in his mind, a relic of countless nights spent under scrutiny. “Again. If your calligraphy isn’t flawless by morning, you’ll stand in the courtyard until it is. Discipline must come before pride.”
The words carried the same unyielding weight they always had.
Wang had grown up in a household where every moment was accounted for, where every skill was honed not for personal growth but for the family’s legacy.
His days were meticulously scheduled: mornings spent mastering financial strategies, afternoons dissecting international politics, evenings perfecting the subtleties of etiquette required for high-level diplomacy. Even his leisure time, if it could be called that, was devoted to improving himself—learning traditional musical instruments, delivering flawless public speeches, and studying ancient Chinese philosophy to quote when the occasion demanded.
“Precision is strength,” his father would say, drilling it into him as he practiced endless rows of calligraphy, his hand aching from the effort of maintaining perfect strokes. “A crooked character reflects a crooked mind. Do it again.”
The sword was the only exception.
Not because his father valued it, but because he dismissed it entirely. It was a relic, unnecessary for someone destined to lead. Yet, it became the only thing Wang could practice without his father’s constant scrutiny.
Sometimes, when the weight of expectations became unbearable, he would escape late at night, sneaking into the courtyard under the cover of darkness to train in silence. The cold night air, the rhythmic sound of steel slicing through it—it was the only space where he felt truly free.
But even then, it wasn’t entirely his own. His father’s shadow loomed over every other aspect of his life, a constant reminder of the path he was expected to walk.
The family’s legacy wasn’t built on personal desires or passions. It was built on control, appearances, and results. Failure in any form wasn’t tolerated. A single mistake in negotiations, a slight misstep in conversation, or a poorly written character in a formal letter—any of it could lead to hours of reprimands or worse.
Management, strategy, etiquette—these were the pillars of expectation, the unyielding standards to which Wang was relentlessly held as the scion of one of China’s most powerful families.
His father paid no mind to the calluses on his hands or the countless hours he spent with the sword. To him, it was nothing more than a frivolous distraction, an unnecessary indulgence.
But to Wang, it was the one thing that felt real.
And in those stolen moments of freedom, there was only one person who truly saw it for what it was.
Wang paused mid-strike, the memory of his little sister intruding gently into his thoughts. Her laughter, bright and free, had been the only warmth in that cold household.
“Big brother,” she’d say with a cheeky grin, tugging at his sleeve. “Come on, play with me! I want to see you do the cool spinny move again!”
He’d roll his eyes, pretend to ignore her, but she’d always stay, watching him practice with the kind of awe no one else ever showed. When punishments for failing his other lessons grew harsher, she would sneak in to comfort him, leaving behind small notes: “You’re amazing, big brother,” she’d write in her childish scrawl. “Don’t listen to Father. You’re the best.”
The memory brought a faint smile to his lips, but it was fleeting.
Wang refocused, his sword slicing through the air with renewed precision. He stepped into a rapid flurry of strikes, the blade moving so quickly it became a blur.
His breath was steady, his focus absolute. Each movement was executed perfectly, as though he were carving the very fabric of the night itself.
When the routine ended, Wang stood still, his sword lowered at his side. The moonlight gleamed off its edge, and his reflection in the blade stared back at him—a reminder of all that was at stake.
“Damn, you’re good with the sword. Do you have a minute for a bro-to-bro talk under the grace of the moonlight?”
Wang smiled faintly. The jester had arrived.
Despite their stark differences on the surface, Wang couldn’t shake the feeling that Lukas understood more about him than he ever let on.
“Don’t you have things to craft?”
“They should have been back by now, Mohan,” Ishaam said, his voice tight with worry. “It’s been hours. We’ve called them a dozen times, and not a single response.”
Mohan glanced up, his weathered face unreadable as he wiped his hands on a bundle of large, waxy leaves. “They’re probably just delayed,” he said evenly, though his tone carried a hint of unease. “You know how unpredictable things can get out there. Maybe they found something and decided to investigate.”
“That’s not it,” Ishaam shot back, shaking his head. “Rakesh isn’t the type to go radio silent, especially not with the whole squad out there. Something’s wrong—I can feel it.”
Mohan sighed, setting the wooden ladle down and turning fully to face Ishaam. “Look, worrying won’t bring them back any faster. Let’s give it a bit more time. If they’re not back by dawn, we’ll send out a search team.”
“Dawn?” Ishaam snapped, his voice rising. “If something’s happened to them, waiting that long could be too late!”
Mohan held up a hand, his calm demeanor unshaken. “And rushing out now, without a plan or direction, could get more people killed, especially in the Molten Crest. You know that, Ishaam.”
Ishaam clenched his fists, his jaw tightening as he glared toward the dark horizon.
“Eat something, take a breath,” Mohan said, his tone softer now.
Ishaam exhaled sharply, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction. He nodded reluctantly, but before he could speak, the silence was shattered by a sudden transmission.
“To all climbers, I repeat, to all climbers, this is your captain speaking... I mean... it’s Lukas,” came the familiar voice. “Big announcement time. There are big changes coming up, so listen closely. I need everyone to start moving toward the edge of the Riftlow. Arjun, Imani, Wang, and I will come to pick you guys up. Oh, and don’t forget to pack everything. We’re abandoning the camp—for good.”
