[Part 1: The Predatory Sweep]
Ruichi pressed his chest into the damp earth, the dry wheat stalks forming a golden cage above him. The rhythmic THROB of the pursuit drone was no longer just a sound; it was a physical vibration in his marrow, a mechanical heartbeat searching for a rhythmic anomaly.
Thermal displacement scan, Ruichi calculated, his mind shifting into a state of cold, analytical stillness. The drone isn't looking for a person; it's looking for a heat signature that doesn't belong to the field.
If he used even a spark of Pure Magic to cloak himself, the energy spike would be like a flare in a dark room. He couldn't hide his heat with magic, so he had to hide it with the environment.
He looked at the vast field. The wheat was dry, but the soil beneath was deep and held the lingering chill of the subterranean tunnels. To survive this, he didn't need power; he needed to become an invisible variable in their search.
[Part 2: The Natural Mask]
Ruichi didn't panic. He began to move, not away from the light, but deeper into the structure of the field. Using his hands, he cleared a small patch of earth and began to pull the tall, dry wheat stalks over himself, weaving them into a loose, layered canopy.
He wasn't just hiding his body; he was creating an insulation layer.
He reached into his suit and pulled out a small, metallic emergency canister—a standard piece of his escape gear. It contained a pressurized cooling agent meant for treating mana burns. He didn't spray it on himself. Instead, he sprayed the underside of the wheat canopy he had just woven.
The chemical reaction drew the heat out of the air beneath the stalks, creating a localized pocket of cold that matched the exact temperature of the surrounding earth. To the drone's infrared sensors, he had effectively vanished, becoming a static part of the ground.
[Part 3: The Decoy Vector]
"Force them to follow the noise," Ruichi whispered, his voice steady and devoid of emotion. He was no longer the desperate child outside the server room; he was the sharp strategist Jonathan Raines would have expected.
He took a second canister—a simple friction-igniter—and tied it to a heavy, discarded piece of farm machinery he'd found partially buried in the soil. He threw the heavy object ten meters to his left, into a thick patch of weeds.
The impact made a distinct, heavy thud, and the igniter created a small, localized puff of smoke and a brief flash of heat—just enough to mimic the signature of a fleeing target stumbling in the dark.
Above, the drone's spotlight paused. The sensors registered the impact. The logic processed the "movement." The brilliant white beam flickered, then swung away from Ruichi's position, centering on the weeds where the decoy had landed. The drone accelerated toward the false lead, its rotors screaming as it pivoted.
[Part 4: The Silent Trek]
Ruichi didn't wait for the drone to return. He stayed low, crawling through the wheat until he was well outside the immediate search radius. Only then did he stand, his dark suit blending perfectly with the shadows cast by the tall stalks.
He looked toward the horizon. The windmill was still a distant, skeletal silhouette against the stars, marking the start of a grueling two-day journey across the Sotolo Fields.
The first hurdle is cleared, he thought, adjusting his sleeves with a composed, deliberate motion. But they'll realize the decoy was a ghost within the hour. I have to put as much distance between myself and that village as possible before dawn.
He didn't run. Running was loud and generated heat. He moved with a steady, long-strided walk—a pace designed for maximum efficiency. He was alone in the Sotolo Fields, a ghost moving through the grain. He had the coordinates, he had his life, and he had the cold, sharp logic that served as his truest weapon. The pursuit was relentless, but Ruichi Kusura was no longer playing by their rules. He was rewriting the path as he walked it.
[Part 5: The Tactical Pivot]
Ruichi checked his internal chronometer. The trek across the open Sotolo Fields was the safest route, but it was also the slowest. In his current state, with a fractured Mana Shell and a depleted core, "safe" was a luxury he couldn't afford. The drone sweep had proven that the System was already tightening the perimeter.
I need a more efficient transport vector, Ruichi thought, his gaze shifting from the distant windmill toward the flickering orange lights on the southern horizon. Sotolopis Docks.
