Chapter 38: The Nameless Infiltrator, the Unburnt Flame-Bearer
Section One: Embers Scatter — All the World Becomes an Enemy
At the edge of the city, where ruins met smoke and dust, there was a place known as "Laststep Town."
It was a zone unclaimed by the Empire — not part of any official district. Yet it thrived in the shadows, marked on maps only by black-market syndicates, rogue factions, and displaced clans as a "buffer zone" — a gray area forgotten by law, but alive with whispers and secret deals.
As dusk fell, a heavily modified armored vehicle rolled slowly into the outskirts. Its stealth coating shimmered faintly under the fading light.
Jason stepped out, closed the door behind him, and looked ahead at the two-story tavern with peeling paint. A crooked neon sign flickered above its roof — "LAST CALL."
A final drink. Or perhaps, the last road.
Zhao Mingxuan, Lisa Peng, John Wills, and others followed. Thirty operatives dispersed silently to different street corners, vanishing like ghosts.
The eight of them entered quietly, taking seats in inconspicuous spots. The dim lighting revealed a mix of old wood, blood stains, and cheap alcohol in the air.
"Information is caught by the ears," Zhao whispered, eyes shifting as he approached the bar counter to speak with the bartender in hushed tones.
Jason said nothing. He simply observed.
Behind a torn curtain, a low murmur:
"Heard the news? TRACE changed leadership. New woman in charge — ruthless, they say. Took down three gangs in a week."
"That's nothing. I heard they're hunting for a group called 'the Spark.' They even issued a nationwide bounty. Got everyone on edge."
"Ha! These days, anyone who doesn't obey is labeled a spark. Even street vendors get arrested."
"You mean those guys spreading messages through some 'distributed node' system? Rumor says they can send notes over a hundred kilometers with just scraps of paper. Damn spooky."
In a corner, an old drifter muttered into his bottle:
"...One night, I saw words on a wall… 'When the dual fires meet, the empire falls.' You believe that? Three days later, the wall exploded."
"Who dares write something like that?"
"That's not the scary part. The real terror?"
"Everyone knows there are two fires. Everyone knows what they want. But no one knows who they are. Do anything that fits their plan — and you become one of them."
"Exactly. You could be fire. So could I. Who isn't? Who is?"
An old man chuckled.
"Truly brilliant strategy. Truly admirable."
Jason didn't react. He didn't even turn around.
Zhao returned from the bar, murmuring:
"We're being talked about everywhere."
He pointed to a group of black-clad figures across the room.
"The black market thinks we might be 'Remnants of Gray Wing.' Someone put a bounty on our faces. TRACE has gone mad too — full-scale wanted notices."
"And about Kyle… rumors are spreading. Said Blackvine Syndicate recruited a new enforcer — a woman with an eyepatch. No one dares say her name, but all fear her."
Lisa whispered,
"Nowhere is safe for us anymore."
"Was never meant to be," Jason replied coldly, rising to his feet. His gaze swept the room.
"They fear fire. They fear it spreading among the people."
"We don't need to prove who we are. We just need to listen — to hear how they describe us."
He issued quiet orders:
"Zhao, continue working the bartender for outpost intel and supply leads. Lisa, determine if Blackvine has a local presence. Others — follow silent protocol. Avoid attention."
The Fuxi System activated softly:
[System Prompt] ☰ Qian (Heaven) × Gou (Encounter) — Great momentum unfolds without speech. Hostility reveals itself before it strikes. Advantageous to investigate in secrecy; dangerous to act openly.
In a far corner, a boy-like figure sat with head bowed, scribbling every whisper in the tavern. His cup was long empty, yet his hand trembled as he wrote.
He whispered to himself:
"They're here."
Section Two: In Silence, Someone Hears the Fire Speak
Inside the tavern, the murmurs hadn't faded when another table remained eerily quiet.
Maria leaned back in her chair, wearing a rough cloak. Her fingers turned a small metal disc engraved with a now-famous phrase:
"When the dual fires meet, the empire falls."
She did not join the chatter, but she listened — every word, clearly.
Zhao leaned closer:
"Maria, what do you think of what they're saying?"
She didn't look up.
"What they're describing is a 'verbal plague.' Real fire isn't shouted. It's lit in those who've lost their voice."
Zhao frowned.
