Arknights: The Life Inside-Chapter 68

The wine glass exploded on Theresis's head.

No one in the tavern had expected Yoren to actually strike, let alone so suddenly.

The owner, his face twisting in anger, yanked an iron rod from beneath the bar and barked at Yoren.

"What's wrong with you? If you're drunk, get out! Why are you causing trouble here you fool?!"

To the onlookers, it seemed as if Yoren had merely smashed the glass on Theresis's head, but in truth, it had been a brutal slap. The force sent Theresis sprawling, blood dripping from Yoren's fingers where the glass had cut his palm.

Brother Hongdao had never expected Yoren to act alone, especially with three other members of the Black Sen in the tavern. Things might still be salvageable—if they played it smart. A little money to the boss, some drunken excuses, and the military police wouldn't get involved.

Hongdao twisted toward Yoren, his expression dark.

"Boy, you're crazy!"

Leaning close, he lowered his voice. "Idiot, the infected are tearing up the city. Do you want to be wanted by the military police? Huh?"

But Hongdao had underestimated Yoren's recklessness.

The pain in his hand sent a surge of black-and-white energy through his veins. In an instant, Yoren seized Hongdao by the hair.

"Ah!"

With a furious yell, he slammed Hongdao's head into the bar counter with intensity.

Hongdao barely had time to process the betrayal before his face met solid wood with a sickening crunch. The entire counter cracked apart from the impact, splinters flying. Yoren pressed him into the wreckage, his grip unyielding.

The tavern owner stood frozen, still gripping the iron rod. His bar had been solid wood. That wasn't supposed to happen.

The room erupted. Timid patrons bolted for the door, while braver ones cheered, mistaking the chaos for a drunken brawl. A few, more level-headed, pulled out their phones to call the authorities.

But Yoren didn't care.

Three Black Sen members shot up from a nearby table. They knew they couldn't expose themselves, but Yoren clearly had no such restraint.

One rushed him from the left. Yoren straightened from the bar, black energy crackling around him.

"Fuck you."

His foot lashed out like a whip.

A dark blur cut through the air. The wind howled through the tavern, sending patrons' hair flying.

"Bang!"

The restaurant door shattered. The man was gone—launched outside like a cannonball.

Theresis groaned, pushing himself up, clutching his face. But Yoren was already moving ahead.

"Fuck @￥%...&*."

Yoren stomped down on his face, vulgar curses spilling from his lips with each brutal step.

Memories flashed in Theresis's eyes—memories of Mandel City, where Yoren had humiliated him in a three-on-one fight. His body still remembered that fear.

Theresis gritted his teeth, shielding his face with his arms, but Yoren's strength was overwhelming. Blood splattered against the wooden floor.

The tavern's energy shifted. The amusement faded. People started realizing—this wasn't just a bar fight. This was a slaughter.

A burly Black Sen thug tackled Yoren from behind, locking his arms around his waist, attempting to slam him into the ground.

He never got the chance.

Yoren's elbow shot back, crushing the man's nose. Blood sprayed as he flew backward, colliding with the wall ten meters away.

The last thug threw a desperate punch at Yoren's face, simultaneously grabbing at his scarf.

Yoren caught his wrist, twisted, and slammed him into the floor. A vicious kick to the chest followed.

"Gah!"

The crack of ribs filled the silence. The man went limp.

But Yoren's scarf had been pulled away in the struggle, and the moment it fell, the room froze.

Two Originium crystals gleamed on his neck, stark against his skin.

Silence.

The crowd stared.

Then came the whispers. Fear, disgust, hatred.

"He's infected."

Yoren's fingers tightened around his scarf, his gut twisting. Then—movement. A cold gleam to his left.

He dodged.

"Swish!"

A blade slashed across his arm. Blood dripped down his sleeve.

Hongdao stood, face splintered with wood shards, but otherwise unscathed.

Yoren clenched his jaw. If he hadn't reacted in time, he would've lost the arm.

Hongdao's gaze swept over the wreckage—his fallen comrades, the destruction. His lips curled into a snarl.

"I shouldn't have bothered reasoning with you," he spat. "You're just a mad dog."

Pain burned through Yoren's arm, fueling his rage. Black energy oozed from the wound, curling into the air like smoke.

"I only came for Theresis. But if you want to get in my way, I'll kill you too."