If he could reach the waterfront, he could catch the night ferry to Nola—the island territory known in the lower sectors as Noho. Nola was a rugged volcanic outcrop, a place of dense forests and steep, unmonitored slopes. On Nola, the sheer verticality of the terrain and the lack of high-tech infrastructure would create a natural "dead zone." In a place where the landscape itself blocked signals, the System's precision tracking would be forced into a primitive search. It was the perfect place to vanish into the wild, untamed geography.
He changed his heading, cutting a diagonal path through the tall wheat toward the southern edge of the fields.
[Part 6: The Encounter]
As he neared the outskirts of the docklands, the silence of the fields was replaced by the rowdy, discordant sounds of civilization. A group of Players—identifiable by the shimmering, semi-transparent [LVL 24] and [LVL 28] tags hovering above their heads—were stumbling down the dirt path.
"Bro, did you see the world-alert?" one of the Players shouted, his holographic inventory window flickering as he walked. "That flare near the tunnels... 100 gold says it's a timed event trigger."
"The aggro range on that drone was insane, though," the other replied, swinging a neon mace that left light-trails in the air. "Probably just a bugged spawn. Hey, look at the NPC over there—sick cosmetic set. Is that a hidden quest-giver?"
They blocked the path, their [Interact] icons flashing in Ruichi's peripheral vision. He didn't break his stride, his face a mask of bored, aristocratic indifference.
[Part 7: The Social Camouflage]
"It is a bespoke item," Ruichi said, his voice smooth and carrying a chilling authority that didn't fit their RPG expectations. "And if you're hunting for 'timed events,' I'd suggest you move toward the windmill. The System is currently processing a high-value anomaly in that sector. Unless, of course, you'd prefer to have your accounts flagged for interference during an active audit."
The Players blinked. The [Quest] icon above Ruichi's head didn't appear, but the sheer weight of his "Raines-esque" presence made their UI glitch for a second.
"Whoa, chill, Boss," the mace-bearer muttered, stepping back. "We're just heading to Nola to grind some night mobs. We don't want any trouble with the devs."
"Then I suggest you move quickly," Ruichi replied, glancing at his watch. "The ferry departs in twelve minutes. Efficiency is rewarded; loitering results in a permanent loss of opportunity."
[Part 8: The Nola Bound Ferry]
He walked past them without a second look. Behind him, he heard the Players frantically checking their maps. "He mentioned an 'audit'... is that a new patch mechanic? Let's check the windmill!" By redirecting their greed, he had created a fresh layer of human noise for the pursuit drone to sift through.
The docks appeared ahead—a humble, weathered pier of salt-bleached wood. The night ferry, The Iron Ledger, was already straining against its moorings. It smelled of brine and old wood, its engines vibrating with a low, rhythmic thrum.
Ruichi stepped onto the gangplank, the wood firm beneath his shoes. He didn't look back. He kept his eyes on the dark, massive silhouette of Nola Island rising across the water, its volcanic peaks cutting a jagged line against the starlit sky.
He had the coordinates. He had the drive. And now, he had a volcanic island of rugged peaks to hide in. The pursuit was still coming, but Ruichi Kusura was moving into a sector where the rules of the game were about to be dictated by the land itself.
[Part 9: The Channel Transit]
The Iron Ledger groaned as its massive engines pushed it away from the Sotolopis concrete pier. Ruichi stood at the stern, his dark suit a sharp, unyielding silhouette against the churning white wake. Behind him, the red-tiled roofs of Iheya began to shrink, the island's bustling energy fading into the distance.
The Iheya-Nola crossing is less than a nautical mile, Ruichi calculated, checking the position of the sun. The transit time is negligible, but the shift in data density is absolute. I'm moving from a monitored hub to a statistical zero.
He felt the heavy vibration of the deck through his leather shoes—a rhythmic, mechanical pulse that seemed to ground his fractured Mana Shell. In the open air of the archipelago, the "Invincible" tag he carried felt less like a title and more like a heavy mantle of responsibility.
[Part 10: The Bridge Perspective]
As the ferry entered the center of the turquoise channel, the Noho Bridge came into view on the starboard side. From this angle, the concrete span looked like a thin, white needle threading the green mounds of Iheya and Nola together.
