TBR CH218

“Doomsday Wasteland”

Instance Description: This place once boasted towering buildings and ceaseless bells. Now, it’s deserted. After civilization’s demise, only scorched earth remains. Traveler from afar, if there’s anything left to save, bring forth the seed of hope from the very heart of the ruins.

Main Quest: Player survives for more than 72 hours. (1000 points)

Side Quest: Retrieve the Core Energy from the laboratory and submit it to the system. (10000 points)

“You want to take the Core Energy.” The captain said without hesitation.

Their savior casually made a checkmark gesture, confirming his guess. This was entirely expected.

In the “Doomsday Wasteland” instance, the most precious item was the “Core Energy” hidden deep within the laboratory. If submitted as a team, each of them would receive an equal share of over a thousand reward points. This was their ultimate goal in risking exploration of the ruin laboratory.

The captain’s expression was somewhat complex. He tactfully said, “This is an important quest item. I need to ask my teammates.”

“If it weren’t for me,” the other person idly toyed with his fingers, lazily drawing out the end of his words, “all of you and the Core Energy would now be rather ungracefully residing in ‘Calamity’s’ stomach. It wouldn’t be too late for me to cut it open then.”

Compared to points, life was clearly more important. Points could be accumulated in the next instance, but a life was singular.

The captain hastily averted his gaze, knowing he was right. Given the other party’s strength, he could have entirely stayed out of it until the last second to scavenge the spoils. If he hadn’t suddenly intervened, all of them would have died, and the spoils would naturally have fallen into his hands. Saving people wasn’t an obligation, and being obligated to save people didn’t seem to be his personality.

Noticing the gazes directed at him, the stranger smiled and raised his eyes.

In his dark pupils burned a direct and mad storm; the closer one got, the more one felt the risk of being torn into it.

He didn’t lower his hand gesture, but subtly adjusted its direction, making it look like… a gun.

A tense atmosphere permeated the air; everyone felt the gun pointed at their own heart.

“Alright, you have a point,” the captain quickly changed his tune, “thank you for saving us.”

He carefully pulled a small test tube from his chest pocket and handed it to the other person.

Most of the members seemed to agree completely, two or three looked like they wanted to say something, their faces not looking good. They met each other’s gaze, but ultimately chose to remain silent.

“Excellent,” the stranger mumbled happily, “it’s not every time we have to resort to negotiations by force.”

The tense atmosphere that had prevailed finally became breathable, and the life-and-death tension finally dissipated. At this moment, everyone’s gaze temporarily lingered on the small bottle containing the Core Energy, with lingering attachment, unwillingness, and a sense of loss.

They watched him reach out and take the test tube, casually shaking it.

Light passed through the highly pure crystal, refracting a dizzying, ethereal blue, without any flaws. Inside the bottle, it was as if a small, solidified ocean existed, at least eight thousand meters deep.

“Very pretty.” Its new owner commented, genuinely curving his lips slightly.

That was an item worth ten thousand points; describing it as merely beautiful felt too shallow.

The captain let out a complicated sigh of relief, believing the matter was concluded.

Just then, a voice abruptly came from the crowd:

“So, what were you painstakingly doing among us? You always had a way to deal with it, yet you waited until the last moment to act? Clearly… if it had been earlier, many of us wouldn’t have had to expend our precious resources, and no one would have nearly died… “

The speaker sounded entirely out of righteous indignation. He pointed forward, “Like Ruan Xuelan, he runs slowly; he would have died in there a second later.”

Ruan Xuelan, who had been standing there absentmindedly, was startled again when suddenly called out. He raised his reddened, tear-filled eyes, looking utterly wronged.

But the stranger’s smile not only didn’t disappear but grew even wider. Combined with his blood-soaked appearance, he could easily play a classic role in a horror movie.

He walked a few steps forward; the crowd retreated, but Ruan Xuelan, still reacting a beat too late, stood still, staring at him as if he were a ghost.

