The night was as dark as ink, enveloping the entire battlefield.

  The daylight carnage had subsided, and the battlefield fell into a brief silence.

  There were no shouts, no charges, only the howling wind sweeping across the scorched earth, and the occasional low rumble of collapsing wooden beams.

  Corpses lay scattered, and the tattered flags trembled in the cold wind.

  Mud and blood intertwined to form a dark red carpet, soaking the earth into a silent, deathly swamp.

  The air was thick with the scent of rust, the mixed odors of blood, decay, and gunpowder lingering, refusing to dissipate.

  Occasionally, a muffled groan echoed from somewhere—a soldier or slave, not yet dead, still struggling.

  The distant fortress appeared dilapidated under the starlight, but the flag with the black "Zhao (赵)" characters on a red background fluttered atop the tall tower.

  The walls were covered with signs of repair, new cracks overlapping the old scars.

  Gun holes and firing points stacked upon each other like a mass of wounds, silently telling the story of countless assaults, defenses, and bloody battles it had endured.

  The guards on the walls remained vigilant, faint flickers of firelight dotting the defensive structures, resembling ghostly flames, casting eerie glows on their indifferent faces.

  The besieging force had gathered behind the trenches, temporarily halting their assault.

  They were making emergency adjustments, repairing damaged equipment, and distributing medicine supplies.

  It was a lull in the siege, like the brief breath before a storm.

  The night wind swept across the broken battlefield, burying the mournful cries of countless souls in silence.

  Amidst the stacked corpses, a subtle movement broke the stillness.

  Elo's eyelids involuntarily fluttered, as if resisting the impending wakefulness.

  He could no longer stay asleep, as the system yanked him back to reality from his dreams.

  There was no jarring alarm clock, only the system preventing him from continuing his slumber.

  Elo's consciousness gradually surfaced, and his eyelids trembled slightly before slowly opening.

  The stench of decay filled his nostrils, and the blood had long soaked his clothes.

  The coldness of the night seeped into his bones.

  However, none of this could shake Elo's calm.

  [Heart of the Strong Lv1] remained active, and he was still unafraid of the night, unafraid of death.

  Though awake, he didn’t immediately rise. Instead, he lay quietly amidst the corpses.

  He gazed at the endless night, as if still trapped in some blurry dream.

  After staring for a long while, Elo lazily yawned and slowly stretched his limbs.

  He looked as if he had just risen from a comfortable bed, not from a blood-soaked, muddy grave.

  After waking, Elo didn’t rush to check his surroundings, as his transcendent perception had already confirmed—there was no threat nearby.

  He skillfully summoned the system and opened the unread messages.

  Messages from his mother, Vian, Alaya, and the cabinet members quietly rested in the inbox.

  He browsed through them one by one and replied.

  As always, it was as if he were still in the Ark Little World home, rather than on a battlefield littered with corpses.

  After Vian received Elo's reply, she quickly sent another message, asking with concern about his condition.

  Elo looked around, his gaze sweeping over the silent battlefield in the darkness. The night wind carried the nauseating stench of blood.

  The ground was not only covered with twisted corpses but also blasted limbs and spilled entrails.

  The craters varied in depth, with mud and blood mixing into a thick, viscous swamp.

  Elo sighed lightly, and with a thought, he replied to Vian: [I'm fine, nothing to worry about.]

  Vian didn’t ask further questions, seeming to have no doubts about his words.

  The conversation quickly shifted to other trivial matters.

  She complained about Elo running away from home, saying that because of him, a whole group of people had been thrown into chaos, each one anxious and on edge.

  Elo didn’t explain or refute, he simply remained silent, sending a [...].

  Soon, his mother also joined the chat.

  She didn’t scold Elo for leaving home on his own; her tone remained as gentle as ever, as if she had never been upset with him in the slightest.

  She just asked about his current situation, while softly reminding him to take care of himself during his journey.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  —If you can’t get used to the food outside, remember to eat what we’ve sent from home. Don’t let yourself go hungry.

  In fact, the system’s functions went far beyond communication—it also had the ability to send items.

  His mother had already sent Elo meals, fruits, desserts, snacks, drinks, even spare clothes, bedding, and even a backup vehicle, all in complete readiness.

  Once the system received them, it would automatically sort and store everything neatly in Elo’s [System Backpack], so he could access them with just a thought.

  Every time he opened the backpack and saw those familiar foods and items, he felt the warmth of home.

  So, although it was a journey across worlds, he had never truly left the place called "home."

  Anyone who wanted to find him could simply contact him through the system;

  And if he wanted to return home, he could get there in an instant.

  The system had never prevented him from going home, and even if he briefly ended his journey, he could always set out again whenever he wanted.

  Of course, the system’s [Mailing Function] and [World Gate] weren’t free—each use required a certain fee.

  But for Elo’s family, these costs were nothing more than a trivial sum.

  However, for other ordinary [System Users], such a "luxury" might not be affordable.

  While chatting with them, Elo couldn’t help but vent his frustration with the system:

  —It actually changed my body to one that’s completely unfamiliar, not the one I originally had.

  After the message was sent, replies from his mother and Vian popped up almost simultaneously, both filled with dissatisfaction.

  Although his mother’s words were still gentle, Elo could still sense the suppressed anger between the lines.

  —She wasn’t just dissatisfied; she was probably really angry.

  And when Elo told them that the unfamiliar body was actually a "slave's" shell, the chat exploded.

  Vian immediately sent a long string of angry exclamation marks, followed by an unrestrained curse:

  —That damn system is such a bastard!

