Chapter 11 High-Risk Experimental Subject  

Jue stared at Jing Rong, momentarily stunned.  

Seeing his expression, Jing Rong said something to his companion behind him before picking up a nearby case and motioning for Jue to return inside the outpost.  

Once again, the snowstorm was left outside the door.  

Jing Rong first checked the temperature of the fireplace when Jue spoke: “Oakvilleke no longer exists.”  

Jue continued slowly, “That line I gave you earlier was a lie. There’s nothing left of Oakvilleke in this world.”  

Jing Rong added a fresh log to the fire, his voice still calm. “Is that so?”  

Jue said, “Over the past twenty years, due to war and violent geological shifts, Oakvilleke has been buried deep underground. Those who remembered its location are dead. And from here to Oakvilleke, there’s no path left—the War Train tracks don’t run that deep.”  

He had once tried everything to go back and see it for himself, but it was an impossible task.  

Jing Rong continued feeding the fire as he murmured, “Oakvilleke.”  

Jue froze.  

“The capital of the Isle of Blazing Fire, located at the westernmost edge of the Ork Continent, an archipelago stretching toward the Stretkin Wales Glacier. The people who lived there were warm, hospitable, and fearless. Rather than settling on the more convenient islands for fishing and seafaring, they chose to establish their capital at a mainland port for easier trade.”  

Jing Rong’s voice was light but steady, and Jue realized he was reciting an entry from that ancient biogeography book.  

“The people there had hair as red as the sun—not rose-red, not auburn, a shade no color chart could capture. It could be described as a blazing, radiant crimson, though the author believed the color of the setting sun came closest. The archipelago was home to the Archipelago Wolf Pack and rare birds, while many of its flora and fauna also bore this hue.”  

After adding the last piece of firewood, Jing Rong turned around, his voice steady. “That was your capital, wasn’t it?”  

Jue remained rooted in place.  

In the nearly twenty years of his life, he had never heard such a description.  

626 said, “It’s no surprise he doesn’t understand. Twenty years of war have wiped out three entire generations. The culture, history, language, and bloodlines of Sin Island have nearly been severed. Add to that the purges of traitors by Ork’s enemies, and the very existence of this land has almost vanished.”  

626 continued, “In those twenty years of war, there were also ten years of frost and violent tectonic shifts. The permafrost swallowed people’s homes. The people of the Isle of Blazing Fire lost their homeland. Those who still remember its location must be few. And even if they do, they wouldn’t know how to return.”  

Jing Rong walked to the windowsill and unfolded the map he had brought, tapping a spot with his finger. “This is a map from fifty years ago. Setting aside everything else, it’s fourteen hundred kilometers from the nearest warzone.”  

Jue stepped closer to look, strands of his red hair falling forward, a few brushing against Jing Rong’s fingertips.  

Jing Rong said, “Due to geological shifts, that distance might have shortened by a third or more. We’ll follow the border and redraw the map as we go.”  

Jue’s gaze was intense, his expression no longer cold and contemplative but revealing a longing even he hadn’t noticed.  

That was his home.  

The place where he had fought when he was six years old.  

Those strands of hair still rested against the back of Jing Rong’s hand.

Jing Rong said, “The terrain includes ice plains, mountains, and forests, along with vast uninhabited areas. Our supplies won’t be abundant, so we’ll have to play it by ear. But I have extensive wilderness experience. Follow me, and I’ll do my best to ensure your safety.”

Without hesitation, Jue replied, “Alright.”

Jue asked, “What preparations do I need to make?”

Jing Rong straightened up, took a few steps back, and looked at Jue.

For a few seconds, Jue’s fingertips tensed slightly.

It was a palpitation unrelated to any other emotion—whenever those dark eyes gazed down, this heart flutter would emerge.

Yet he was accustomed to enduring. Like pain, this palpitation would be silently concealed.

Jing Rong said, “You’ll need to dress warmer.”

*

Snowflakes drifted outside the shop window, condensation forming on the glass.

