Chapter 176: Fragments Of Chaos!

Chapter 176: Fragments of Chaos

Southern Continent — Acrid Country — Ocean Roar City

Carlos Nunez slipped through the shadows of the dilapidated alleyways, his movements fluid and soundless, a lethal predator cloaked in ultra-stealth mode. The moonlight barely grazed the edges of his figure, his sniper's cloak blending seamlessly with the darkness as he retuned to his abode.

In his hands, he carried a bundle of food—a hard-won prize wrested from the clutches of Rhemon agents. These agents, ruthless and well-equipped, had planned to destroy the supplies to thwart a local activist's effort to ease the city's famine. But Carlos Nunez had turned their intentions to ash, leaving their blood as a warning in the forgotten alleys and streets of Ocean Roar..

The echoes of his footsteps reverberated through the cold concrete space as he emerged, carrying the tightly wrapped package of food. Despite his wealth and influence, the famine gripping Ocean Roar City spared no one—not even the elites.

The once-vibrant city was now a bleak shadow of itself. Markets had been raided, supplies hoarded or destroyed by those seeking control. Wealth meant little in a place where food had become more precious than gold. Carlos had used every connection, every ounce of power he wielded, but when those failed, he turned to more desperate measures. That day, desperation had led him to take lives—Rhemon agents who sought to waste an entire stockpile to crush the hopes of the starving.

As he stepped into his penthouse, the contrast between his surroundings and the reality outside was jarring. The lavish furniture, crystal chandeliers, and panoramic view of the city's darkened skyline seemed almost mocking. But none of that mattered now. After-all, that was befitting for a war hero and a national hero.

"Linda," he called softly as he entered his daughter's room. She lay curled up on the plush bed, her frail frame almost lost in the sea of blankets. Her limbs sprawled in an unconscious plea for relief from the gnawing hunger that had plagued her for days.

The sweet aroma of the food filled the room, stirring her. Her eyelids fluttered open, and she weakly turned her head toward him.

"Papa?" she murmured, her voice dry and cracked.

"I'm here, darling," Carlos said, kneeling beside her. He gently helped her sit up, his heart aching at how light and fragile she felt in his arms.

From the bundle, he produced two plates. He had managed to salvage rice, a bit of stew, and some vegetables and meat. Even in a famine-stricken city, his connections had provided him with rare luxuries—but not enough.

He placed the larger portion before her and kept the smaller one for himself as he distributed the food into plates.

"Eat slowly," he cautioned as he handed her the plate containing her share.

At first, Linda hesitated, her body sluggish and unsure after days of starvation. But the first bite awakened her ravenous hunger. She devoured the meal with increasing fervor, her trembling hands clutching the spoon tightly. Carlos watched her, a faint smile on his lips, though his own stomach growled in protest.

When she finished, she leaned back, a small belch escaping her. A faint blush colored her pale cheeks as she looked at him with gratitude.

"Thank you, Papa," she whispered. Then, her eyes drifted to his attire—a sleek black tactical suit with reinforced armor and a sniper's cloak slung over his shoulders.

"Dad," she asked hesitantly, her voice tinged with both curiosity and fear, "why are you dressed like that? Did you... go somewhere dangerous?"

She knew that suit all too well. It wasn't just clothing—it was a warning. Her father rarely wore it unless he was heading into a war zone or venturing into a place where danger was certain, a place that demanded his skill as a soldier and marksman. Seeing him in it now made her stomach twist with unease.

Carlos sighed, setting his plate aside. He placed a hand on her forehead, checking her temperature. Warmth had returned to her skin, and her pulse felt stronger. His fears eased; the food had done its job.

"You don't need to worry about that, sweetheart," he said gently, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Daddy's just doing what he has to do."

Her brow furrowed, and she opened her mouth to press further, but he interrupted with a reassuring pat on her head. "I'll always make sure you have what you need, Linda. You're my everything."

He stood abruptly, his movements purposeful. "Rest now. I'll be back soon."

"Wait—Papa, where are you going?"

But he didn't answer. Instead, he kissed her forehead, lingering for a moment before turning and walking out of the room. The heavy click of the door echoed in the silence, leaving Linda with nothing but her swirling thoughts.

She stared at the door for a long time, her heart heavy with unease. She knew her father loved her deeply—he would never let her starve again. But the lengths he was willing to go, the risks he was taking, terrified her. She curled back under the blankets, praying silently that he would return safely.

Meanwhile, Carlos descended the private elevator to his car, his jaw set with determination. The famine had turned Ocean Roar City into a battlefield, and wealth alone couldn't guarantee survival. If his resources couldn't feed his daughter, then he would use his skills to ensure she never went hungry again—even if it meant painting the shadows with blood.

Carlos decided to take his car this time. The sleek vehicle roared to life as he slid into the driver's seat, his sharp eyes scanning the dimly lit garage. With a deep breath, he eased the car out through the massive garage doors and rolled past the wide-open gates into the desolate streets of Ocean Roar City.

The city was a shadow of its former self, and Carlos knew better than to let his guard down. His gaze flickered between the mirrors and the road ahead, scanning for any signs of trouble. The famine had brought chaos, and danger lurked around every corner. He remained alert, his trained instincts keeping him on edge.

Having successfully brought food home earlier, Carlos decided to test a new approach. He planned to target areas where food distribution centers were set up, joining the queues like a desperate citizen.

The idea was simple: blend in, get what he could, and if Rhemon agents appeared to sabotage or hoard supplies, he would take them out. But his mind remained cautious—he could handle most Rhemon agents, but if a Level 3 agent appeared, things could spiral out of control. For now, this strategy would suffice, at least until he ran out of food or the plan stopped working.

As he navigated the eerily quiet streets, the faint hum of his engine the only sound, his eyes caught sight of movement up ahead. About 200 meters away, a queue was forming. The line snaked down the block, filled with haggard faces and slumped shoulders.

Carlos slowed the car to a stop at a discreet distance and stepped out, careful not to draw attention. The cool night air carried the murmur of desperate voices as people waited anxiously, clutching sacks and containers in hope. He took a moment to observe the scene, scanning for any signs of Rhemon agents or hidden dangers.

The distribution point was guarded by local volunteers, their expressions tense as they tried to maintain order. A truck stood parked nearby, its back loaded with what little food could be spared. Carlos noted the way the line moved slowly, the rationing strict.

He adjusted his jacket, blending into the crowd as he approached. His every step was calculated, his sharp eyes flicking from person to person, reading body language, searching for anything out of the ordinary. This wasn't just a queue; it was a battlefield in disguise.