Meteor Fall Master in the 'Starry Abyss'
Chapter 198 - 022. Small Country Without News (Part 2)

Chapter 198: 022. Small Country Without News (Part 2)

Whoosh—Boom!

The missile flew a distance before igniting again and rapidly accelerating to hit the armored vehicle, blowing it sky-high into a blazing fireball. Under Barnum’s shocked gaze, the bearded man packed away the launcher and even waved at him to hurry and close the window to avoid being grazed by stray bullets.

"Hey—Barnum, the embassy called and told me to stay put at the company and not move. What’s going on? I’ve heard gunshots, tanks, and armored vehicles passing by downstairs. My God, what’s happening?"

A coup.

Barnum quickly guessed the possibility.

There was no doubt about it: this was a military coup, meticulously planned and suddenly launched.

He remembered the bearded man taking photos every day, observing the guards with binoculars, and that today the guards hadn’t changed shifts.

"They were ready a long time ago." Barnum sat in his chair, not knowing what to do.

The sudden upheaval shattered his calm life and perceptions. People huddled in their homes, afraid to even look outside, fearing being caught up in the chaos. Right below him, rebels and Duchy police were engaged in a fierce gun battle, with bullets even piercing his window and leaving a clear bullet hole in the teak cabinet.

Soon, he saw the bearded man hoist another rocket launcher, attempting to provide cover for his comrades again. When he looked up and saw Barnum standing there in a daze, he shouted anxiously:

"Get back! Don’t come out!"

Shh!

No sooner had the bearded man’s words fallen than a blade "grew" out from his chest, and an agent of Third Rule coldly withdrew the weapon, dragging the bearded man indoors. Soon after, blood-curdling screams were heard, and blood spattered on the windows. Even across the street, Barnum felt as if he could smell the rust-like stench of blood.

Ugh—

He almost vomited. A grenade exploded below his building, the thunderous boom instantly deafening him. The blast wave sent him tumbling back into the room, where Barnum rolled frantically and scurried into the bathroom on all fours.

Footsteps, women’s screams, and the occasional sound of bullets hitting marble tiles echoed through the corridor. Barnum, too frightened to make a sound, curled up in a corner and clamped a hand over his mouth, afraid to venture out.

The security battle lasted at least a day, the sound of gunfire never ceasing. Third Rule’s agents went from door to door, seizing the opportunity to search and capture people. They dragged him ruthlessly from the bathtub, beat him viciously, and interrogated him about whether he had seen Bemudes.

Initially, Barnum thought that if he answered no, then Third Rule might lash him with a whip, and if he answered yes, they would ask where he had seen Bemudes.

But he was wrong. Third Rule didn’t give him a chance to argue, beating him until he almost coughed up blood, then dousing him with cold water to bring him back to his senses.

When he curled up in pain, his mind muddied, asking what Bemudes was, Third Rule finally believed his story and let him go.

Barnum stumbled to the battered balcony, righted a chair, then slumped down onto it, the injuries on his face preventing him from opening his eyes.

The light of the artificial sun was still bright, but the air carried the smell of burning tanks.

Like a piece of expired pork tossed into a coal stove.

Barnum squinted, unable to believe that in someone else’s country, agents of Frost Plated could arbitrarily beat and arrest people—even he, as an employee of GTB and a citizen of Frost Plated, was not spared.

Many colleagues in the company’s group chat had been beaten, some were even detained. People were complaining and blaming, asking their superiors for protection, even calling the embassy, hoping to return home.

However, GTB’s senior officials remained silent to their pleas, watching as they were senselessly bashed by Third Rule and even rejecting their requests to return home. The reason given was: "You are still within your working period. According to company policy, you cannot leave."

"What a fucking mess."

He took a swig of whiskey, the taste of oak making the injuries on his face feel like they had been punched.

Barnum looked at the window of the apartment opposite. Through media reports and word of mouth from colleagues, this was the first time in his life he learned what Bemudes was.

In the local language, Bemudes meant "dyke."

They were a group within the Grante Duchy who sought national independence, hoping the country could normalize and regain sovereignty.