Abandoning Theresis wasn't an option. Hongdao knew that.

"Pass!"

Flames roared to life along his blade, swallowing it in red light.

The onlookers gasped.

"Originium Arts... These people are all infected!"

Technically, non-infected could use Originium Arts. But it required extreme talent, and those who could wield them without tools were rare. To the average citizen, Originium Arts meant one thing—the infected.

There was no turning back now.

Yoren lunged.

Hongdao swung.

Their battle tore through the tavern. Within seconds, Yoren was bleeding from multiple cuts. The cycle of the Black and White Twins had only reached the eighth day—his raw power exceeded Hongdao's, but his combat skills still lagged.

His fists barely grazed Hongdao, while Hongdao's blade carved through his defenses.

Then—a voice outside.

"The military police are here!"

Panic rippled through the crowd.

Theresis, motionless just moments before, suddenly scrambled to his feet, wiping blood from his mouth.

"Hongdao, meet me at the old place."

Yoren made to chase, but Hongdao blocked him.

Theresis had an uncanny ability to slip away. An incredible resilience within him.

Hongdao's sword slashed across Yoren's shoulder—just as Yoren's kick sent him flying immediately.

They separated again, panting. Yoren was worse off, but Hongdao hadn't managed to take him down. The fight teetered on the edge—one opening could decide it all.

A familiar voice rang out from outside.

"The military police are coming, dozens of them!"

Before Yoren could react, a small figure stormed in.

"Boom!"

Flames erupted. A scorching heat wave blasted through the tavern. The air shimmered with fire.

Ifrit stood at the entrance, red eyes burning.

"I've had enough. Yo-Yo, let me burn him to ash."

The flames around her body dwarfed the meager embers of Hongdao's sword.

Yoren stumbled back. He had underestimated her strength.

Ifrit lifted her hand, fire licking her fingertips.

"Hellfire, ready to launch!"

"Ifrit, wait—"

Too late.

"Boom!"

The explosion rocked the building. Fire roared through the tavern, blasting through the walls.

Outside, the approaching military police were sent sprawling, caught in the shockwave.

Hellfire, reload at any time!"

Although she didn't have the mop-like flamethrower on her, Ifrit still shouted this line out of habit. At the same time, the flames that erupted around her lived up to the title of Hellfire.

Yoren was no longer an ordinary person. Beyond his physical strength, his perception of energy shifts was extraordinary, especially when it came to Originium skills. The same was true for Brother Hongdao, an expert among experts.

Just before Ifrit ignited the room, Yoren took a quick scan of his surroundings.

The Turtle Man was outside. Inside the restaurant, apart from Red Knife and the two infected he had already knocked down, only a group of stunned spectators remained. And Ifrit's explosion—if one could even call it that—was like a twisted, improvised version of a suicide truck detonation.

Having personally experienced the agony of being consumed by flames, Yoren knew that fear intimately—the kind that would tear you out of your sleep, drenched in sweat.

There was no choice. The restaurant was packed. He wasn't a savior; he couldn't save them all. In that moment, the only option was to run—fast, like a rabbit bolting from a predator.

Boom!

The next second, a roaring inferno erupted from the center of the restaurant. Flames engulfed everything in an instant.

Yoren had barely reached the door when the shockwave hurled him forward. It was less like he jumped out and more like the fire itself had kicked him out.

Crashing outside, he instinctively grabbed Snowsant, who stood frozen in shock. When he looked up, he locked eyes with a group of military police who had just arrived.

No time to think. Yoren tightened his grip on Snowsant and threw himself into a roll. The two of them tumbled across the ground, crashing into the opposite alley like a pair of tangled sheets.

Then, a second explosion rocked the street.

The restaurant's facade burst apart, sending a shockwave through the arriving military police, knocking them over before they even knew what hit them.

Yoren shoved Snowsant aside and shot to his feet.

Now wasn't the time to check on others. He needed to check himself first. To be honest, if his hair had grown out even a little, he'd probably be able to smell the stench of burnt hair by now. But even without hair, his pants were on fire.

Slapping, stomping, and flailing, he tried to put it out.

Snowsant, covered in soot but very much unharmed, pointed at him and burst out laughing.

"You look ridiculous!"

"What are you laughing at? Help me put it out!"

"Oh."

