The Beloved Guide Was Forced in a Love-Rival Shura Field - Chapter 22

The aftershocks of the nightmare still clutched at his heart, the air in the room so stifling it felt impossible to breathe.

Ning Ning was still curled up in bed, his little face deathly pale, those beautiful violet eyes filled with lingering terror, like a frightened little animal.

Looking at him like this, Xiao Lin felt as though something had violently wrenched his chest—sharp pain mixed with restless agitation.

Without saying a word, he opened his personal terminal and invoked the Marshal’s highest-level authority. Encrypted commands fired off one after another with only one target—
the deepest layer of the Empire’s central database, the files forbidden to all.

Ancient civilizations, special spirit-bodies, Zerg myths… he wanted every clue, every scrap.

Immediately. At once.

Gu Qingfeng stood silently to the side. The black eyes that always carried a gentle smile were now locked tightly on Ning Ning, fingers inside his sleeve faintly curling.

The fear and worry in his heart were no less than Xiao Lin’s.

That dream was like Pandora’s box torn wide open, dragging Ning Ning straight into the eye of a vortex he couldn’t control. He had to call upon royal power, to dig from another direction, to uncover the truth behind it all.

The room was oppressively silent, the aura of two top-ranked sentinels weighing down until it was nearly suffocating.

And then—

A flippant voice cut through the stillness like scissors, “Well, well, no wonder the Marshal’s residence smells so sweet—turns out you’ve been hiding a treasure here.”

No one knew when the door had opened.

A man leaned lazily against the doorframe, wearing a white lab coat. His hair was a bird’s nest, his golden-rimmed glasses framing eyes that shone disturbingly bright—eyes filled with undisguised curiosity and excitement.

It was Huo Ze. The Empire’s most brilliant—and most deranged—pharmacist.

Before Xiao Lin could say a word, Huo Ze strolled in on his own, his gaze like two laser beams, cutting past everyone and fixing straight onto the boy on the bed.

“Tsk, tsk… a B-rank guide?” Huo Ze circled the bed like a predator, even leaning down to sniff the air, not like he was examining a person but savoring some ancient vintage unearthed from the cellar.

“Were the old fossils at the Empire’s Ability Assessment Center blind?”

Ning Ning shrank back under that stare, instinctively clutching the thin blanket tighter, retreating as though to hide.

Xiao Lin’s expression went glacial.

He stepped forward, his towering frame of nearly two meters casting a wall between Huo Ze and Ning Ning.

The message was clear: Do not look. Do not approach.

But Huo Ze acted like he didn’t notice, excitement bubbling over. From his coat he pulled out a strange metal device shaped like a star compass.

He held it toward Ning Ning.

“Whrrr—”

The thin pointer on the device instantly quivered wildly, releasing a sharp hum. A faint violet halo shimmered at its tip, resonating with the sweet aura emanating from Ning Ning.

“I knew it! I knew it!” Huo Ze’s eyes blazed with manic joy. He rubbed his hands together and tried to step closer to the bed. “Perfect! Absolutely perfect! This fluctuation, this purity… it’s the rebirth of history itself! A living masterpiece!”

He reached out, as though to touch a lock of Ning Ning’s soft silvery curls.

But before his fingers could land, a gloved hand clamped hard around his wrist.

It was Xiao Lin.

The Marshal’s face betrayed no emotion, but his dark-golden eyes glittered with thick ice. He didn’t even need much force; the irresistible pressure alone made Huo Ze’s bones ache.

“Huo Ze,” Xiao Lin’s voice was low, scraped from the throat, vibrating with dangerous restraint. “Take. Your. Hand. Away.”

He released the wrist at last, as though discarding something filthy, and calmly pulled out a crisp white handkerchief from his pocket. Slowly, meticulously, he wiped down his gloves.

Then, without a glance, he tossed the soiled handkerchief into the trash.

Only after that did he stoop down, pick up a folded blanket, and oh-so-naturally wrap Ning Ning up from head to toe—snug and secure—leaving only a little fluffy head exposed.

The motion was tender yet thorough. His fingers brushed “accidentally” against Ning Ning’s cool ear tip, drawing a faint shiver.

The gesture, childish and possessive as it was, wordlessly declared to the other two men in the room:

He’s mine.
You aren’t even allowed to look.

Cocooned in the warm softness, Ning Ning inhaled Xiao Lin’s distinct scent—a mix of snowstorm and blazing fire. The warmth was so reassuring his trembling body began to ease. To him, it was only comfort; to the almost palpable possessiveness beneath the gentleness, he remained blissfully oblivious.

Huo Ze shook out his aching wrist and scoffed at such kindergarten-level possessiveness, but at least he didn’t step closer.

He knew well: push further, and this Marshal would truly hurl him out the nearest window.

Finally, Gu Qingfeng spoke.

He glanced once at Ning Ning—so carefully shielded in Xiao Lin’s embrace like the most fragile treasure. His gaze darkened, the possessiveness in his own heart surging like vines seeking to burst free.

But he knew now was not the time for rivalry.

“Dr. Huo,” Gu Qingfeng’s voice was calm and cutting, forcing himself to look away, “explain clearly. What do you mean by ‘the rebirth of history’?”

At the mention of his field, Huo Ze’s manic excitement surged back. From his storage space, he pulled out an old crystal chip and activated the room’s holo-projector.

“See for yourselves.”

A massive screen of light unfolded in the center of the room.

It was no clear image, but a hazy, broken fragment—like a shard dredged from the silt of time itself.

The projection was not of a ruined wasteland from Ning Ning’s dream, but of a vibrant crystal forest.

Countless clusters of colossal crystals, glowing faint blue, rose like towering trees. Their crowns hung with star-like orbs of light—so beautiful it felt unreal.

In the forest’s heart stood a tall, white figure, blurred and indistinct, neither male nor female. No armor, no weapon—just standing in silence.

Ripples of visible spiritual power spread outward in concentric waves, like divine decrees echoing across the air.

Around them crouched wave upon wave of Zerg—grotesque forms, some the size of warships.

But in this moment, these creatures—the Empire’s greatest nightmare—were docile as livestock.

They all bowed their heads low, claws and armor folded away. In their countless compound eyes glowed not savagery or bloodlust, but fervor—pure, absolute devotion.

The scene was unnervingly quiet, yet seemed to resonate with a sacred hymn reverberating in every soul.

The room was dead still.

Xiao Lin and Gu Qingfeng both stared at the white figure, breath caught in their throats.

“This,” Huo Ze’s voice trembled with barely contained fanaticism, “is the only surviving record I recovered from the ruins of a dead planet. Of the civilization known as Eldoria.”

“Legend says—they did not fight the Zerg with weapons. They commanded them. With spiritual power. To the Zerg, they were… gods.”

He cut off the projection and whirled, eyes blazing, fixing on Ning Ning—still bundled like a silkworm, only his dazed violet eyes visible.

“The Eldoria possessed a unique spiritual resonance frequency. That was the key to commanding the Zerg! And just now—my instrument detected the exact same frequency in Ning Ning!”

Huo Ze sucked in a deep breath, his voice quaking like he was pronouncing judgment, each word exploding in the air:

“What he murmured in his dream—‘Eldoria… Kael… thas…’—in lost ancient texts, that translates to ‘The Song of Gods.’”

“So,” his gaze swept across Xiao Lin and Gu Qingfeng’s stunned faces before fastening back on Ning Ning, voice trembling with uncontrollable ecstasy,

“Ning Ning is no mere B-rank guide. He is most likely the sole surviving remnant of that civilization erased by time—”

“The Key.”

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