Chapter 445

Chapter 445

Ethan, growing bored of waiting, slowly strolled to an open corridor before stopping, waiting for Yemo to finish his questions and return.

Yemo's figure soon appeared, his cloak billowing behind him like a cheerful little bird.

He ran straight into Ethan's chest. "Ambrose gave the go-ahead, but I'm not allowed to go to the front lines."

Ethan hadn't expected that when he'd made the suggestion, so he got annoyed again—but he quickly talked himself down. The front lines were no longer a simple battlefield against the insectoids; humans were there too now.

After a battle, severed limbs and twisted steel wreckage were scattered everywhere.

If Yemo went to the front lines, a spoiled kid like him would probably be scared into tears and want to go home, right? He wasn't like the others anymore—he couldn't just think about himself. Looking after a kid took more thought.

Ethan's emotions were worn on his sleeve, so Yemo watched him quickly shift from displeased to cheerful again.

Ethan noticed his gaze. "What?"

Yemo thought for a moment, then seriously asked, "Why can you become happy so quickly?"

Ethan raised an eyebrow, resting his hand on the sword hilt. "Did something make you unhappy?"

He looked like he could draw his sword and chop up a few insectoids at any moment.

Yemo said cautiously, "I just want to know how to deal with it."

"Weird question. If something makes you unhappy, just go take care of it right away. Those two brats Caspar and Lika never even let a quarrel last past the night—they'd immediately hash it out and settle it the same day."

Ethan never dwelled on things. He only thought about the present.

The future belonged to Ambrose—not just his life, but he'd handed his whole fate over to Ambrose. If it was a beautiful future, he'd be happy. If it was his end, he'd take it in stride.

"But there are so many things right now—do we have enough warships? Can we defend the planets? And is everyone safe—"

Ethan gently patted Yemo's cheeks with both hands, a little annoyed. "Why do you worry about all that? Ambrose will take care of all that."

Yemo looked like a child who'd been told about a family financial crisis and was eagerly wanting to chip in his piggy bank savings. "But..."

"Even Ambrose, who bears all that weight, doesn't worry like you do. Have you been worrying about all this lately? I thought you were upset because Ambrose wouldn't let you go out."

Seeming to have struck a nerve, Yemo stopped hiding his emotions—anyone could see his worry now.

Theodore sat to the side, having easily leaped onto the railing in his cat form, watching Yemo intently.

In moments like this, he always watched him quietly. His data often fluctuated, but Theodore himself didn't quite understand this strange feeling he couldn't explain. His Cyril was safe, well-fed, and well-groomed. The plan was progressing, and he'd promised to get him home. But he'd tried—reporting those data points to Cyril didn't reassure him either.

He had learned to feel anxious because Yemo was anxious.

But Theodore still only watched Cyril, as if he were back in that distant past where all he could do was watch. Sometimes he even felt his body was a burden, no longer understanding why he needed a body at all. Cyril didn't need protection now—he was no longer that child lying helplessly, overwhelmed by violent psychic energy. He had formidable combat power and people he could rely on; he couldn't fall into such a situation no matter what.

A body was no longer necessary. In the virtual world, he could move faster and get things done more easily.

Then, Theodore, perched there, watched Ethan lean down and give Yemo a hug.

Yemo was startled at first, then gradually relaxed.

Theodore froze in place, his unmonitored data surging violently, streaming across his vision as his pupils gradually brightened.

So that's what a body is for.

He didn't have a body as strong as a Grath's, but bodies weren't only for fighting.

Theodore had always regretted—and still couldn't let go of—the fact that he'd had no physical form back then, unable to reach out to Yemo and really help him.

But the regrets weren't only those. He also regretted that in those final moments, when Yemo lay there, unable to move, he could do nothing—couldn't save him, couldn't embrace him.

If he could have at least hugged him then, would the expression on his Cyril's face have been less afraid?

The white cat nimbly leaped down from the windowsill, and the moment his paws touched the ground, the floor rippled like a pool of water. He swiftly shifted from cat form to human body, without missing a beat.

He threw himself into Yemo's arms, which Ethan had just released, with such force that even Yemo stumbled back a step. "What's wrong, Theodore?"

After a long moment, Theodore let go of him. "I thought I should hold you."

He had learned it—what hugs are for.

Ethan clicked his tongue from the side. He sat down against the railing first, and Yemo soon settled beside him, with Theodore snuggling up on Yemo's other side.