"Then what do we do — before this fire spreads?"
John Wills arrived from another table, tossing a map onto the table.
"Three factions in South District. 'Ember Gang' deals in weapons smuggling. 'Whisperers' trade in info. And the third…"
He paused.
"'The Other Layer.' Never trades with outsiders. Only takes in 'uncontrolled' individuals."
He looked at Maria.
"Hear of someone called GhostPulse? Rumor says they joined the Other Layer."
Maria's eyes flashed coldly.
"That was a seed I left behind… Looks like it's grown."
As the group fell into thought, Lisa returned.
"Jason says TRACE will conduct a 'Selection Trial' in East District in three days. He wants me to pick a few people to 'accidentally run into' them. Get some intel."
Zhao muttered,
"Hunting foxes or setting fire?"
Lisa shook her head.
"Jason didn't specify. Just said — 'Those present must not win, but must make them doubt.'"
John Wills smirked.
"Let them feel in control while walking into our stage play."
Maria suddenly spoke softly.
"Plays are for the living. Sometimes…"
She lifted her head, looking around:
"Fire is set for the dead."
Silence settled.
Who were the "dead" in this world? Those numb to pain, formatted by the system? Those afraid to question fate?
Jason said nothing. He stood on the second-floor railing, watching below.
He knew —
These people had understood the meaning of the flame.
Not because of him, but because they had seen the cracks in the world for themselves.
He whispered, and Fuxi synchronized:
[Fire is not only to ignite fear in the enemy. Fire is proof that you are still alive.]
Section Three: "Unplanned encounters reach deepest into the heart."
Night descended upon the edge of ruin. Streetlights flickered with unstable light — like the dying nerves of a tired city.
Jason stood atop a half-collapsed clock tower, gazing down at a worn crossroads — a predetermined TRACE patrol route. It seemed ordinary, but the battlefield was already laid.
Below, a grey-and-white tavern stood in silence — normal, yet not.
Fuxi whispered into his mind:
[Terrain Analysis Complete × Pathway Scan Complete × Structural Integrity: 42%]
[Recommended Plan #3: Covert Encounter × Trigger Enemy Alert System × Collect Command Response Model]
[Note: Emotional response drives observation. Adjust language carefully.]
Jason gave the order:
"Mingxuan, execute Plan #3."
Zhao emerged from a side alley, four operatives in tow. Dressed as mercenaries, their coats wrinkled, weapons hidden, speaking in casual slang.
Everything seemed like a genuine exile squad.
They turned into the crossroads — and so did a TRACE patrol team.
Five members. Standard formation. Helmets obscured their faces, but mid-range sensors were visible.
"Don't get too close," Zhao warned. "Just passing through."
The other side noticed.
The TRACE leader raised a tactical halt signal. Two flanking soldiers lowered their guns slightly — but remained ready.
A tense standoff, like static in the air.
"Hey," Zhao raised his hands. "No harm. Just looking for supplies. Still open around here?"
TRACE didn't answer. Instead, the leader scanned their boots — a common test for authenticity. Clean soles meant ambush. Muddy ones, real wanderers.
Three seconds passed.
Suddenly, a TRACE soldier asked:
"You heard about that 'fire' group? Claiming they'll burn down the empire?"
Zhao hesitated, then smirked.
"These days, who doesn't want to do something big?"
Another added,
"Problem is… they almost seem believable."
"The Empire doesn't believe in 'big.' It believes in 'real,'" Zhao said, his tone carrying weight.
The TRACE leader finally spoke.
"Which side are you with?"
Zhao didn't flinch.
"None. We're from Wujiao Town. Honestly, if we could find work anywhere, we'd go."
The leader studied him, then nodded.
"This area isn't safe. Lately, people have been spreading 'open strategies.' Higher-ups are on high alert. If you value your life, stay away."
With that, the patrol left.
"Some fires aren't yours to touch."
They vanished.
Zhao turned to the shadows. Jason had already descended the tower, stepping into the light-shadow boundary.
He murmured:
"They're scared."
Lisa approached, whispering:
"Scared with discipline. Performed well."
Jason smiled, eyes gleaming.
"The more they fear, the less they dare to touch the fire. The more they flee — the faster it burns."
