The memory ended, and his thoughts withdrew from that vast, sunlit library.
Fang Ran's gaze refocused on the scene before him. Suspended in the high-altitude currents of the boundless night, he watched an ultra-large oil tanker sailing across the pitch-black ocean.
Alright, by now, you could probably guess what Fies Erde's second crisis-stricken sector was.
Shipping, transoceanic transport, ULCCs, crude oil.
That was right.
—The Energy Domain.
What exactly had that woman meant when she said she could help him understand something?
Thinking of Veronica's ever-unfathomable smile and words, Fang Ran recalled how, after their conversation that day, they had merely chatted over lunch.
Then, that afternoon, he had set off again, landed at Miami Airport, boarded the ship, and spent three straight nights on the Atlantic Ocean repelling attacking participants.
Fang Ran sighed helplessly to himself when a voice came through his earpiece.
"We've confirmed that those people have indeed retreated. There's nothing suspicious left in the surrounding waters either."
His black eyes watched the arcs of waves carved by three jet skis patrolling the waters below as he listened to Serica's concise report over the communications channel.
Fang Ran pressed the button by his ear with his black armored gauntlet and replied,
"Mm, got it. Come back. Considering the extent of their injuries and the amount of damage to their equipment, they probably won't make another move during this trip. But please remain alert until we enter the bay."
His English, rendered with a mechanical quality by the armor, rang out last over the combat comms amid the sea's night wind.
"You three worked hard tonight as well."
There was no response over the channel, but on the sea below, the three trails of waves left by Serica, Annabella, and Lynn's jet skis all turned back toward the