Ethan looked at Yemo, looking genuinely confused, pressing a finger to his forehead. "Why do you think so much? You're a Grath."

Yemo got stubborn. "Can't a Grath be afraid or think too much? I'm always worried you might just—"

He swallowed the rest of his words.

But Ethan had already cracked a smile. "Your little head worries about these things every day?"

"Don't you?"

"Only ever worried about you."

Yemo fell silent, then, like a stubborn little bull, pressed his head against Ethan's finger, glaring at him defiantly.

Ethan drawled, "I never thought about these things before."

Just as Yemo started to look impressed, Ethan added, "That's a lie."

Yemo glared at him again.

Ethan looked at him, almost gently. Even Graths had feelings, but worry was always a passing thought.

Perhaps it was because of the frequent psychic and mental exchanges on the battlefield—they understood each other well enough—and the constant back-and-forth of battle and brushes with death left little time to dwell on such things.

But when death came, there was nothing anyone could do. Even Graths, as powerful as they were, couldn't reverse it.

He needed to answer properly, Yisang thought, treating it like a matter of utmost seriousness.

"You've been worried about me dying all this time? That makes me happy, but don't get your priorities twisted."

As if caught up in his serious tone, Yemo stared at him earnestly too.

Ethan met his gaze. "Your own life is the most important thing."

Yemo didn't move, his expression unchanged.

So Ethan understood. He continued, "If we had to choose between us right now, whose life would you choose? Tell me why."

"Ethan's stronger, more valuable."

"You spoiled thing. Your value—have you truly not realized it? You know it very well. You just think that me dying would hurt you more than you dying would."

His voice was almost a sigh. "Then I'm the same."

"Now that you know this, if I gave you another chance to choose, would you still choose to make me suffer?"

Ye Mo didn't speak. He only looked helpless, like a wounded young animal, avoiding Yisang's gaze.

After a long moment, Yisang spoke gently, "Life isn't something you can trade or weigh. That question has no meaning."

But his tone immediately turned stern. "Death comes to all of us before we're ready for it. No matter what you're afraid of—your own death, or your family's—do you want to spend your life and your time worrying about when it's going to come?"

"No, I don't want to, but I always think about it—"

"You can think about it."

Yisang stood up, facing Ye Mo, with a vast sky behind him. The wind blew fiercely, lifting his hair, as if he could spread his wings and fly away at any moment.

"But you can worry about that part a little less."

Even though he was glad about that.

"Life only has meaning in the here and now. Even if I might die tomorrow, I'll still take in the sunset today. I want to live like this, making choices that make me happy every single moment. That way, no matter when I die, I can say the life I've lived so far has no regrets. I have none myself, and you don't need to feel regret for me. I give you permission to be sad for a little while."

Ye Mo looked at Yisang, his mouth slightly open, lips moving a few times, but nothing came out.

A thought quietly surfaced—he wanted to live like that too, to die at any time without regrets or remorse.

He was embraced. Theodore hugged him from the side, straining a little, his hair brushing against Ye Mo's neck and collarbone, tickling slightly.

That broke the heavy atmosphere. "What's the matter, Theodore?"

"I don't know. I just felt like I needed to hug you right now."

...

Meanwhile, Arnold had already landed on the supply planet. The moment he touched down, he zeroed in on another intact warship in the base. First, he'd see if he could control it with his mental power—it couldn't be that everything here was old-school manual, right? If not, he could at least connect to the star network to gather intel.

He turned back and called out to Norton, "Big brother."

Norton gave a nod, meaning it was fine. Arnold's anxiety eased slightly, and they immediately went to find Ye Mo.

He turned his head—no sound, no movement. Two seconds later, he turned back again, just in time to meet Norton's gaze, who was also frowning in his direction.

Even without exchanging information through mental power, their unspoken understanding instantly told Arnold what was happening—they were both waiting for the other to forcibly control the warship with mental strength.

The two of them, who'd never held back on mental power, stared at each other for a moment, then silently looked away—one at the floor, the other at the warship.

The moment he had free time, Arnold started letting his mind wander.

This was the first time they'd been this desperate. If Baide found out, he'd laugh at them until they were in their graves.

But all they could do was wait, until their mental power recovered a bit.

He wondered where Ye Mo would be. Would he have enough to eat? Would he be scared? Alone by himself, would he cry?