Seated in the vehicle, Silas was on his way to his mentor's residence.
Gazing at the various pedestrians lining the roadside, his mind was caught up in deep thought.
It had now been nine years since his reincarnation—he was fast approaching the same point in time when he had died in his previous life.
Over these years, he had been constantly investigating and speculating on the cause of his former death.
It could be said he had exhausted every method available.
Every suspect he could identify, he had investigated thoroughly—several times over.
And yet, not a single lead had emerged.
He had poured in considerable effort and resources, but up until now, it had all been in vain.
The whole situation left him feeling helpless and uneasy.
He lacked any real sense of security.
Logically speaking, the path he was on now, and the things he had done in this life, were vastly different from his previous one. He shouldn't have encountered that fatal event again.
But reality didn't follow logic. If the so-called convergence of worldlines or the inertia of history truly existed...
If fate insisted on killing him in the exact same way as before—well, that wasn't outside the realm of possibility.
So until that critical moment had passed safely, he wouldn't let his guard down.
It had become a psychological knot he couldn't untie.
The less he understood it, the more it gnawed at him.
Seeing the troubled expression on Silas's face, the chauffeur couldn't help but shake his head slightly.
He couldn't help but sigh inwardly: even those in power have their burdens.
Not long after, just as Silas was nearing his destination...
His personal communicator vibrated.
He glanced at the number and picked up right away.
Over the past few years, communicators in this world had undergone several iterations of upgrades, and they now somewhat resembled smartphones from Earth.
While their functionality was still limited—mainly to basic calls and text messages—in terms of signal strength, they could rival or even surpass Earth's technology.
After all, these devices were a hybrid of technology and magic. They didn't even need signal towers.
As long as you were within range, even deep in the wilderness, communication was no issue. There was barely any interference—barring special locations, of course.
Once the call connected, a calm female voice came through:
"Sir, regarding the soil sample from last time—the analysis is complete. On a material level, it's just ordinary dirt. There are no special substances mixed in."
Silas knew exactly what she was referring to.
That soil had come from a faraway nation across the sea—a rare sample obtained during a one-of-a-kind incident that couldn't be replicated.
It was rumored to possess a hardness comparable to steel.
That country had treated it as a valuable strategic resource.
Securing it hadn't been easy for Silas—it had taken considerable maneuvering and no small amount of spending.
Now, after hearing the woman's report, he wasn't disappointed—just puzzled.
Not fully understanding her phrasing, he asked, "On a material level?"
In response, the female voice calmly explained, "Yes. Structurally, it's identical to regular soil—just sand and dirt. But there's something else—something we can't detect—that's altered its physical properties, giving it a hardness close to metal."
After a brief silence, Silas—only half comprehending—asked again, unwilling to let it go, "Is there any way to isolate and analyze that unknown force?"
The woman hesitated for a moment before answering truthfully, "Not anytime soon, I'm afraid. With our current equipment, we can't even observe its presence—so we have no lead to work from."
Hearing such a definitive answer, Silas knew that "not anytime soon" might mean a very long time.
That woman was already one of the top experts in the world—it had taken a great deal of effort to recruit her. The equipment they used was also top-of-the-line, some of it banned from international trade, acquired only through less-than-legitimate means.
Top researchers paired with top instruments...
And still, they had nothing.
After a moment's thought, Silas gave a new order through the communicator:
"In that case, send it to Luminous Corp as a goodwill gesture. I recall they've been developing new construction materials recently. Maybe this chunk of 'earth' will yield some inspiration."
"And you," he continued, "should refocus your efforts on the original project."
"Understood," she replied.
"Good. That'll be all."
Silas ended the call and glanced at the street signs outside the window with a faint sigh.
Then he began adjusting his clothing.
He knew his mentor had been raised under the strictest standards of traditional noble etiquette—and was extremely particular about appearances. The type of man who'd say, "Better a broken bone than a messy hairstyle."
So every time Silas visited, he had to be properly dressed, or risk a long lecture.
Not long after that, the steam-powered car arrived at its destination.
Guided by the butler, Silas stepped into a familiar building.
After passing through several towering wooden doors carved in a classical style, he finally saw the man he'd come to visit:
His mentor—Saladin.
At that moment, Saladin was holding a teacup with impeccable posture, sipping his red tea with refined elegance.
In terms of noble bearing, Saladin truly embodied perfection.
Every motion was a masterclass in grace.
He could've easily served as an etiquette instructor to royal families across the world.
And when he heard Silas's slightly hurried footsteps, Saladin didn't even need to look up to know that something important had brought his student here.
He offered a familiar reminder, his tone calm and composed:
"Do not act in haste. Steady your heart."
Only then did he gently set down his teacup and ask unhurriedly, "What's the matter?"
Silas gave a bitter smile and replied, "In the past two months, the rate at which spirits and anomalies are appearing around the world has increased by another thirty percent. At this rate, in less than twenty years, humanity might no longer have a place to survive. I'm afraid it's time we begin our final preparations."
At those words, Saladin's brows furrowed deeply.
His face darkened with thought.
After a long moment, he finally let out a quiet sigh and replied, his expression tinged with resignation:
"If that's the case, then proceed with the original plan. I'll do my best to support you and handle any external complications."
He understood that things had reached a critical point. Any more delay, and it would be too late.
It was time to act.
"Thank you for your support," Silas said. "Then from this moment on, the Interstellar Journey Project is officially underway."
Yes—Silas was preparing to escape.
The core goal of the Interstellar Journey Project was to construct a large-scale teleportation gate based on blueprints he had exchanged for. With it, he would select a group of people for a mass interstellar migration.
To put it bluntly: he was preparing to abandon part of humanity in order to carry out a desperate exodus whose success was far from guaranteed.
At least, that's how Saladin saw it.
But for Silas, it wasn't necessarily so hopeless.
As long as he redeemed the coordinates of a suitable ecological planet in advance, the journey might not be as dangerous as it seemed.
Of course, that wasn't something he could say out loud.
He'd already struggled mightily to explain the origin of the teleportation gate's blueprint—bringing up planetary coordinates would only complicate things further.
That could be dealt with later.
For now, he still had to deal with teleportation materials, teleportation energy sources, extraterrestrial environmental protection equipment...
A long list of problems remained.
____
T/N:
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