The bridge is the logical vector for any land-based interceptor, Ruichi mused, his eyes tracking the bridge's curve. By opting for the ferry ride instead of a vehicle crossing, I've stayed outside the primary traffic sensors. The System prioritizes the bridge's static cameras. It overlooks the 'noise' of the local maritime traffic.
The sight of the bridge confirmed his tactical geography: he was entering a bottleneck, but he was doing so as a ghost in the system, invisible to the standard logic of the pursuit.
[Part 11: The Player Friction]
"Seriously, there's nothing on the map," a voice complained, cutting through the salt spray.
Ruichi didn't need to look. The group of Players he had diverted earlier were leaning over the railing nearby, their [LVL 24] and [LVL 28] tags flickering in the harsh sunlight. They were swiping frantically through their holographic UIs, looking for a reason to be on this boat.
"If the kid is right and there's an 'audit' happening on Iheya, we're better off on Nola anyway," the mace-bearer muttered, glancing warily at Ruichi. "But look at him. He's just staring at the cliffs. He's not even checking his quest log. Who plays like that?"
"High-level admins," his companion whispered back. "Or glitches. Either way, stay out of his aggro range."
Ruichi adjusted his cuffs, the "Raines-esque" executive aura he projected acting as a natural deterrent. To them, he was an anomaly; to himself, he was the only one playing for real stakes.
[Part 12: The Nola Landing]
The ferry's horn let out a short, sharp blast as the green, volcanic mass of Nola loomed ahead. It was a tiny island—barely a kilometer in diameter—characterized by jagged limestone cliffs and dense, subtropical scrub. There was no grand harbor here, just a weathered wooden pier and a single, narrow road leading into the quiet village.
Privacy is the ultimate asset on a landmass this small, Ruichi thought, the scorched thumb drive heavy in his pocket. The System will have to deploy manual search patterns. They won't find me in the limestone caves before I have what I need.
The boat bumped against the pilings. Ruichi was the first to the gangplank, his face a mask of iron-clad resolve. He wasn't just landing on a new island; he was moving into the final phase of his survival.
[Part 13: The Sound of Salt]
The concrete of the Noho pier was hot, radiating a dry heat that felt distinct from the humid pressure of Iheya. As Ruichi stepped off the gangplank, the mechanical thrum of the ferry's engines was replaced by a silence so profound it felt like a physical barrier. There was no background hum of a city grid here, no overlapping frequencies of a million interconnected devices.
He took a breath, and for the first time since the tunnels, the air didn't taste of ozone. It tasted of salt and sun-bleached stone.
Isolation isn't just a distance; it's a state of the ledger, Ruichi thought. His pace was steady, his leather soles clicking against the pavement with the precision of a metronome. Behind him, the tourists and players were already beginning to look around with a sense of mounting boredom. To them, the lack of infrastructure was a flaw. To him, it was a sanctuary.
[Part 14: The Fukugi Sentinel]
He moved toward the village center, where the road narrowed between high walls of coral limestone. These weren't the clean, manufactured blocks of the capital; they were jagged, porous, and covered in a fine layer of white dust. Growing behind them were the Fukugi trees, their waxy, dark-green leaves woven together so tightly they formed a natural fortress against the Pacific winds.
As he stepped into the shadow of the trees, the temperature dropped five degrees.
He felt the pressure in his chest—the raw, fractured edge of his power—settle into a cold, hard knot. In the presence of something as ancient as these trees, the frantic, flickering energy of his survival felt like an intrusion. He adjusted his jacket, ensuring the scorched thumb drive was seated deep in his pocket.
[Part 15: The Unseen Audit]
A local woman was sweeping the path in front of her gate with a broom made of bundled twigs. She didn't look up as the players walked by, but her rhythm faltered for a fraction of a second when Ruichi passed. He didn't have to look at her to know she noticed the cut of his suit and the absolute, unwavering stillness of his posture.
On an island this small, every anomaly is tracked by the locals before the System even registers a blip, Ruichi reasoned. The people are the first layer of the audit.
