Chapter 87

Chapter 87

The camera was positioned to their side, capturing the exact moment the wind blew Ye Mo’s hood down, revealing his profile.

A crew member paused in surprise. “Adjust the angle—move to the right front.”

The live stream had been buzzing ever since observers first spotted the approaching Insect Tide.

“He’s incredibly perceptive. The door below is locked—probably reinforced to withstand insectoid assault. Climbing to the rooftop is far safer than staying down there. But without rescue, it’s over, right? No food, no escape—just trapped, waiting to die.”

“That profile is absolutely stunning!”

“What do we do?! How is the Insect Tide closing in so fast? Can we make an exception and evacuate them to a safe zone?”

“No. Small starships pose too great a risk. Insectoids have long mastered launching ground-based attacks. People have tried before—but not only did they fail to save anyone, they lost entire starship crews. Ultimately, the operation was deemed too dangerous, and a mandatory minimum flight altitude was instituted.”

The crew member remained calm, adjusting the camera as the starship flew. “Apologies—we’re operating a small starship with strict altitude restrictions. Regulations prohibit us from descending near ground level. However, if qualified professionals are present, we will fully cooperate.”

The starship shifted to the right front. Ye Mo disappeared from frame. The crew member zoomed out to reconfirm his location, then slowly zoomed back in—bringing Ye Mo fully into view.

Ye Mo stood upright. Wind howled from the heights, whipping his hair. For a fleeting moment, he felt as if he might take flight.

He ignored the starship high above, focusing solely on the distant, advancing Insect Tide—and felt hunger intensify.

The flood of live-stream comments froze for an instant—then erupted with even greater force. Almost everyone recognized Cyril’s appearance instantly.

“Cyril! He’s alive!”

“It’s a Grath! The young prince! Is that really him—or just a coincidence?”

“It can’t be coincidence. Remember that broken sword earlier? Your production team is incredible!”

“My god—he looks remarkably unscathed. That was a full starship self-destruct! Grath physiology and psychic power are extraordinary!”

“But he has no weapon—no sword! No matter how formidable his body is, can he possibly survive against so many insects?”

The crew member incredulously zoomed in closer. He glanced back at the captain behind him. “Should we attempt a rescue?”

“The Insect Tide is nearly here. Risk of collision is extremely high.”

Then his tone shifted.

“But who cares? The combined value of our entire crew doesn’t compare to that of a single Grath. It’s worth the gamble. Poll everyone in the group channel—if they all agree, we’ll proceed.”

Suddenly, both men froze. The pilot’s voice crackled through their earpieces: “Captain—looks like we won’t need to. Check the flight-path surveillance… no—just look up.”

The two by the hatch looked up simultaneously—and gasped in unison.

One murmured, “My god—I thought they wouldn’t arrive until the day after tomorrow…”

From their last confirmed location reported in the news to this point was at least a two-day journey. The live stream flooded with frantic comments clamoring for attention.

“What *are* those?! Let me see!”

“The insects are almost here—hurry and show us!”

“I want to see too! Who is it? Is it rescue? Also—why does it feel darker? Is it clouding over?”

It seemed the crew member finally remembered his duty. The camera jerked upward.

By the time it stabilized, the torrent of live-stream comments had nearly ceased entirely.

Below, Ye Mo also looked up.

His pupils reflected the entire sky.

The entire sky was filled—dominated—by thousands of pitch-black, colossal warships: a vast, suffocating mass. They continued descending steadily, their shadows sweeping across the ground like leviathans gliding overhead.

Ye Mo stared, eyes wide. His heart hammered violently; every cell in his body seemed to surge with elation. “What… is *that*?”

Then the warship hatches opened. Countless warriors clad in black combat suits, gripping razor-sharp swords, leaned out.

Arnold still wore his half-mask. His gaze locked onto Ye Mo’s coordinates below. Just as he prepared to leap, a figure brushed past—Norton’s silhouette burned itself into Arnold’s vision.

Arnold’s motion stalled for a split second—then he too launched himself from the hatch, following closely behind.

Seconds later, as the warships descended to optimal altitude, warriors equipped with emergency landing gear began leaping from other vessels.

Arnold landed slightly off-target. He clicked his tongue, corrected his posture midair—and touched down several hundred meters to Ye Mo’s left.

Norton’s landing was flawless. He landed precisely on the rooftop where Ye Mo stood.

Ye Mo turned—still standing atop the parapet—watching Norton rise and walk toward him.

He didn’t recognize Norton. He watched him draw nearer, uncertain how to respond.

But before Ye Mo could even think, Norton stood before him. Norton reached out—his hand pressed firmly against Ye Mo’s back, brooking no refusal—as he pulled him into a tight embrace.

Ye Mo’s eyes widened instantly. Tears welled up, inexplicably and rapidly.

He tried to suppress them—but large, glistening drops fell one after another. All he could do was bite his lip hard, desperate not to make a sound.

