442: Yamata Arahun(1)

Below, the replies were uniform: "Option D won big time," "Waiting for the mukbang," "Congratulations to R Country for setting a new record," and "Why isn't the saintly person speaking anymore? Come out and show some pity."

ID [Humanity Has Great Love] was still holding on: "Even if there are many people, we can't just watch them die without saving them! Are all your hearts made of stone?"

ID [Grumpy Bro] retorted directly: "Even if our hearts are made of stone, they're still better than your brainwashed mind! Hurry up and buy a plane ticket to R Country to save your compatriots, and stop being so disgusting here."

ID [Nuclear Wastewater Connoisseur] joined the clamor: "@Humanity Has Great Love I'll pay for your ticket, send me your address, and I'll put you on a plane right now. If you don't go, you're just a hypocritical saintly bitch."

ID [Onlooker 008] added the final blow: "Don't make things difficult for them. They're just running their mouths online. If you actually made them go, they'd run faster than anyone."

ID [Humanity Has Great Love] still wanted to retort, but was drowned out by more comments steering the narrative, eventually disappearing from the screen, never daring to pop up again.

Just then, the system notification sounded again:

"Ding, detected abnormal activity in Mount Fuji's ley line core."

"Eighth-order remnant soul awakening progress: 67%"

"Energy dissipation intensity: A-grade"

"Spatial stability: Dropped to dangerous threshold"

Shang Wan Ning's eyes sharpened.

A faint sound of vines slithering came from within the Jiaotai Palace halls.

It was the spore matrix of the Netherworld Bone-Corroding Vine being triggered by the energy fluctuation, with wisps of gray energy slowly converging along the plane barrier.

"It's the Yamata no Orochi's wild soul," she whispered.

Her right hand swiped across the light screen, pulling up a projection of ancient Shinto scrolls from R Country, "After Yamata no Orochi was slain by Susanoo, a wisp of its remnant soul escaped into the ley lines, feeding on resentment and the essence of living beings, sleeping for a thousand years..."

"So it didn't perish; it was waiting for a nationwide sacrifice."

The data on the light screen was still jumping frantically. Shang Wan Ning's gaze fell on "Energy dissipation intensity: A-grade," and she raised an eyebrow.

She knew this meant the awakening speed of the Yamata no Orochi's wild soul far exceeded estimates, and the chaos within R Country was undoubtedly adding fuel to the fire for the revival of this remnant soul.

At this moment, R Country was already a living hell.

In just three days, the four islands were devastated, and survivors, dragging their scarred bodies, were fleeing toward the inland areas like frightened birds.

But this escape was filled with betrayal and abandonment from the very beginning, exposing the cold-heartedness ingrained deep in the bones of this nation.

Beside the ruins on a Tokyo street, Matsumoto Kenichi violently shook off his wife Miyazawa Megumi's hand, clutching a mountaineering backpack filled with compressed biscuits and bottled water tightly in his arms.

Those were supplies he had risked his life to snatch from a chaotic convenience store.

Miyazawa Megumi's skirt was torn by collapsed steel bars, and blood was streaming down her calf. Her legs were weak as she tried to keep up with her husband's pace, pleading, "Kenichi! Wait for me. And our daughter, you can't leave us behind."

Their five-year-old daughter, Miyu, was swept along by the crowded masses, her tiny body weaving between the legs of adults, crying loudly in terror.

She stretched out her dust-covered little hands, waving toward her parents: "Daddy, Mommy, save me."

Matsumoto Kenichi glanced back, his eyes devoid of any hesitation, filled only with selfishness magnified infinitely by fear.

He didn't even slow his pace, simply throwing back a cold sentence: "Don't follow me, find a way to escape on your own, I can't look after you anymore."

After speaking, he turned and dove into a less crowded alley. The straps of the mountaineering backpack dug into his shoulders until they were red, but he had no intention of stopping.

Miyazawa Megumi watched her husband's heartless back, then looked at her daughter being carried further and further away by the crowd, and suddenly laughed shrilly.

Back when they got married, Matsumoto Kenichi had knelt before her, saying he would "protect her for a lifetime." When he was unemployed, she had worked two jobs to support the family, pinching pennies to buy milk powder and toys for their daughter.

But when it came to a life-or-death moment, her husband wouldn't even turn back to pull them along; he was even hoping they would die.

"A cold-hearted person... indeed, one's true nature is hard to change..." she muttered to herself. The excruciating pain in her calf made her unable to hold on any longer, and she fell onto the gravel-filled ground.

Behind her, the water left behind after the tsunami receded was spreading along the street, and black mist seeped out from the cracks in the ground, wrapping around her ankles like a poisonous snake, bringing a bone-chilling cold.

Not far away, sixty-year-old Inoue Masao, leaning on a wooden stick he had picked up, was struggling to catch up with his son, Inoue Takuma.

Takuma carried a bulging backpack filled with supplies and medicine snatched from a supermarket, walking quickly without any regard for his elderly father behind him.

"Takuma, wait for Daddy, I can't walk anymore." Inoue Masao was panting, sweat mixed with dust sliding down his forehead, his wooden stick tapping "thud, thud" against the ground.

"I beg you, take your father with you. I raised you for over thirty years, put you through the best private university, bought you a house, and helped you get a wife. How can you be so heartless!"

Takuma finally stopped, turning to glare at him, his face filled with undisguised disgust. He even spat, "Old thing, if you can't run, just die here. Don't follow me and drag me down."

He pulled an unopened bottle of mineral water from his backpack, tossed it casually onto the ground, and deliberately kicked a few gravel stones onto his father's face. "This bottle of water is for you; consider it me being benevolent. Just hurry up and die here, don't block the way."

Inoue Masao stared at the water bottle rolling on the ground, then looked at his son's retreating back, tears streaming down his old face.

When he was young, he worked day and night, rising early and working late to put Takuma through school, and emptied his savings to buy a bridal home when he got married. Yet in the end, he was nothing more than trash that his son could discard at will on his path of escape.

His son even found it troublesome to let him live a little longer.

The black mist had already reached Inoue Masao's feet. He suddenly felt powerless, collapsing onto the ground, staring at the sky with hollow eyes.

"My son, I really raised him for nothing."

In the crowd, such scenes could be seen everywhere; the cold-hearted nature was infinitely magnified under the threat of death.

A young couple encountered a rolling boulder while fleeing. The boy unhesitatingly pushed the girl in front of him, and using the girl as a barrier, he quickly ducked behind the ruins nearby.

The girl was struck on the shoulder by the boulder, curling up on the ground in pain, tears mixing with dust as they fell.

She looked at her childhood sweetheart's cold gaze and asked in a hoarse voice: "Kousuke-kun, why did you push me?"

"Didn't we agree to survive together?"

"You said you would protect me!"

"Idiot, you actually took that seriously?" Kousuke brushed the dust off his body.

"I never intended to keep you alive. You were just a tool I used to block disaster. Being able to die here can be considered your honor."

After dropping these words, he turned and ran, not even sparing a glance for the girl on the ground.

His heart was filled only with the relief of having survived: It was good that he had pushed this burden out to block the disaster, otherwise, he would be the one dead.