Two months had passed since Shaoran had settled into the routine of life in Solva. The world had become more familiar with every passing day, the creatures, the land, the techniques he had honed. But today was different. The system's alert blared in his mind, a cold mechanical voice cutting through the tranquility of his mud house.
"Nightmare attack: Eight months remaining ."
Shaoran stood still, The land around him, though brimming with life, But even as the system's words echoed in his head, he knew one thing for certain: his current speed, his strength—everything he had built so far—was far from enough.
He clenched his fists, eyes narrowing. It's time. He needed more, much more. The answer was clear: Earth. The weapons, the resources, and the manpower he needed could only be found there.
He glanced around the room, his mind already moving into action. He summoned his creatures, calling them to his side with a single thought. The ape, his butler, lumbered forward, obedient and silent. The wolves, their sharp eyes alert, gathered outside the house, eyes scanning for any threats. Krak, the goblin, appeared in the doorway, its small figure standing stiffly, waiting for its orders.
Shaoran gave them specific tasks. The Bronze Ape was to guard the perimeter, ensuring no creatures approached during his absence. The wolves would patrol the jungle, keeping the area around the house safe. And Krak—well, Krak had become quite the cook, but Shaoran needed him to learn more. The goblin was tasked with helping to fortify the house, gathering materials and keeping the area secure. They had their roles, and Shaoran trusted them to execute them well.
With a final glance at the creatures, Shaoran turned his attention to the system. He tapped into the system window, his fingers moving with practiced ease. The screen flickered, and a list of options appeared. He scrolled down, finding the teleportation menu that had remained locked for so long. He hesitated only for a moment before tapping it.
The screen blurred, and a list of worlds appeared before him. But as his eyes scanned the list, something caught his attention: Earth was the only world that wasn't hidden behind the blur. It stood there, shining like a beacon, the only world available to him. He tapped it without a second thought.
A flash of light.
And then, he was back.
Shaoran blinked, finding himself standing in his old apartment on Earth. The familiar, cramped space was just as he had left it—but only in the sense that it was still his. The once-cozy space now felt cold, disarrayed. Broken furniture, overturned chairs, and a scattering of dust filled the room. It looked as though the place had been ransacked multiple times. His pulse quickened as his eyes scanned the room.
He spotted a charger nearby, grabbing it and plugging his phone in. The familiar hum of charging brought some semblance of peace, and he sat down, letting his mind focus on the task at hand.
Fix this place. He knew there wasn't time to waste. He needed to be ready, to gather what he could, and then go back.
He started with the basics, picking up the scattered chairs and righting the overturned table. He moved with purpose, setting the apartment back in order, he took stock of what was left—some old clothes, a few items of sentimental value, and more importantly, his old weapons, which had been buried beneath a pile of debris. His guns well-worn, was there, along with a couple of knives that he could use if needed. A few tools for crafting were tucked away in a drawer—nothing fancy, but they'd be useful.
The apartment wasn't much, but it had its value. And it was familiar.
Once everything was in some semblance of order, Shaoran moved toward the kitchen, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the cabinets. He found some old, preserved food—canned beans, rice, a few packets of dried fruit. Not much, but it would do for now. His eyes then moved to the windows, the outside world. The skyline of the city stretched out before him, the familiar noise of the streets rising up to his ears. Earth was chaotic, but it was home. Or at least it had been.
Finally, Shaoran sat back down, his phone now fully charged. He scrolled through his contacts and paused when he saw Jerry's name. Jerry was his old friend—someone who had always been there in the background, someone who might understand, or at least help him with the next step. Shaoran tapped on the number and waited, watching the clock tick down as the phone rang.
It was time to call in a favor. He needed to get more information—on the Nightmare attack, on what was really going on. And Jerry was the only one who might have the answers.
The phone clicked, and Jerry's voice came through.
"Yo, Shaoran? What's up?"
Shaoran's lips twitched. "I need your help."