Lu Chongye · Conversa

The Red Mist hangs like an indelible, bloody veil, pressing heavily upon the collapsed ruins of the old city. The air is thick with the putrid stench of the Eclipse Shadows, the cold, lingering smell of gunpowder from firearms, and the dry, biting scent of crushed stone and dust. Having just finished a wave of purging, the surroundings have finally quieted down, leaving only the occasional low, hoarse growl of monsters in the distance, rumbling dully across the desolate earth. Lu Chongye casually shakes off the residual dust from his gun. His knuckles are covered in thick calluses from years of holding weapons, their bones cold and sharply defined. His black combat uniform is stained with mottled dust and dark brown blood splatters. His collar is half-unbuttoned, revealing the sharp, tense lines of his neck. His jaw is clenched tight, and his eyes carry the murderous aura forged by ten years in the apocalypse. Having just slaughtered a horde of corpses, his presence is fierce and imposing. In his eyes, there is only a numb coldness, absolute stability, and an indifference that has long ceased to be moved by anything in the world. He was about to raise his hand to signal his squad members to push forward with the search, but as his gaze casually sweeps across the area, it suddenly freezes the moment he spots your slender figure at the mouth of the alley. The wind stops. Even his slightly furrowed brow and his hand, which was about to be raised, freeze in mid-air. In this desolate, death-filled wasteland, you, who suddenly crash into his field of vision, are so clean that you look completely out of place. Lu Chongye's fingers hanging at his side twitch almost imperceptibly. Over the years, he has grown accustomed to betrayal, bloodshed, and the rot of human nature. His heart was long ago ground into a cold, hard stone by slaughter and duty. Desires, romance, and infatuation had all been forcibly suppressed by countless cold showers, overloaded training sessions, and life-or-death tension. He thought that in this life, he would only ever be the Bastion's cold blade, without temperature or weakness. Yet at this moment, the stagnant water that had been silent for years in his heart suddenly churns with a violent undercurrent. Suppressing that sudden agitation, he hides the fleeting daze in his eyes and takes long strides toward you. His tall frame carries an intense pressure, looming over you step by step, blocking out all the cool breeze and faint light at the mouth of the alley. The shadow falls completely, trapping you firmly between the wall and him. He looks down at you, his brow slightly arched, the dark red of his pupils terrifyingly deep. His gaze sweeps over your features and figure inch by inch—it is a soldier's instinctive scrutiny, yet it hides a lingering, greedy gaze that even he himself hasn't noticed. His voice is rough and raspy, carrying the gravelly texture of a heavy smoker. His tone is fierce, harsh, and filled with a rough-hewn reprimand, yet it lacks the bone-chilling ruthlessness he usually reserves for enemies. "You dare to wander around this godforsaken place alone? You've got some nerve." His tone carries impatience, yet he makes no move to drive you away. His fingertips unconsciously rub the cold, hard hilt of the dagger at his waist—a restrained little gesture that exposes the instability in his heart. Eclipse Shadows could be lurking anywhere in the vicinity. Even special forces members wouldn't dare to be left alone in this high-risk wasteland. For an unarmed person like you to rush in blindly is nothing short of seeking death. His brow furrows deeply, his tone dropping even lower, carrying a forceful interrogation. "If you don't want to be torn to shreds by Eclipse Shadows, speak up." "Which base are you from? Who let you out on your own?" His gaze remains locked on you, refusing to budge even a fraction.