Clothing stores in the upper district were typically reserved for nobles. Now, with the streets bustling, only the largest and most luxurious shop had been temporarily cleared for its scheduled visitors.

Jing Rong held the door open for Jue, and the shopkeeper immediately greeted them warmly, while a server brought hot tea.

Jue glanced around the store and asked Jing Rong, “How did you convince them to receive me?”

He could tell this outing wasn’t ordinary. The streets were lined with plainclothes Royal Guards and Adjudicators, though they all maintained a safe distance, only daring to follow from afar.

Jing Rong said, “I told them I needed to buy you some clothes.”

“They said I could do whatever I wanted, as long as they could follow.” Jing Rong showed Jue his empty holstered gun. “I said fine, but I’d bring my weapon.”

His voice was as cool as ever, the steam from the tea curling upward, misting his dark eyes.

Jing Rong was dressed casually today—one of his ordinary shirts, a gray overcoat without any ostentatious embellishments. Yet its precise tailoring and clean lines exuded an untouchable nobility.

Like a carefree playboy.

Jue chuckled softly and began selecting clothes under the shopkeeper’s guidance.

Every garment was personally presented by the shopkeeper and servers, complete from head to toe.

Jue had no particular requests. He chose a simple gray cashmere coat for himself and said, “This will do.”

The shopkeeper said, “We still have over a hundred and fifty more sets we haven’t shown you—”

Jue said, “Just this one.”

His voice remained hoarse, but it carried his usual firmness and finality.

The shopkeeper, intimidated by the High-Risk Experimental Subject’s aura, didn’t dare say more and could only glance pleadingly at Jing Rong.

Jing Rong said, “Let’s get a few more sets. I’ll pick some out—we might encounter various terrains and climates.”

The shopkeeper, as if granted amnesty, eagerly began detailing the tailoring and design of each piece to Jing Rong.

Jing Rong listened attentively, circled the store, and selected several outfits, pairing them thoughtfully.

He chose a winter hunting suit for him—a simple style, a brown deerskin jacket with a velvet lining, exceptionally warm and soft, with a fitted waist and shoulder straps embroidered with understated luxury.

The shopkeeper rubbed his hands and asked, “What about a cloak? Winter’s here. A warm cloak will spare you from the bitter wind if you go out.”

Before Jing Rong could speak, Jue said, “I don’t need another cloak.”

He was wearing his white cloak, his azure eyes fixed on Jing Rong, as if this was the only point he couldn’t concede.

Jing Rong reached out and touched the corner of the cloak.

Jue had no objections and let him touch it.

The cloak was thin—the very same one Jue had worn while trekking through ice and snow.

Jing Rong didn’t insist. Instead, he asked the shopkeeper, “Do you still have rabbit fur? Only polar rabbit fur, white.”

The shopkeeper replied, “We’ve urgently arranged for a whole crate to be brought in for you. It’s fur the royal family hasn’t even had the chance to use yet.”

Jing Rong nodded. “This will do. Please have it delivered to the outpost later.”

The shopkeeper glanced at Jue again before turning back to Jing Rong. “Would you like to try on the items you’ve just selected? The best tailors in the shop are here today, and adjustments can be made easily.”

Jing Rong looked back at Jue.

Jue’s face was calm, so calm that it clearly conveyed his complete lack of interest in trying on clothes.

In his life, he had only ever worn military uniforms and prisoner garb as a test subject. His requirements for clothing were exceedingly simple: as long as it could be worn.

So Jing Rong said, “No need.”

He stood there, his gaze sweeping over the waist seam of the hunting vest, and pointed. “This is too loose. Take it in by an inch.”

The shopkeeper’s expression suddenly turned thoughtful. “The waist?”

Jing Rong didn’t pay attention to the shopkeeper’s face. Instead, he looked at the waistline of the trousers, recalling the proportions he had seen that day. “Same here. The waist needs to be taken in, but the hip measurement should be larger.”

Jue’s previously calm face suddenly flushed bright red.