He didn't try to blend in. That would have been a waste of resources. Instead, he leaned into the role of a corporate scout—someone who belonged there by right of ownership. He turned at a small signpost pointing toward the southern cliffs, leaving the last of the village houses behind.
[Part 16: The Limestone Dead-Zone]
The paved road ended abruptly, transitioning into a rugged trail of crushed coral. The elevation began to climb, the path winding through thickets of subtropical scrub and sharp limestone outcroppings.
Ruichi paused at the first ridge, looking back at the Noho Bridge. From this height, the connection to Iheya looked like a fragile afterthought. He could see the ferry pulling away from the pier, heading back across the turquoise channel.
The sync-window is closing, he noted, his internal timing ticking down with cold efficiency. In sixty seconds, the Iheya node will flag my departure. By then, I need to be deep enough into the limestone shelf that the satellite telemetry can't resolve my thermal signature.
He turned his back on the bridge and began the final ascent toward the southern sea caves, his face set in a mask of iron-clad resolve.
[Part 17: Route 8 — The Seastar Loop]
The ascent grew steeper as the trail—officially designated as Route 8—coiled around the southern cliffs. This was the Nola Seastar Loop Trail, a path of packed, sun-bleached earth that offered no handrails or safety markers. To Ruichi's left, the jagged limestone walls were honeycombed with natural alcoves; to his right, the ground fell away into a sheer drop toward the white-capped surf of the Pacific.
The path is a primitive vector, Ruichi noted, his pace quickening as he moved further from the village. No sensors, no traffic logs, no digital footprint. To the System's predictive algorithms, this trail is a 'dead-end' for an executive profile. I am moving into the logic of a ghost.
[Part 18: The Salt-Mist Barrier]
As he reached the highest point of the Loop, the wind whipped off the ocean with predatory force. It carried a thick, visible mist of salt-spray—a fine brine that coated the gnarled screw pines and the sharp edges of the coral rock in a glistening, white crust.
He felt the constant, unmoving force in his chest react to the high salinity. The mineral-rich air acted as a natural grounding agent, absorbing the residual "leakage" of his presence before it could rise to where the satellites could resolve it. He didn't just walk through the mist; he used it as a shroud, ensuring that his thermal signature was effectively neutralized by the island's own cooling spray.
[Part 19: The Fissure Descent]
Ruichi spotted the marker: a weathered limestone pillar eroded into the shape of a crooked, pointing finger. He didn't pause to admire the view; he stepped off the dirt trail immediately, descending into a hidden fissure. The jagged rock bit into the soles of his leather shoes as he navigated the narrow tiers of the cliff face, dropping into the physical "shadow" of the island's crust.
The sixty-second window has closed, he calculated, his back pressed against the cold stone. The Iheya node has officially flagged my departure. By now, the search algorithms are scanning the ferry pier and the bridge. They won't look here—not yet. I am no longer a trackable asset.
[Part 20: The Limestone Vault]
He reached a flat, sheltered ledge twenty feet above the tide line and moved into the mouth of a deep sea cave. The interior was a cathedral of salt and stone, the walls glittering with quartz crystals that amplified the rhythmic, low-frequency roar of the ocean below.
Ruichi sat on a dry shelf of rock, his silhouette swallowed by the absolute darkness of the cave. He pulled the scorched thumb drive from his pocket. It was a blackened, warped piece of evidence—a vulnerability that needed to be exploited and then erased.
"Let's see the ledger, Jonathan," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the surf. He centered the unyielding force within him, preparing to force a raw data-link through the drive's corrupted core, keeping his presence buried deep within the limestone.
Author's Note: Hi all, Kai Hoshin here, I am unfortunately deciding to move all multiverse books to Royal Road in 48 hours if the Webnovel support cannot handle security. I am forced into doing something I shouldn't be doing, because that is Webnovel's job, and I want my books to be in a place that is safe for all of my readers. If Webnovel does not address it, I hope that all of my readers can migrate to Royal Road, where you will be safer and in an environment where my multiverse can excel. I hope I don't have to do that, but fingers crossed:)