Fuxi chimed again:
[Emotional Ignition Data Synced × TRACE Mid-Level Alert Model Established × Non-Target Reaction Confirmed]
[Enemy Strategy Tendency Predicted: Containment > Targeted Sweep > Narrative Diversion × Deployment Ongoing]
[Counter-Suggestion: Continue Creating Similar Crossings × Disrupt Rhythm × Extend Frontline]
Jason nodded.
"We've only just begun."
He whispered:
"Next time — we watch, and let them dance."
Far away, lights dimmed. The city slept — but beneath, the underground rivers churned.
Section Four: "The tighter you try to hold the wind, the harder it will tear your sky apart."
The next morning, in a small warehouse behind the tavern, Zhao lit an old-style neon lamp.
Inside, Jason, Lisa, Maria, John Wills, Alan, and others gathered around a makeshift round table. Maps of TRACE patrol routes, intelligence nodes, and forged merchant permits lay spread before them.
Jason stared at the counterfeit documents in silence.
Finally, he asked:
"Are these identities solid enough?"
Wills handed him a stack of dense pages.
"I infiltrated a black-market drinking circle last night. Verified numbers, stamps, paper texture. Identical. At least good enough to fool perimeter scanners."
Maria flipped through an Imperial Security Bulletin.
"But TRACE is tightening grip. Checkpoints doubled. Added temporary signal interceptors. Their nerves are fraying from the Open Strategy."
Alan looked up.
"Where are we in your plan?"
Jason's expression didn't change.
"The wind needs one more vortex point."
Everyone paused — except Zhao, who immediately understood.
"You want TRACE to trigger their own explosion."
Jason nodded.
"The enemy isn't stupid. They won't kill recklessly. But they'll use control against 'instability.' Once they move, we have reason to respond. The Open Strategy is public — but until they strike first, it remains a game of ideas."
Lisa picked up.
"So we force them to move. Make them think they discovered us."
Maria's eyes sharpened.
"Dangerous. If they lock onto one of our nodes—"
"We detonate another," Jason interrupted.
"Without full cards, we don't fight head-on. We flow. Shift focus. Like wind."
A pause.
Alan grinned.
"Know who you remind me of?"
Jason tilted his head.
"Who?"
"Kids who sprinkle gunpowder outside someone's door, hoping they'll light it themselves."
Zhao shrugged.
"To be honest… yeah, kinda does."
They laughed — but all knew the game had only just begun.
Jason surveyed the group.
"I'm heading out soon. Two patrol nodes nearby haven't activated their sensors yet. I want to see firsthand how smart TRACE has become."
Maria rose.
"Alone?"
He glanced at her.
"You stay. Wait for word. Zhao accompanies me. Return within thirty minutes. Else, activate Protocol Six."
Lisa nodded.
"Understood."
They stood, moving in unison.
As Jason passed Maria, she whispered:
"Remember what you said."
He responded softly:
"The tighter you try to hold the wind, the harder it will tear your sky apart."
The lantern flickered. The warehouse door creaked open. Cold wind rushed in. Neon light caught Jason's back — like a flame walking into the storm.
Section Five: Who Isn't Fire — Who Dares Say They Are Not?
South of the broken town, dusk pressed down. In a crumbling tavern, flames still flickered. On a ruined brick wall, fresh white graffiti drew passersby — not for its artistry, but for its words.
"When the dual fires meet, the empire falls."
This phrase had appeared countless times — in alleys, on exchange walls, even on peeled propaganda posters.
Jason sat in a quiet corner. Zhao murmured:
"This message wasn't ours. It came from a small local group."
"Then who wrote it?"
Zhao's eyes darkened.
"Maybe… a member of a sacrificed cell. Someone who heard the framework, remembered it — and went off alone."
"Did they understand it?"
"Not sure. But one thing's clear."
He leaned in.
"Now, it's not them choosing us. It's them fearing us — fearing we'll say they're fire."
As they spoke, a middle-aged man in a tattered sheepskin coat whispered to his companions:
"...The worst part isn't the fire itself. It's that anyone could be fire. You believe it? You run a small gang, train a few kids, buy some gear — someone sees you, reports you — and boom. You're fire."
"You can't deny it. If you deny it, you admit fear. If you don't deny it — the Empire assumes guilt."
Someone else whispered:
"So now… we have to act even more like civilians."
