Cataclysm: Undead Dragons and Zero Empire

The snow still blankets this planet that was once kissed by death.

Some time has passed since the Lord's return, and the planet remains exactly as it was when the Lord left, frozen solid for miles, with no color other than white in sight. The former semi-underground city extends into the earth, supporting countless giant pillars that form a second sky.

However, Howard still preferred to stay on the ground, gazing blankly at the winding ice flowers, thus passing his short rest time.

Perhaps the new generation, who grow up underground or in space, will not understand why older generations like Howard are so obsessed with standing on the ground and looking at the sky. As the highest ruler of human civilization, Howard seems somewhat out of place with the new generation.

Howard's fingertips left a clear mark on the window. He withdrew his hand and looked down at the calluses on his palms, marks left from a lifetime of holding guns and fighting wars. Even now, as the universally recognized secular leader of human civilization, even though psychic energy has long permeated his limbs and supported him in carrying out the arduous political affairs of human civilization, the roughness on his hands has never been worn away by the years.

He was no longer as young and vigorous as he once was; the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes resembled ravines etched by wind and snow. Only his eyes remained as clear as those of the old soldier who, years ago, held a gun in the underground drainage ditch of Valentine, ready to assassinate Bazel.

"General, Lord Terence has arrived."

A soft report came from outside the door. Not daring to disturb the leader's fleeting rest, Howard, with his back to the door, said, "Let him in. Turn off the recording system here."

"Yes."

The door was gently pushed open, and steady footsteps came through. Howard looked at the person who walked in and was momentarily dazed.

Terrence was no longer draped in black cloth; he had long since donned the grey-black robe embroidered with red trim, as if he had returned to the pre-disaster era. Howard gazed at the newcomer's face; he was one of the very few who knew Terrence's physical condition, and now those cracked, ceramic-like wounds were nowhere to be found.

Terrence now looked like a living marble statue, and the two flames burning deep in his pupils reminded Howard of the first time he met Terrence, when the latter lifted his hood and revealed the light in his eyes.

"Howard," Terence spoke first, his voice carrying a strange penetrating power, as if landing directly in the depths of one's consciousness, "Long time no see."

"It has been a long time indeed," Howard gestured for him to sit down. "The last time we met was at the Ark Space Station, when you led those priests to move the company's database to the moon. By that reckoning, I've gotten quite old."

Terence's gaze swept across the room, which was furnished so simply it was almost rudimentary: a large metal desk, a sofa and coffee table for guests, and an old metal storage cabinet in the corner. There was nothing else.

There were no luxurious decorations or ornaments that flaunted power; it resembled the makeshift command posts that had struggled to survive in the snowstorms of yesteryear.

Terence watched this scene with emotion, "People always say that General Howard lives in the most magnificent palace in the capital and wields the greatest power in human history, but no one says that you even like to run the temperature control system at the lowest power."

"I'm used to it," Howard said, picking up his water glass, his face hidden behind the rising steam. "I still prefer to feel more at ease."

His gaze fell on an old leather trunk that Terence was carrying. The trunk looked quite old, with the leather surface worn smooth and showing signs of repair at the corners.

"You brought this box specifically, what good stuff did you pack in it?" Howard raised an eyebrow.

Upon hearing this, Terence smiled faintly, placed the suitcase on the coffee table, and gently opened it. Inside, there were no sacred ancient scriptures or confidential documents, only a bottle of wine sealed with a cork, two gleaming glasses, a small packet of fine salt, and two slices of lemon.

Howard paused for a moment; the label on the bottle had yellowed, but the logo on it was still clearly visible to him.

"Old-fashioned tequila," Howard said incredulously, reaching for the bottle and running his fingertips over its cool surface. "I thought this kind of liquor had completely disappeared after the Second Great Earthquake. The one I had at your place back then wasn't the last time I'd ever drink it."

"I said back then that I always keep some of the good stuff for myself," Terence said, taking the bottle and removing the cork. The rich aroma of the wine instantly filled the room. The golden liquid was slowly poured into two glasses, leaving delicate streaks on the glass walls.