Yet his breathing grew ragged, his chest heaving violently.

Norton’s large hand cradled the back of Ye Mo’s head—resting gently against his shoulder.

He towered over the still-youthful Ye Mo. Standing atop the parapet, Ye Mo was marginally taller—but he bent forward, embracing Norton.

Ye Mo sank deeper into the embrace, surrendering his full weight to Norton.

Norton lifted him down from the parapet—holding him even more tightly in his arms.

Ye Mo inexplicably recalled children he’d seen roadside—throwing tantrums, demanding to play somewhere high—only to be scooped up and carried down by their fathers in exactly this way.

When Ye Mo’s emotions finally settled, he heard Norton’s voice—carrying something unusual, yet clearly steadied with effort: “Let’s go home.”

Buried in Norton’s embrace, Ye Mo hummed a muffled, “Mm.”

…

Zero Three impatiently shut off the terminal—Ye Mo’s image vanished. “Satisfied now? Can we go?”

Faceless didn’t move.

Zero Three glanced at him. Alarms blared everywhere. “If you leave now—do you *want* to get killed?”

Only then did Faceless straighten up. “I haven’t given him his medicine yet.”

Zero Three sneered. “Then go deliver it now. Once delivered—you’ll be torn apart by the Grath. Maybe a few of your limbs will end up displayed alongside the King Insect specimen as trophies in the young prince’s palace—never parted from him again.”

"Figure out what's going on. He's probably telling his dad right now about how he met some weirdo who injected him with a strange substance."

Outside the door, knocking sounded yet again. Unlike the previous urgings, this time the wording had changed, and the person was clearly nervous. "Sir, Granth is here. The ship is ready; we need to leave quickly."

"Many starships have already taken off. Should we..."

"Right. Notify them we're leaving now."

Zero Three started for the door but paused at the entrance. "We still have many more opportunities to deliver the serum."

Faceless wavered for a second before finally following Zero Three.

He wanted to see Ye Mo again, to spend time with him, to watch him sit quietly, gazing at the photo of their shared family.

But just as he was about to step out, Faceless stopped. Zero Three, ahead of him, also halted, impatient and ready to urge him on, but Faceless spoke first. "I need to get something."

A short while later, he emerged from the room, holding a small metal box in his hand. Inside, a tender green sprout grew vigorously.

...

In the live stream, the chat had already blown up, and the comments were flooding the screen.

The staff could hardly believe it, staring intently at the screen while slowly adjusting the camera angle. "The boss is definitely going to give us a bonus..."

"Can we add a few more camera angles? I can't see everything from this one! Also, I noticed the Insect Tide has clearly stopped dead. The only way I've ever seen a swarm like that dealt with is through overwhelming firepower, then taking out the King Insect, and slowly dealing with the rest. I've never seen such comprehensive suppression before. Is this the power of Granth's army?"

"This is the first time I've seen Norton so affectionate. Even though his expression is still almost blank, it somehow feels incredibly gentle—maybe because he broke character and immediately pulled the little prince into his arms. Oh, someone went over and picked up the little girl."

"Regaining what was lost—how could he not lose his composure? Do you know how much mourning there's been on the Star Network since the conclusion that the little prince was lost? Now that a miracle has finally happened, I just want to scoop him up and give him a full checkup from head to toe."

"Right, don't move the camera. This side angle is perfect—I can see both of them. The little prince looks so upset. And what's with the masked person next to him? Don't block the view, okay?"

Ye Mo slightly lifted his head, peeking out from Norton's embrace. The feeling of constant hunger, knowing there was food nearby, had vanished. His mental energy returned *disappointed*, informing Ye Mo that the King Insect had been killed.

Arnold noticed Ye Mo's movement and immediately leaned in to ask, "What's wrong? Are you feeling unwell? The warship will be here soon."

Arnold looked Ye Mo over, not missing a single detail.

He noticed Ye Mo's gaze, leaned down to meet his eyes, and added, "That child has also been taken to a safe zone."

Ye Mo rested his chin naturally on Norton's arm, like a fledgling peeking out of its nest. He found Arnold very familiar, but he still had no memory of him.

"Nothing's wrong."

Ye Mo hesitated for a moment before finally saying, "But I don't remember."

Arnold processed Ye Mo's words. "Don't remember?"

Norton, who had been inspecting Ye Mo for any injuries, also lowered his head.

Arnold couldn't help but lean in closer. "You don't remember me? Or your parents?"

"You don't remember your mom?"

Ye Mo sensed something was off. "Mom... isn't she dead?"

He pressed a hand to his forehead, then unconsciously began tugging at his hair. "Mom... Mom..."

Norton and Arnold exchanged a glance.

Norton reached out and covered Ye Mo's eyes. "It's okay."

He said slowly, "Coming home is enough."

"Go to sleep."

The steady voice calmed Ye Mo, and he gradually relaxed.

Arnold placed his hand over Ye Mo's, gently freeing Ye Mo's hair from his own grip.