Chapter Three

In a remote corner of the junkyard, two mechas lay in silent ambush behind heaps of refuse. Barely a hundred meters away, five scavenger rats tirelessly rummaged through the trash, searching for food, their sharp senses making them ever alert to the slightest disturbance. Ye Chong studied the terrain with care, then exchanged a few quiet words with Mu Shang.

Cautiously, Ye Chong piloted Winnie, inching closer to the rats, making full use of every possible obstacle to conceal his approach. He halted at a distance of twenty meters, exhaling in relief—so far, not a single mistake.

Just as Ye Chong was preparing to make his move, a sudden gust of wind swept past him toward the rats. His heart sank—disaster! Instantly, he pushed Winnie to full speed, surging toward the scavenger rats.

Winnie shot forward like a cannonball unleashed.

But it was already too late. The moment the wind stirred, the keen-nosed scavenger rats sensed danger. In a flash, they scattered like frightened birds.

Unfazed, Ye Chong locked his aim on just one of them—if they burrowed into the trash, chances of catching even a single one would plummet to nearly zero. Ignoring the other four, he pursued his chosen target relentlessly.

Wind howled past his ears, setting his blood alight—burning, boiling. The world seemed to slow, his mind sharp and feverish. His breath came fast and hard, each inhalation demanding his entire being, his chest heaving with wild intensity. Every exhale seared his nostrils like fire.

As the gap between him and the scavenger rat narrowed, Ye Chong’s hands remained steady, but he began to adjust his breathing rhythm.

Suddenly, Winnie hurled a dagger with savage precision; with a metallic ring, it embedded itself deep into the ground less than three meters ahead of the fleeing rat. The creature, fleeing for its life, seemed destined to impale itself on the blade—a bloody scene all but inevitable.

But the rat twisted its body in an uncanny motion, its burly forelimbs pressing against the flat of the blade. Gathering its strength, it pushed off nimbly, borrowing momentum to evade unharmed—a feat both breathtaking and admirable.

For a fleeting instant, the rat’s eyes gleamed with triumph, as if relishing its narrow escape.

Yet before it could even savor its luck, a shrill gust of wind bore down upon it—so fierce that even its less-than-sensitive hearing grasped the deadly energy it carried. Air swept over the forest of barbs fixed to Winnie’s knee joint with a harrowing sound. A direct hit from Ye Chong’s knee would spell certain death.

No creature that survived on the Junk Star was ordinary. Even in the face of utter despair, the scavenger rat refused to surrender.

Its body curved into a bow mid-air, pausing almost imperceptibly as Winnie’s knee closed in. Then, with a fierce thrust of its forelegs against the barbs, it launched itself like an arrow toward Winnie’s neck.

A soft, wet sound—the rat’s forepaws were instantly pierced, razor-sharp barbs shredding its tender belly and gouging deep wounds into its hind legs.

On Junk Star, such grievous injuries spelled doom for any living thing. But survival was no longer its concern; all that remained was the urge to strike back at its foe, to deliver one last blow, no matter how insignificant.

Its jagged fangs gleamed with icy menace, sharp enough to bite through metal—proof the rat believed it could leave an indelible mark on its enemy.

Driven by that tenacious conviction, the rat seemed to find its soul, unleashing every ounce of its being in a final, reckless assault. It was certain—this would be the most lethal strike of its life.

Closer, ever closer—the enemy’s throat loomed large, the rat’s excitement mounting. A second, no, half a second would suffice. Just half a second to deliver the crowning blow of its existence.

Its eyes blazed—a fire burning at the wick of life.

Then abruptly, the fire was snuffed out.

A blade, rising silently from below, parted the rat cleanly in two, as if slicing through air itself. In an instant, blood and entrails rained down, spattering the rust-red earth with a spray of dust.

Ye Chong’s mind finally calmed.

He looked up. Mu Shang stood not far away, watching in silence. A scavenger rat hung from the tip of a seven-meter titanium staff—Mu Shang’s fight had been far simpler. As Ye Chong had predicted, a panicked rat had bolted right past Mu Shang’s position, and his attack, precise to the millisecond, afforded the rat not the slightest chance to react.

From a distance, Ye Chong waved in greeting. “Hey!”

He bent down to retrieve the two halves of the scavenger rat.

Grinning, Ye Chong boasted, “Not bad, huh? My skills aren’t too shabby!”

Mu Shang’s tone was bland: “Utterly abysmal.”

Ye Chong nearly exploded. “What? Abysmal? Did you see clearly?” To have his proudest ability dismissed so ruthlessly—Ye Chong couldn’t help but fume.

Mu Shang remained unfazed. “Aside from your close combat skills, which are barely average, your piloting, marksmanship, and tactical awareness are all extremely crude. As for actual combat experience—insufficient data to judge.”

“That’s impossible!” Ye Chong stared, incredulous.

Mu Shang shrugged, looking oddly comical. “There’s a 0.3% chance I’m mistaken.”

Ye Chong protested, “You’re just jealous! You’re saying this to put me down!”

“That’s not possible.”

“Then it must be because my mech is too old. Ha! That’s it. Next time, let me pilot you and see what happens.”

After a pause, Mu Shang spoke with a hint of curiosity. “There were thirty-one possible routes. How did you know one would pass right by me?”

Ye Chong grinned slyly. “Impressive, right? Just intuition!”

“Intuition?” Mu Shang’s electronic eye flickered. “Insufficient data to compute.”

Ye Chong snorted. “Compute? If you can calculate it, it’s not intuition, is it?”

Mu Shang replied evenly, “It was simply a low-probability event.”

“What? You mean I just got lucky? I’ll have you know—” Ye Chong fumed, his protests echoing into the dusk.

Two figures stretched long against the horizon, backlit by the dying sun. High above Ye Chong’s home, the spire of the pulse relay station pierced the sky, visible from afar—a landmark that always, unfailingly, pointed the way home.