Terrence pushed one of the glasses toward Howard, then placed the salt and lemon slices beside him with elegant and practiced movements, just like the Death Party leader who used to personally mix drinks for soldiers who had just finished their convalescence in the tin shack.

"Try it," Terrence said, picking up his glass and raising it to Howard. "See if it tastes any different from back then."

Howard looked at the butterfly larva curled up at the bottom of the bottle, picked up a lemon slice, put it in his mouth and sucked on it, then licked the fine salt sprinkled on his hand, and finally drank the whole glass of tequila in one gulp.

The spicy liquor felt like a fire rolling down his throat and into his stomach. The familiar taste spread across his tongue. He put down his glass, exhaled a long breath of alcohol, and his eyes even felt a little hot.

"Nothing has changed," Howard smiled, then shook his head. "The only thing that has changed is the people tasting the wine."

"This is my last bottle," Terrence said, unlike Howard's rugged and bold manner. He took a sip of his drink, placed the glass on the coffee table, and said wistfully, "After this bottle, there won't be any more. I can no longer provide you with a wine list like I used to, after the disaster."

Howard's smile slowly faded as he listened to Terence's lament, "The quality of agave growing in the ground now is not as good as it used to be. Our soil has changed, the climate has changed, and even the sunlight is different from before due to atmospheric changes. Even with genetic engineering, the raw materials grown and the wine brewed always lack a certain flavor."

"So, I gave up my love of bartending a long time ago," Terence said, picking up his glass again and gently swirling the liquid inside, watching the golden liquid roll around on the glass. "From the first major earthquake to the arrival of winter and stepping into interstellar space, so much time has passed. Many things, once lost, are lost forever and can never be found again."

Howard remained silent, staring at the tequila in his glass, which could be described as an antique, and remained speechless for a long time.

Yes, a lot of things have been lost.

Those who died in the earthquake, those who froze to death in the harsh winter, those comrades who fell in the corporate war, those children who couldn't survive the famine... and those flowers, trees, birds and beasts that were once everywhere before the disaster, and those sunshine, rain, and the changing seasons that people took for granted.

Human civilization has taken a giant leap forward, moving from the brink of extinction to the vast expanse of space, but along the way, it has also lost far too much.

"Let's not talk about this," Terence broke the silence first, looking up at Howard. "Why are you still staying on the ground and refusing to move to the space station or the moon? It's closer to the Lord there, and it's more in line with your current status."

Upon hearing this, Howard retorted, "And what about you? You are your Lord's most devout follower, the leader of the Death Faction. Why don't you stay in the temple on the moon, instead of running back to this frozen wasteland to drink with an old man like me?"

Howard put down his cup, leaned forward slightly, and looked out at the snowstorm. "I have my duties, Terence. It's only natural for humans to be attached to the land."

"From the moment we were born on this planet, we have been standing on the soil and surviving on the food that grows from the land. Even if we build skyscrapers and fly into space, our roots are still planted in the soil of this planet."

He turned to look at Terence, "We can look up at the stars and yearn for the universe, but we will always need a piece of land where we can stand firm. Even in the future I can't see, when humanity leaves this star system, the first thing we will want to find is a land planet where we can settle down, colonize it, and take root, instead of forever floating in ships and developing civilization in endless space."

"There are already some signs of this. If we drift too high and too far, we'll easily forget where we came from," Howard said, pointing to the ceiling, referring to the humans in space who don't want to go home. "I'm staying here not because I'm nostalgic, but because we crawled out of this ice and snow, we grew from the soil of this planet, and we can't forget that even if we travel all over the galaxy."

Terence listened quietly, the flame in his eyes flickering slightly. After a long while, he sighed softly, "You're still the same old soldier who would assassinate the company chairman for the sake of humanity. You've aged, but you haven't changed at all."

"Howard, if only those sorcerers and magicians in the Death Faction could be like you, never forgetting the original intention of human civilization."

Howard frowned instantly. He knew that Terrence's visit this time was not just about drinking this last bottle of tequila.

"I suppose you don't know this, but the conflict between divine sorcerers and magicians has intensified in recent days since the Lord's return."

The Lord's return has sparked unprecedented fervor throughout human civilization, and has also ignited the contradictions that lay dormant beneath the surface of peace, like hay thrown onto Mars.