“You’re not wrong about anything,” the person said, seemingly finding pleasure in the terror, with a satisfied and cruel tone, “I just don’t understand, what reason do I have to be responsible for you?”

The questioning person’s eyes widened, and he mumbled, “So you’re admitting you had ulterior motives—”

“There are two key points you haven’t understood,” he interrupted, extending two fingers and casually shaking them,

“Firstly, I wasn’t certain this method would succeed. There was a high probability I would have died painfully in ‘Calamity’s’ stomach, turning into a pile of rotten flesh, rather than standing here alive and talking to you. I don’t believe you have the right to accuse me of not trying sooner.”

“But… but you just said trying was interesting.”

“Did I say that?” The stranger recalled with a serious expression. “Because fate is fair to everyone.”

This was an uplifting piece of motivational advice. Many present showed expressions of indifference. For them, fate was merely a distant symbol. Most of them had experienced misfortune and were on the verge of losing something important, which was why they were here.

However, they continued to listen.

“Fate is fair; this world has its rules,” the human said, a tear mole at the corner of his eye seeming to tremble,

“For example, there are no monsters without weaknesses, no puzzles that cannot be solved, and no inescapable dead ends. This is true in most cases—I must say this, because Mr. Ruan Xuelan before me happens to be the only exception. This is the second key point I want to mention.”

“What did you say?” Ruan Xuelan’s heart suddenly pounded violently. “Don’t talk nonsense.”

However, those detached and cold pupils had already closed in on him.

“You won’t die no matter what.”

This sentence fell upon Ruan Xuelan like a verdict, accompanied by a force that seemed to crush his shoulder. “Why would I waste time saving you?”

Everyone remembered the black-haired, red-eyed deity they had just seen.

The Evil God was the only unsolvable creation in the “Survivor Game.”

Under the god’s power, no one could struggle, no one could escape.

Even the human covered in fresh blood, whose smile was chilling at this moment, was merely an ant in the god’s eyes moments ago, feeling the air being slowly drawn from his lungs.

Perhaps the image of “Calamity” being disemboweled was too impressive, and after a long time, people finally remembered again how “Calamity” had jumped over the young man and rushed straight to its next target.

“I’m just luckier.” Ruan Xuelan explained weakly. The stranger just stayed very close, as if to meticulously study what was so special about him. His pupils dilated, his irises reflecting thinly.

He suddenly felt that the person in front of him was more terrifying than a monster. In the black glove that was only a hair’s breadth from his throat, he distinctly saw a sharp blade.

“There’s nothing special about it,” but the other party finally withdrew his fingertips, only muttering regretfully.

Ruan Xuelan finally shrieked and clutched his own neck.

He finally recalled the vaguely perceived malicious gaze over the past few days. A black sheep was hidden in the crowd, yet no one had been able to discern it beforehand. The people around gathered, but the person had already released his hand, so they didn’t know whether to mediate.

The stranger gazed at Ruan Xuelan’s terrified expression, still smiling, his eyes piercing fixedly at him.

“I really wanted to know, which is why I specifically infiltrated this team and stayed until now,” his dark pupils were filled with an innocent cruelty, like a child who keeps asking questions because he can’t get an answer,

“How does one achieve a presence that will never betray you? How do you make someone completely devoted to you, ignoring all your flaws, even protecting you everywhere? I’m willing to offer a higher price than anyone else to trade, but why is it you?”

“I don’t understand what you’re saying.” Ruan Xuelan retreated step by step. “That kind of help… I don’t want it at all, I’m afraid of him… If you’re interested in him, I’ll ask him to find you…”

The person blinked, suddenly losing some interest: “Why would I want something someone else already had?”

The young man held no answer he sought.

So he turned his heels and walked away from the crowd.

His emotions fluctuated so rapidly that everyone failed to react in time, only staring blankly as the unfamiliar figure departed. He walked very quickly.

The captain finally spoke to his retreating back: “…Who exactly are you?”

“Ah, I thought you had already guessed.”