  His mother, though more restrained in her wording, still conveyed her cold anger in every sentence:

  —How could it make you use such a body? That’s too much.

  Elo stared at the stream of messages flooding the chat, momentarily speechless.

  It was just something he casually mentioned, and yet it triggered such a fierce response from both of them.

  What was supposed to be a light-hearted conversation quickly turned into a collective condemnation of the system,

  as if all the injustice, all the anger, should be borne by that unfortunate system.

  Nevertheless, a trace of warmth still stirred in Elo’s heart.

  Especially compared to the lifeless, hellish world around him, that care coming from afar felt so real, so precious.

  But within that warmth, there was also a faint, indescribable bitterness.

  He certainly wasn’t naive enough to believe that all of this was the system’s fault.

  From the very beginning, he knew—the system was just an innocent scapegoat.

  So, the question was—whose fault was it?

  Elo shook his head—what’s the point in probing whose fault it is?

  What mattered was—they had always been there.

  No matter how the world changed, no matter where he was, they were always the same.

  Even across vast oceans, even separated by worlds that could never be crossed, they still remained by his side.

  Always there, always by his side, never leaving—isn’t that enough?

  Elo’s answer was—It’s enough!

  After the conversation ended, Elo looked up and glanced around—

  The ground was covered with blood and wreckage, and the air was thick with the smell of gunpowder, resembling a living hell.

  He couldn’t help but secretly feel relieved:

  —Good thing they didn’t make me turn on the video call, or this scene would probably be enough to drive anyone insane.

  Of course, Elo also knew that such a "small scene" might not truly scare them.

  Even so, he still refused to let them see this battlefield that resembled hell on earth, or the version of himself that was scarcely different from the corpses around him.

  It wasn’t a matter of whether they would be scared, but rather a matter of Elo "worrying" that they might be scared.

  Vian, perhaps, could handle it—she could endure.

  But his mother...

  Better for her to stay at home, to remain in that peaceful, warm place, far from all the bloodshed and pain.

  As he thought about this, he slowly rose from the pile of corpses.

  It wasn’t until he stood fully upright that he noticed something seemed off with his body—so he looked down to check his condition.

  The wounds on the surface had already scabbed over, no longer bleeding;

  The fleas hidden in his long hair had disappeared without a trace;

  and the disgusting parasites within him had been completely eradicated.

  However, despite all this, the body still felt weak.

  It seemed as though a gust of wind could knock him over, fragile like a torn garment, ready to be shredded at any moment.

  But Elo knew well that true strength was not determined by flesh and blood, but by the power of the soul.

  The body was merely the vessel for the soul, and it was the soul that drove everything.

  That being said… he still felt hunger.

  This hunger did not stem from physiological need, but rather from the system’s settings, which forced him to eat.

  But at this moment, it was clear that this battlefield was not the right place to eat.

  Looking around, the ravaged battlefield and the corpses scattered everywhere made Elo feel an inexplicable resistance.

  He felt that eating here would be too disrespectful, as if desecrating the dead.

  He took a step forward, his pace steady and determined.

  His decision was made—he would leave this hell.

  If he stayed here any longer, the sword in his heart would never find peace, and it would continue to tremble within his chest.

  And he, unwilling to hear the soft hum of the sword any longer, refused to let it disturb his moment of peace.

  Elo had only taken a few steps when, unexpectedly, a system window popped up before him.

  [New Task: Siege Battle]

  [Task Description: Please play your part in this siege battle. How you participate and act is up to you.]

  The task description was excessively brief, with no objectives, no action instructions;

  it was as if the system, unwilling to let him go, casually tossed out a stone to block his path.

  Elo glanced at the cold text with a look of mockery in his eyes, too lazy to even glance at the reward.

  —Do you think I’m a fool? Or that I have nothing better to do?

  —What does this war have to do with me?

  He had the right to say this because he was the master of the system, not its slave.

  And this war held no value for Elo. Staying here would only prevent him from finding peace.

  With a thought, the system window was ruthlessly closed.

  However, just as he was about to step away, a new window suddenly popped up:

  [Task Issuer: The One Who Loves You]

  [Issuer's Message: You can leave, but if you continue like this, why even embark on a journey?]

  In just one sentence, it was like a sharp needle, unexpectedly piercing into Elo's heart.

  His steps faltered, as though an invisible force had nailed him to the spot, making him unable to move.

  "The One Who Loves You"—he knew who it was.

  Because of that, even just one sentence was enough to make him stop.

  He could ignore the system's tasks, but when it came to their voices, he couldn’t pretend not to hear.

  An indescribable emotion surged in his chest—sour, suffocating, heavy—ultimately, it was a sense of grievance.

  He didn’t understand why he had to be involved in this war.

  This war had nothing to do with him, and it wasn’t his fault.

  All he wanted was to avoid trouble, not to be so tired, not to deal with other people's messes.

  —Am I not even allowed this bit of freedom?

  He didn’t understand, he felt wronged, his mind was in chaos.

  —But he still accepted the system's task.

  Not for any “meaning of the journey.”

  Simply because—it was the expectation of those he loved.

  That was enough to make him draw his sword.

  —Forget drawing a sword, he would even be willing to destroy the world if necessary.

  As for why they had such expectations, Elo understood that very well.

  —They wanted him to do something, not to hesitate, not to stand still.

  Success or failure had never been their concern.

  Even if it was doomed to fail, even if it meant being shattered to pieces, doing something itself was the meaning.

  So, they gave him this task—

  Do something, anything, even if it means becoming the villain in everyone's eyes.