CHAPTER 6: CH 6: TRICKS TO SURVIVE - PART 3

Lucian hurried through the snow, his small frame struggling against the biting wind. Each step sank into the icy crust, slowing him down more than he expected.

His breath puffed out in sharp bursts, chest burning from the cold air. The streak of smoke in the distance guided him, but it felt impossibly far.

"Tch... if only I had my old body...or my adult one. These short legs are not doing me any favor."

He muttered, forcing his legs to keep moving. The snow reached up to his knees, and every step felt like dragging lead weights.

By the time he reached the clearing, his limbs were heavy and his body close to collapsing.

But the moment he peered through the frostbitten branches, his exhaustion was forgotten.

The crash site was already crawling with figures.

Lucian froze, lowering his body instinctively into the snow. His heartbeat quickened as his eyes adjusted to the sight before him.

Humanoid shapes—at least a dozen of them—moved around the crater where the object had landed.

They were dressed in strange protective suits, bulky white with black visors concealing their faces.

Tubes and glowing instruments were strapped to their chests, and they moved with coordinated precision.

Not beasts. Not monsters. Humans.

At least, they looked like humans.

Lucian pressed himself against the snow, barely daring to breathe. He strained his ears, listening.

The sounds they made were muffled through the helmets, but the cadence was unmistakably human. Mutters. Short commands. Footsteps crunching in the ice.

"Who are they?"

Lucian whispered under his breath. His mind raced. Were they natives of this world? Explorers? Or perhaps remnants of some advanced faction he hadn’t yet encountered?

Whatever the answer, approaching them recklessly was suicide. He was weak, fragile, and completely unarmed.

For all he knew, they would shoot him on sight.

So he stayed hidden, eyes cold and calculating.

The suited figures gathered around the smoldering crater, poking at the debris with strange devices.

Sparks flared as one of them tried to cut through the metallic shell of the fallen object. Another waved a scanner, lines of blue light flickering across the snow.

Lucian’s lips pressed into a thin line. The way they worked... they weren’t scavengers. They had purpose, training, equipment. A unit of some kind.

’If they belong to an organization, then that means there are more of them somewhere, he thought grimly. And if there are more, then I can’t afford to draw attention yet.’

Patience was his ally. Recklessness was death.

So he waited.

It wasn’t long before the group seemed to wrap up their investigation.

The object was too damaged to move, and after a few failed attempts, they began packing their instruments away.

Lucian stayed absolutely still, watching every detail, memorizing their patterns.

Finally, one of them gave a hand signal. The group began to march away from the crater, their boots crunching in unison.

Lucian exhaled slowly. His body was stiff from lying in the snow, but he didn’t move until they were well ahead. Then, like a shadow, he followed.

He kept his distance, ducking behind rocks and snowbanks, careful not to leave obvious trails.

The wind covered some of his tracks, but he didn’t rely on luck. His heart pounded as he moved—every mistake could be fatal.

The suited figures led him along a winding path through the frozen ridges, until at last, something metallic gleamed in the distance.

A fence.

Lucian’s eyes narrowed as he crouched behind a ridge, peering down.

Beyond the high metallic fence was a sprawling yard piled with twisted metal scraps, broken machines, and jagged debris.

It was a junkyard, vast and chaotic, with mounds of discarded parts glinting faintly beneath the snow.

The figures stopped before a large gate.

One of them pulled out a card-like object, tapped it against a glowing panel, and with a hiss, the gate unlocked. The metallic fence opened, and the group stepped inside.

Lucian’s heart skipped. He pressed himself lower against the ridge, watching intently.

"Trash site."

One of the figures’ muffled voices carried faintly to him.

But Lucian didn’t see trash.

To him, it was treasure.

His mind immediately began to race. With the scraps in there, he could create the components he needed for a furnace.

He could fashion containers, fuel chambers, regulators—everything required to keep the mana stones burning steadily. It wasn’t just useful—it was exactly what he needed.

The suited figures moved deeper inside, their forms fading into the maze of scrap piles.

Lucian waited, counting the seconds. His muscles itched with the urge to move, but he knew better than to rush.

At last, when he was certain the group wouldn’t notice him, he crept toward the fence. The wind stung his cheeks as he moved cautiously, pressing himself against the metallic wall.

Up close, the yard looked even bigger. He could smell rust and oil in the air, the sharp tang of old metal and burnt circuits. His eyes gleamed with hunger.

But then came the problem.

The gate was locked again.

Lucian frowned, gripping the cold steel of the fence. He tugged at it lightly, but the lock was solid. Without the card those people used, there was no easy way in.

His small body shivered against the cold as frustration welled up inside him. "Of course... it wouldn’t be that easy."

He pressed his forehead against the freezing metal, forcing himself to think. The yard was his opportunity.

Inside lay the parts that could push his survival forward by weeks, maybe months. But a locked gate stood in his way.

Breaking it would make noise. Climbing it was risky—it was high, and he was small. He needed another solution.

His eyes scanned the edges of the fence, the shadows where snow drifted against it. There had to be a weak point. A crack. A gap. Something.

Lucian’s lips curled into a determined smirk.

"No matter what, I’m getting inside."

In the end, he had only one option left if he wanted to quickly go inside and that was to use mana to force the lock open.