"But how do you run a business? Expand? Hire? Compete? The Empire suspects you. Your recruits suspect you. Even your subordinates start wondering if you're really fire. Then… are you still yourself?"
—
Later that night, Jason led his core team back to a makeshift base.
Lisa asked softly:
"Are we… losing control?"
"Not control," Jason said calmly. "We've entered Phase Two."
"Phase Two?"
He gestured to the tactical map.
"Our strategy is replicating itself."
"What do you mean?"
"I didn't order that graffiti. But it's spreading. We didn't ask them to spread the Open Strategy — yet now, even we have to listen to others quoting us."
His voice dropped.
"We are no longer actors. We are legends — defined by others."
"And when everyone believes you are — you are."
Zhao murmured:
"Even if we die tomorrow… the fire lives."
Fuxi inserted coolly:
[Structural Control Logic Activated]
[Current Propagation Node Density: 23% × Regional Organizations Default to Dual Fire Framework as Most Viable Strategy]
[Projected Trend: Empire's "Fire Identification" Model Entering Logical Collapse × Denial Mechanism × Defensive Contraction]
Jason smiled faintly.
"We made them unable to judge. Unable to trust. Unable to attack. Unable to release."
His voice deepened.
"The only thing they can do… is lose their minds."
—
Outside, children played a game on a pile of stones — one child stood in the center, blindfolded, shouting:
"I am fire! I pass the fire!"
Others ran, screaming:
"You're the fire!" "I'm not fire!"
Eventually, no one dared stand still.
A timid-looking child couldn't run anymore. Panting, he looked at the "fire-child" and whispered:
"Don't pass it to me… I want to pass it too."
He reached out, gently touching the fire-child's palm.
At the tavern entrance, Jason watched.
A bittersweet smile touched his lips.
He whispered:
"You ask — who isn't fire?"
He answered himself:
"I ask — who dares claim they are not?"
Section Six: In the Smoke, the Real Fire Has Not Yet Come
In the abandoned industrial zone west of the city, silence reigned over broken ruins. The night wind stirred shattered steel frames, letting them groan like ghosts.
Rats scurried across cracked concrete, squeaking — as if sensing something unusual in the air.
"Target confirmed. Multiple overlapping signals detected inside Warehouse C-9. Possible fire-source gathering."
TRACE Southern Tactical Group, 7th Squad had already surrounded the area.
The HUD interface inside Commander Griffin's helmet flickered with data:
[Low-frequency audio anomaly × Multi-person voice resonance points × Distributed information packet array × Targeted psychological stimulation module]
Everything pointed to one conclusion —
"The flame is rising."
Griffin narrowed his eyes and gave the order.
"Seal all exits. Breach the door and suppress immediately. No one escapes."
"Yes, sir!"
With a thunderous blast, the rusted iron door collapsed inward.
A group of youths lifted their heads in panic. Dozens of figures in mismatched cloaks and homemade masks — self-proclaimed "Spark Members" — were gathered around a battered speaker, listening to a remixed version of a manifesto.
"...Don't wait for someone else to save you — you are the fire."
In an instant, bullets sprayed, flashbangs exploded, smoke filled the space. Screams, cries, chaos erupted.
Within three minutes, the scene was under control.
TRACE swiftly escorted them to a temporary interrogation van.
"Who sent you?"
"No one… We just… saw that 'Strategy Summary'…"
"Where did you get it?"
"Printed it. Got the file online… Everyone's sharing it… I thought… we were one of those fires…"
"Who do you belong to? What's your connection to… 'Bright Flame'?"
"Bright Flame? …What? Am I part of Bright Flame?"
—— The more they asked, the quieter it became.
—— The quieter it became, the emptier the answers grew.
Lindsay, TRACE Deputy Commander, flipped through the files in her hand, her face darkening.
"They're not fire — they're smoke."
"All fake," Griffin muttered bitterly. "We're chasing shadows cast by the crowd itself."
He slammed the tactical terminal shut, rising in fury.
"We don't even know who our enemy is! We haven't seen a single trace of the real fire!"
Nearby, a soldier whispered:
"But they did willingly spread the materials… If they're not fire, then what are they?"
Griffin sneered, gazing at the cold moon above.
"That's not fire. That's poison."
"It's the poison of belief."
"And right now… we're drowning in its smoke."