Chapter Twelve: Reasons for Failure

Staring at the city strewn with devastation near and far, Chen Hongxu dared not pause for a moment. In missions of this scale, casualties were inevitable—one could hardly expect otherwise. So, in his mind, as soon as the chaos subsided, the Chinese residents of Nara's capital would surely be subjected to investigation. If they didn’t seize the opportunity to escape during the turmoil, once the authorities restored order, leaving would become far more troublesome.

Relying on the maps he had studied over the past few days, Chen Hongxu fixed his route and ran headlong towards his destination—another highlight of Nara: the primeval forest of Mount Kasuga.

As for the blond youth who had been following him since they left the Tang Temple, Chen Hongxu had deliberately allowed him to tag along. With the city in such turmoil, if Chen Hongxu couldn’t shake off a mere tail, he’d hardly be worthy of the protagonist’s aura.

The blond youth, while marveling at Chen Hongxu’s stamina, was also silently suffering. They had been running at a rapid pace for over thirty minutes now. He wasn’t stupid; he understood that his companion intended to leave the vortex of chaos for a while. But damn it, didn’t he know there were things called vehicles for getting around in this world?

His legs growing weak, the blond youth felt he could barely hold on. Suddenly, his eyes gleamed—a Harley-like motorcycle was approaching from afar. Atop it sat a burly man with a white band tied around his head, stubble on his chin, a cigarette dangling from his lips, and a white trench coat emblazoned with the words "Victory." He was leisurely passing Chen Hongxu.

The blond youth swallowed hard, shamefully realizing his mouth was so dry not a drop of saliva would come. Forcing himself to swallow air, he stuck out his tongue to moisten his lips, and without further ado, lunged toward the biker.

“Baka?” The motorcycle was now only five or six meters from the blond youth. Though it wasn’t moving fast, at the speed the blond kid was barreling toward it, he’d be lucky not to end up half-dead.

Such suicidal behavior absolved the biker of responsibility, but in these chaotic times, anyone riding leisurely through the streets was hardly respectable—likely even a thief who’d stolen the bike in the confusion.

The burly man grew anxious; braking in time was impossible. He cursed under his breath and could only veer the bike slightly.

The blond youth was not seeking death. If he couldn’t manage such control over his body, he’d have no