Not far from them, another figure was hopping and flailing just as wildly. Only, unlike Yoren, this poor soul had his hair on fire, furiously scrubbing at his head like a man possessed.

Yoren squinted—and nearly doubled over laughing.

"Hey, Hongdao! Looks like you'll be as bald as me now, haha!"

Hongdao, a seasoned warrior, knew the right way to put out a fire. He quickly doused the flames, then turned and shot Yoren a deadly glare.

"I swear, I will remember this grudge, Yoren! Just you wait!"

Yoren grinned and shot him a middle finger.

"Grudge? I should be the one holding a grudge! Theresis got away fast this time. Tell him from me—every time I see him, I'm beating him senseless."

Hongdao wasn't in the mood to chat. He spared a glance at the military police scrambling to their feet. Then, with a swift tug of his scarf over his face, he disappeared down the street.

The fire hadn't stopped spreading.

The restaurant was just the first floor of a four-story building. The inferno climbed upward, swallowing everything in its path. Screams and shouts filled the air as survivors staggered from the wreckage, collapsing in agony on the pavement.

There was no question—this was chaos, pure and unplanned. Yoren had just been looking for a meal when he'd stumbled across his old enemy. His own frustration had cost him control, leading to this disaster.

Then again, if Yoren was angry, Theresis had to be seething.

Sneaking into Columbia was no easy feat for Heisen, and before he could even get started, he had run straight into Yoren—a mad dog he'd rather have avoided. Not only did he get stomped bloody, but he didn't even get to enjoy his favorite Colombian roasted sweet potatoes.

Still, neither of them was as miserable as the restaurant's owner.

The fat man sat on the pavement, hair singed, clothes full of holes. His teary eyes stared blankly at his burning restaurant.

Then, his sorrow twisted into rage. He clenched his fists, threw back his head, and screamed at the heavens.

"My shop of thirty years! Gone! Damn infected—I will never forgive you!"

The fire raged on, out of control. The military police couldn't contain it, leaving the job to the arriving firefighters.

Yoren took a quick glance around. Almost all the customers had managed to escape. Even though they had been knocked down by the blast at first, the people of Terra were naturally resilient. Even the untrained managed to crawl out on their own strength.

But one person was still missing.

Ifrit.

Yoren wasn't worried about her burning. Her body was resistant to fire. But still, lying unconscious in the middle of an inferno wasn't exactly a great situation.

The real problem was getting her out of there.

The streets were crawling with military police. He needed a plan.

Yoren adjusted his scarf, straightened his clothes, and strolled out of the alley.

He looked like an old man out for an evening walk, casually surveying the scene.

"Damn, that fire's huge."

A military officer immediately snapped at him. "You! Back up! Civilians shouldn't be here!"

"Oh."

Yoren only wanted to get close enough to locate Ifrit, but even that was proving difficult. He walked slowly along the street, stopping now and then to check on the injured, throwing in some half-hearted reassurances.

"Hold on, the ambulance will be here soon. Stay strong, like a real Columbia soldier."

Then, a hand clamped around his ankle.

Yoren looked down and met a pair of furious eyes. freewebnσvel.cѳm

The fat old man from the restaurant glared up at him, gripping his leg like a vice.

"You! It was you who started this! And now you're pretending to care?!"

Yoren yanked his scarf higher, lowering his voice. "Boss, you got the wrong guy. I was just passing by."

"Bullshit! You're the only bald guy in the whole restaurant! How could I mistake that shiny head?!"

The fat boss lunged, wrapping his arms around Yoren's waist.

"Military police! Someone grab him! He's infected! Get him!"

Well, this was embarrassing.

Yoren had assumed the chaos would cover his escape. He had underestimated just how damn conspicuous a bald head was in the middle of a fire-lit street.

Hearing the commotion, the military police turned, eyes locking onto him.

And then, from behind, a deep voice rumbled.

"Boss, you're hurt. Don't worry—I'll catch him for you."

Something about that voice exuded a strange, undeniable trust. The fat boss hesitated.

"Oh... oh, alright then."

Before Yoren could even turn around, a powerful hand clamped onto his shoulder.

The next moment, he was airborne.

The sturdy man who had spoken lifted him like a sandbag and took off running.

Everyone watched, dumbfounded.

Then, after a short pause, the man doubled back, grabbed a stunned Snowsant, and ran off into the night.

And he never stopped running.