I Am the Only Fertile Woman in the Game-Chapter 134 Southern Battlefield

The Southern Battlefield, lying at the desolate edge of interstellar space, once thrived as a bustling corridor of interstellar trade, but had become a ruinous aftermath of war. The sky was devoid of any clouds, shrouded only by a faint grey haze, as if even the air had been polluted by the gunsmoke of war.

The ground was littered with charred soil and shattered rocks, resembling a dead wilderness. The vegetation that once flourished had long been destroyed by the flames of war, leaving only patches of withered yellow grass and the occasional twisted tree, its trunk contorting as though in an anguished wail. Here and there, one could see fragments of broken machinery scattered about, rusty and forlorn, as if recounting the fierce battles of the past.

In the distance, an abandoned outpost stood stark against the stark wilderness, its walls pocked with bullet holes and scars of explosions, the surviving materials wailing mournfully in the wind. Around the outpost lay shattered flags and discarded weapons, silently protesting the brutal combat that had once occurred on this land.

The air was saturated with a stinging smell of gunsmoke and a faint scent of blood, suffocating to the senses. Occasionally, a few mechanical birds circled in the sky, their shadows cast upon the ground, appearing especially lonely and helpless.

In this desolate battlefield, silence was the only sovereign. No birdsong, no rustle of wind, only the distant, occasional hum of machinery still running, as if everything on this land was dead, leaving cold metal to slowly decay through endless time.

The desolation and bleakness of the Southern Battlefield made it seem as if one were in an abandoned world. Every inch of ground, every stone, seemed to silently recount the merciless and cruel nature of war. The prosperity and hope of the past had been destroyed, leaving nothing but endless desolation and sorrow.

In this land of deathly silence, time seemed to lose all meaning, with the past and future both becoming blurred. Only the barren battlefield lay in quiet anticipation, waiting for the day when the cruel history hidden in its dust would be unearthed.

Carl surveyed the desolation and bleakness of the Southern Battlefield with a steady gaze, his steps firm, the blackened soil crunching faintly beneath his military boots. He was dressed in a special forces uniform, cautiously sweeping his surroundings with his gun, the black fabric clinging to his muscular frame.

His red hair stood out like flames, creating a stark contrast against the gray battlefield.

Chewing on gum, Carl's every chew echoed faintly, sounding especially clear in the silent battlefield. His eyes, sharp as an eagle's, scoured the surroundings, as if to penetrate the ruins.

He walked through a cluster of shattered machinery without a moment's pause. The rusted metal fragments whimpered under his feet, as if recounting to him the fierce combat they had seen. However, Carl's mind was focused on a single goal: to find Zong Fang and personally deliver the item she had entrusted to him to the man.

Carl's silhouette stopped before the abandoned outpost. His eyes swept over the decrepit buildings, looking inquisitive and scrutinizing. He raised a hand and gently pushed open a half-closed door. The hinge let out a grating screech of resistance to his entrance.

The moment Carl stepped into the outpost, the air suddenly surged with a palpable sense of oppression. His ears picked up a slight whisper of wind and, almost instinctively, he dodged to the side swiftly. A flash of silver streaked past him, generating a sharp whoosh and embedding itself deeply into the wall.

Carl steadied himself and looked toward the source of the sound, spotting a figure emerging slowly from the shadows.

The man's silver hair fluttered in the wind like strands of moonlight, shimmering with a chilling gleam. His eyes were like cold stars, emitting an unsettling chill.

Zong Fang wore a camouflage combat suit, its tight design outlining his sharply defined muscles. His steps were firm and deliberate, each one seemingly carrying an endless intimidating force. In his hand, he held a silver long knife, its blade glittering in the dim light, as if capable of slicing through the air.

Upon seeing the newcomer, the man's brow furrowed slightly, a fleeting puzzlement flashing in his eyes.

"You shouldn't be here,"

Zong Fang's voice was deep and composed, as though emanating from an ice cellar, carrying an irresistible force.

Carl smirked mischievously, the chewing of his gum growing more rhythmic as he stood there, gun lowered, with an air of impatience. "You think I wanted to come?"

He pulled an envelope out of his pocket and held it up in front of him.

"Someone asked me to deliver something to you personally."

Zong Fang's gaze fixed on the envelope, a hint of brightness flashing in his eyes, yet he was wary of believing. He approached slowly, reached out to take it, and found several photos as he opened it.

"This is...," Zong Fang's voice trembled slightly.

His fingers gently caressed the edges of the photo as if touching a treasured relic.

Carl raised an eyebrow, glanced at him, and said, "This is from her. She insisted that I make sure you see it."

Zong Fang's hand trembled slightly, but he quickly steadied it. He took a deep breath, carefully put the photo away, and then looked up, his eyes filled with an unmeltable tenderness.

"How is she? Is everything alright?"

At the mention of Qiao Suisui, Carl dropped his frivolous demeanor, thinking of that kiss when he had left, and couldn't help but smile.

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"She's doing well."

Zong Fang saw the indulgence in Carl's expression and felt a dull ache in his chest. He clenched his jaw, took a deep breath, and, enduring the pain, closed his eyes.

"Don't tell her about my situation here."

Carl looked at him, understanding he didn't want Qiao Suisui to worry, and nodded. Before turning to leave, he asked, "I'm leaving. Don't you have any messages for me to take to her?"

Zong Fang stood in the desolate wind, the barren and despondent surroundings seeming to silently speak of his inner turmoil. His figure appeared so lonely and resolute against the silent battlefield, his silver longsword flickering in the faint light, reflecting the agony and longing in his heart.

Every day on the Southern Battlefield was a matter of life and death.

He began killing the moment he opened his eyes, functioning like a killing machine every day, always on alert even when he closed his eyes.

The daily carnage had numbed Zong Fang.

Sometimes, as his hand rose and the blade fell, he would feel a curiosity about others he had never felt before.

Who was this person, did they have a loved one, were they, like him, separated from the person they cherished....

Whenever these thoughts crossed his mind, Zong Fang would hesitate for a moment.

And such hesitation could not exist in a place like the Southern Battlefield, because just one or two seconds could cost a life.

He was weary of killing, but if he didn't kill others, he would be the one to die.

Zong Fang looked down at the photo in his hand; the image of the young cub warmed his heart.

He needed to return, to go back to her side.

A voice echoed repeatedly in his mind, becoming the belief that sustained him through these long, numb moments.

He missed her warmth, her scent, and the feel of her petite body tightly embraced in his arms.... Zong Fang's softest inner place was squeezed tight. It was his deepest concern, and also the reason he kept going.

"Tell her I will definitely return to her side, very soon."