Lost in the Maze

A dilapidated attic.

Although the owner of the house had meticulously and patiently swept away all the dust, and the items inside were arranged with sufficient neatness.

It was still evident that this house had been uninhabited for a very long time; as feet stepped onto the floor, the old wooden boards emitted an unbearable creaking sound.

A glass of water sat on the nightstand.

Lowering his head, he looked at the white bandages wrapped around his chest, his right arm suspended in front of him by a splint and plaster cast.

Pushing open the equally aged wooden door with his left hand, a faint, sour, musty scent drifted to his nose.

As Shane walked down the attic stairs step by step, he once again truly felt the gravity that brought him peace of mind.

This was Earth.

Although it was not the one he was familiar with, and to some extent, it was likely even more dangerous here than the Viltrum in the midst of civil war.

But at the very least, this was Earth.

There would be no cold or irritable Instructor forcing him to beat his companions to death, no compulsory courses where even if he fulfilled his training quotas with all his might, he would still be thrown into a cage with some ugly alien beast to fight for his life.

And there would certainly be no need for him to follow a squad, under mandatory orders, to slaughter billions of weak lives just because that civilization's will to resist was unyielding.

If he were a natural-born Viltrumite, it would be fine.

A clean sheet of paper waiting for ink, it would at most just result in the cultivation of another qualified Viltrumite Warrior.

But as it happened, he was a human from Earth.

Two vastly different spirits intertwined and partitioned within his mind; the cruel laws of survival he had understood at the age of five did not help him forget the more than twenty years of plain and stable life he once had.

Countless nightmares in the night consisted of him being dispatched by Viltrum to conquer his past-life Earth, only for him to personally crush the people he had once been closest to while in a state of extreme fear and brutality.

The slightly distant memory flashed and vanished; Shane raised his still-intact arm and pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers.

The living room on the first floor was not empty. Besides an old sofa and a vintage television set, a row of rather primitive farm tools was neatly arranged against the wall: a few hoes, an iron rake, a sickle hanging on the wooden wall, and a straw hat.

Shane's gaze lingered on the straw hat for a moment.

Although his consciousness had been near nothingness before he lost consciousness, he was certain he hadn't seen it wrong.

If that guy is here, how could Earth possibly be rated as "vacation-level" in the Viltrum database?

Shane felt completely numb. To prevent his injuries from worsening, he had remained in a cryo-sleep state throughout the journey, and after waking up, he hadn't had the chance to check the lifeboat's flight logs.

A second transmigration?

Or was this actually some kind of mixed-genre American comics world?

Back then, he had been in such a hurry to record Earth's coordinates that he hadn't had time to check the Viltrum database to see if there was a planet called Krypton in this universe.

Theoretically, it shouldn't exist.

If this universe had a race capable of becoming a formidable rival to a Viltrumite under yellow sun radiation, then at the very least, the Viltrumite Instructors would have mentioned them a few times when lecturing the boys back then.

Every special race capable of threatening a Viltrumite Warrior was part of the limited Viltrumite cultural curriculum.

Even civilizations inferior to Viltrum were highlighted, let alone Krypton.

Shane looked at the unobstructed dwelling and began to consider his current situation.

He hadn't been captured; the other party likely mistook him for some alien refugee, but why was the living space so humble?

He caught the sound of ocean waves not far away. Following the sound, he looked through the window and could see the sunlight and the boundless sea.

Even if he were an alien refugee, if they weren't going to keep him at the Fortress of Solitude in the Arctic, they should have at least placed him in the Hall of Justice or the Watchtower for easier monitoring.

The sound of waves crashing against the reefs came one after another, mixed with the soft rustle of the breeze passing through the window frame, adding a touch of vitality to the silent attic.

Shane leaned against the window, his fingertips touching the cool glass, his gaze locked on the place where the sea met the sky in the distance.

He had to figure out the current time, his location, and who exactly that man with the "S" emblem was as soon as possible.

His Viltrumite physique allowed him to recover much faster than an ordinary person; although his injuries were not yet healed, basic movement was no longer a problem.

He moved his intact left leg, feeling the slight soreness in his muscles, and then, leaning against the wall, slowly walked to the center of the living room.

Beside the old television set sat a chipped wooden cabinet with a small copper lock hanging on the door.

Shane tried to pry it open gently with his left hand, and the copper lock snapped instantly.

A Viltrumite's body, even in a severely injured state, possessed strength far beyond what an Earthling could imagine.

Inside the cabinet, a few old clothes were neatly folded, along with a yellowed diary.

He picked up the diary, his fingertips brushing over the rough paper as he flipped to the first page.

The handwriting was slightly crude, recording only daily trivialities.

"The wind and waves at the beach were heavy today, the fishing net broke again, need to mend it tomorrow."

"Mrs. Jane Sher next door sent over a bowl of seafood soup, it tasted very good."

"The radio said something strange happened in the city, there are people who can fly, I hope it doesn't affect the beach."

Shane flipped through the diary quickly, his heart sinking with every page.

The diary spanned only half a year, and the latest entry was from three days ago, which read: "Found an injured seabird today, hope it gets better soon."

There was no mention of any key information regarding "Superheroes" or "aliens"; the only thing related was that single sentence about "people who can fly."

Shane couldn't help but fall into confusion.

The S-emblem, the ability to fly in outer space, and the bio-force field he had vaguely sensed before passing out.

Was it not Superman who saved him?

Suddenly, a subtle sound was captured by Shane's ears.

He quickly returned the diary to its original place and instinctively kicked the broken copper lock under the sofa.

The next second, the attic door was gently pushed open, and a middle-aged man wearing blue work clothes walked in.

The man was tall and sturdy, his skin somewhat rough, with coarse lines etched into his face by the sea breeze.

He saw Shane standing in the center of the living room, a flash of surprise crossing his eyes, which then turned into a gentle smile.

"You're awake?"

The man's voice was low and hoarse, carrying a hint of fatigue.

"How do you feel?"

Shane tensed instantly, his left hand clenching quietly as the remaining strength in his body began to gather rapidly.

He didn't speak, only staring at the man vigilantly, trying to judge from the other party's expression and movements whether there was any hostility.

The man seemed to notice his wariness, stopped in his tracks, and raised his hands to show he meant no harm.

"Don't be afraid, I won't hurt you."

"Superman brought you here; he said you were badly injured and needed a quiet environment to recover."

Shane remained tense.

Although he felt a slight sense of relief upon hearing the name Superman, he had to continue his pretense until he fully understood the situation in this world.

As an "alien" relative to Earth, Shane generally knew that if this were truly the world of Superman, Superman actually held an incredible reputation among a significant number of extraterrestrial planets.

But this only made Shane begin to scrutinize the specific situation of this world even more seriously.

During the dozen or so years he had spent on Viltrum, he had never heard of a Superman on the Earth of this universe.

Which universe was he actually in right now?