It sounded somewhat laughable.

Barnum glanced at the Duke’s Mansion’s guard, they had changed shifts again, their movements precise like machinery. The tall, sturdy guards stood proud and chest out. Clearly, they had succeeded in protecting the Duke, their faces beaming with pride.

He looked towards the window of the opposite apartment, but the bearded man wasn’t there to share the view with his binoculars anymore.

Barnum sat dumbfounded on the chair, clueless about what to do next.

Suddenly, he felt a touch on his shoulder. Someone patted him, and before Barnum could turn around, a man casually pulled up a plastic stool from the food stall next to him. He grabbed Barnum’s whiskey, poured himself a drink, savored a mouthful, and then said to him:

"Whiskey without ice is just kerosene."

Banam was about to curse you for stating the obvious—his fridge had broken, and he had been severely injured; otherwise, he certainly would have added an ice ball—when he suddenly realized that he had locked the door when he came back. How did this man get up here?

Looking again, there was something familiar about the man’s appearance. He was exceptionally handsome, a rare sight in Banam’s life, and there was an undeniable charm in his every move.

The more Banam looked, the more familiar the man seemed. The man glanced at the pack of cigarettes on his table and raised an eyebrow:

"Romantis?"

"Uh—yes."

Without any politeness, the man took one and naturally extended his hand to Banam, "Buddy, lend me a light."

Who’s your buddy!

Banam reluctantly flicked out a lighter from his pocket and lit the cigarette for the man. The handsome man dangled the cigarette from his lips but didn’t take a drag, simply letting the smoke linger in his mouth as if just to awaken his senses using the tobacco. Then, one by one, he dismantled the cigarettes, placing them on the table, and drew out the tin foil separator layer from between the cigarettes and the box.

Under Banam’s curious gaze, the man meticulously folded the foil along its creases, reversing the folds with the seriousness of a child making paper poppers. Finally, he folded the piece of foil into a card.

"Well, lucky me. ’Greenness’ from the Romantic Messenger series."

The man gave a lopsided smile. For the first time, Banam thought a man could be prettier than a woman when smiling and couldn’t help but be dazed. Just as he began to question his sexual orientation, the man’s gaze swept over him.

With clear, bright eyes that matched his handsome features, Banam suddenly couldn’t muster any thoughts of tenderness. Instead, he felt the man’s demeanor to be very gentle and approachable, not the least bit aggressive.

No, his beauty wasn’t common; it was elegant and magnetic, making people want to draw closer. Such charm was pure, untainted by any filthy thoughts.

Banam thought to himself that he had certainly encountered a remarkable person—one who could silently ascend four floors and still possess such charm. If this man ran for President, what business would Madeleine, the old lady, have?

"I took your cigarettes and liquor, so you can make a reasonable request, Barnum Ziegrin."

The man’s words were filled with conviction, making one firmly believe he was serious.

But Banam still hesitated before asking:

"Who exactly are you? Why are you looking for me?"

The man looked surprised but then smiled and asked:

"You really don’t recognize me?"

Something suddenly clicked for Banam, and the man immediately changed his expression, beginning to say:

"The atrocities of Mingji Humanity must be made public—"

As if struck by inspiration, Banam blurted out, in unison with the other man:

"A person can die as a human, but must not live as a beast!"

He looked at the man in surprise and said:

"You, you’re Li Aozi! The Li Aozi who killed over a hundred members of Mingji Humanity... But you, how could you be here? Why have you come to find me?"

"Well, it’s a long story."

Li Aozi sat on the plastic chair of the diner, speaking with a playful tone:

"Don’t get too excited, Banam. You’re the main character of this nation, after all."

"Uh, what do you mean?"

"You’ll understand in time. There are a few seeds with astonishing talents in this country; I plan to dig them all up."

Seeing Banam utterly confused, Li Aozi decided not to continue on that topic:

"Since you’re wondering why I am here, I’ll tell you."

He took a sip of his drink, savoring the taste before speaking leisurely:

"The story actually begins with my failed assassination of the Duke..."