With the escort’s assistance, Dennis slowly emerged from the train station, leaning on a cane. He looked up to see towering skyscrapers, enormous street signs, and bustling crowds around him. He was suddenly rooted in place, much like many foreigners arriving in Oubos for the first time, feeling so out of place in this city, as if beasts emerged from a primitive forest, mistakenly wandering into human society.

Dennis never imagined he would return to this city one day, and especially not to find it transformed so profoundly.

"Sir."

The escort stood beside Dennis, reaching out to support him. Dennis initially intended to refuse, but his body was too frail to manage on its own, so he politely smiled and thanked the escort for the assistance.

It is only at moments like these that Dennis becomes acutely aware that he is already a nonagenarian.

"Time flies..."

Gazing at the city, Dennis couldn’t help but mutter. He recalled the last time he set foot on this land, it was a scorched earth, strewn with corpses, as terrifying war swept the region, and Dennis was one of the participants.

To this day, Dennis vividly remembers those horrific and brutal scenes. In a quick blink, like an illusion, he could once again see the blood-stained ruins. But with another blink, the endless prosperity came into view.

This place is no longer a war scene but a thriving city, with towering skyscrapers, bustling crowds, and dazzling lights. It fills him with a sense of bewilderment, as if time is misaligned, as if his memories do not align with reality.

Noticing the escort’s puzzled expression beside him, Dennis timely explained, "The last time I came, this place wasn’t called Oubos, nor did it have these skyscrapers. It was a wasteland of ruins."

Dennis reminisced fondly, "Back then, I was a young soldier, not the frail old man I am now."

No one can deny Dennis’s old age. His face is etched with deep wrinkles, his skin loose and weak, hair almost entirely gone, leaving only a few sparse white strands. His eyes sunken in tear bags, appearing very weary, lips chapped, lacking vitality.

The aging of Dennis is not just the result of the passage of time; more importantly, it is the trauma left by war.

He once was a soldier, having endured many suspenseful battles. After the war, Dennis spent the rest of his time seeking solace for his soul, yet in his mind, the fierce battle scenes persist, unable to forget the sounds of gunfire and the cries of his comrades.

Struggling to move each step, Dennis keenly feels the aching pain, a remnant of an old wound. When war tossed him to the ground with a shell explosion, multiple injuries struck him, keeping him in a cycle of consciousness and delirium.

That experience became an indelible trauma deep within Dennis. Post-war, Dennis retreated to the countryside, never mentioning that period to others, nor participating in military-related meetings or activities.

Many friends who have been with Dennis for decades know nothing of his soldier past, nor that he participated in the Scorched Earth of Fury war. At times, Dennis himself almost forgets those memories.

It wasn’t until some time ago that mysterious figures, holding nearly forgotten documents from back then, found him. Dennis pondered what use he could be for people now, as someone on the brink of death.

"Where are we going next?" Dennis asked.

"Just follow us."

The escort led Dennis to the roadside, opened the car door. The car windows were opaque, and the interior was dark, provoking unease.

Dennis sat in the car, the door shut and locked. He knew his fate was now entirely in the hands of these people, but he felt no fear. He was already too old and had long prepared to face Death God in countless days and nights.

"Hello, Mr. Dennis."

A steady voice arose out of the darkness, causing Dennis to blink. His blurry vision barely managed to discern a figure amid the darkness.

"You can call me Ivan."

Ivan extended his hand, gently grasping Dennis’s in a handshake.

"May I ask, what do you want from me?" Dennis’s gaze was unwavering, his voice firm.

"Nothing much, just want to know about your military experience, could you tell me about it? Especially regarding your comrades." Ivan asked.

"It’s not a pleasant memory. If possible..."

Ivan interrupted Dennis’s words, "It’s important, please."

Dennis’s voice hesitated, appearing to compromise as he fell silent, his cloudy eyes reflecting many past events, like phantom souls haunting his mind.

As memories gradually clarified, many blurred faces also took shape.

"Please give me some time," Dennis spoke softly. 𝙛𝓻𝒆𝒆𝒘𝙚𝓫𝙣𝙤𝒗𝙚𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢

Ivan nodded earnestly, uttering no more words, understanding Dennis’s mood; recalling such a past was not an easy task.

Dennis’s comrades had mostly passed away years ago, and compared to Dennis’s long life, the war occupied only a small portion. Yet it was this portion that became the pivotal part of Dennis’s life, those silhouettes rolling with him in the trenches etched into his soul, unable to be erased.

"Such distant memories," Dennis murmured.

"According to the records, you’re from a place called Redwood Town." Ivan guided Dennis.

"Redwood Town? Yes, that’s my hometown."

"But after the war, you didn’t return home."

"That’s right."

"Why?"

Dennis’s eyes reflected an unusual light, shaking his head, "It disappeared."

"Disappeared?"

"Redwood Town was a small place, scarcely any channels of communication with the outside world. If it weren’t for passing caravans, we might not have known the war raging outside. It was a secluded place."

Dennis struggled to recall his hometown, but aside from the endless towering trees, he couldn’t remember much.

"There’s no Redwood Town marked on the map, nor does the railway pass through there. Children leaving home can only find their way back on their own, though the war left me with many scars, I still remember the road home."

"Did you find it?"

"Found it," Dennis’s voice lifted a bit, then sank, "found a scorched earth."

Ivan’s face slightly changed.

"As I said, Redwood Town was a small place. Its emergence was unknown, and its destruction went unheard," Dennis recounted emotionlessly, his wounds numbed, feeling no pain anymore.

"It had extremely rich forest resources; when I returned home, the Redwood Forest was chopped down in large sections, leaving nothing but bare earth filled with tree stumps. The familiar town was left with nothing but ruined walls, like the abandoned constructions commonly seen on the wild plain... war had spread here. It makes sense, this was Scorched Earth of Fury, sweeping the entire world, how could a small town be spared?"

"And what did you do afterward?"

Dennis said, "I tried to find others, but the townsfolk were few, not to mention young men had gone to war. After years of searching, I suddenly recognized that maybe I was the only person to remember Redwood Town. Despite the sadness, I had to move forward, so I went to another city to attempt building a new life there."

"Did you succeed in establishing a new life?"

"Perhaps,"

Ivan silently noted down his conversation with Dennis in his notebook, feeling the atmosphere now sufficient to guide Dennis towards the real question.

"Bologue Lazarus."

Ivan suddenly mentioned Bologue’s name. In an instant, the atmosphere in the car cooled rapidly, with Ivan’s professional instincts sensitively detecting Dennis’s change,

heart rate increases, blood pressure rises, fingers trembling slightly, sweating on the surface, eyes constantly drifting, breathing quickens—these reactions are subtle but easy to observe for professionals.

Knowing he should continue, Ivan displayed Bologue’s photo again, asking.

"Do you remember him?"

Dennis’s clouded eyes were fixed upon Bologue’s image in the photo; never did he expect, after so many years, he would hear Bologue’s name again, see his face.

The nightmare that tortured him all his life returned, so near.

A faintly dim light emerged in Ivan’s eyes, his voice possessed a magical power, resonating in Dennis’s ears.

"Say something, Dennis."