It was still a slightly smiling voice, but it felt chilling to the bone.

“You’re the legendary ‘Phantom’,” the captain tentatively said, “the second-ranked player on the points leaderboard, characterized by a tear mole under your right eye. You concealed that, which is why I never realized. I didn’t expect to meet you. Many say you’re a madman with no organization and no fixed route.”

“Don’t I look the part?”

“Exactly like the rumors.”

The stranger curved his lips, casually waving a hand over his shoulder. The test tube of Core Energy, at some point, had been tied with a red string, a thin length of it, now colliding at his fingertips, emanating a faint blue light.

“Good luck to you all.”

He said, “And one more thing, my name is You Lin.”

Everyone present carefully mulled over the preceding conversation. At the same time, looking at his retreating back, a hint of confusion arose in their hearts. The time limit required by the instance quest was 72 hours, which had already been met; the Core Energy was also already in his hands. Yet, the player calling himself You Lin was not in a hurry to exit, as if he intended to linger here.

Was he perhaps looking for a hidden side quest?

You Lin guessed their confusion.

“No comment.”

As his words fell, he walked alone into the mist-shrouded wilderness ahead.

The ruins were piled high with the forgotten refuse of the world, collapsed buildings thrusting their arms towards the sky. Light couldn’t penetrate this forgotten place; damp mist pervaded everywhere. Only wandering monsters foraged here, but they could at most gnaw on emergency rations with packaging, even they disliked this place.

An hour ago, something sliced through the sky with a resounding crash, smashing into the northwest corner of the landfill.

As the new resident of this place, the abandoned computer was immediately welcomed by rodents.

The rodents here—if their mutated forms could still be called such—were unusually fierce and exceptionally robust, with teeth capable of gnawing through steel plates. But this didn’t mean they enjoyed it. After reluctantly gnawing through a few wires, they discovered the computer tasted bland and the slight residual electricity made their whiskers tingle.

These old residents, uninterested, dragged their long tails away, leaving only the silent computer remains in place, its main unit thoroughly shattered, with only a small piece of the screen remaining in the bottom right corner, like a dark, hollow eye.

There was nothing new in the landfill.

All living and dead beings here would fade, rot, and gradually become dust at the world’s end.

In the “eye” of that computer, there was initially a faint blue light flickering. An hour later, it was as silent as ash.

After the rodents left, an unexpected guest had actually visited.

A black book.

This day was truly the busiest day for the landfill.

But the world consciousness completely failed to speak a single word to the supercomputer. When the black book arrived, it didn’t even know if Charon still had any data left, until it touched a faint barrier, only then could it detect that the other party hadn’t been completely formatted.

“If you allow me access—” the black book tried to speak to him, “I might be able to help you restore energy.”

Either Charon no longer had the energy to respond, or he completely distrusted it.

His faint barrier consistently bore only two words, branded with flickering blue light: “Leave.”

The world consciousness realized, not for the first time, that it seemed to have messed things up again.

The black book hovered hesitantly around the supercomputer in the landfill for a few circles. It continuously tried to send messages to Charon’s main unit, but all messages fell into the ocean. The main unit before it became lifeless, and the last struggling bit of backup energy was about to run out. It seemed impossible to re-establish a connection no matter what.

“I’m leaving,” the black book finally said sullenly. “I’ll come back later.”

It looked very disappointed, but indeed had no choice but to leave, not even having the energy to fly. It slid slowly along the ground and a few wires gnawed by rodents, even bending a few of them.

Only after confirming the black book’s departure did Charon open his eyes.

In a sea of dark red data, the AI raised his ice-blue eyes. Since his birth, he had almost never been in such a terrible state. Now, though his chassis was full of bugs, he had no time to fix any of them. What maintained his continuous consciousness was the backup energy that had just been fully charged this morning.

But…

Precarious battery life.

A battery on the verge of shattering.

An untrustworthy entity.

The AI’s long hair was disheveled and already dim. Charon tried to gather it, but it was useless; these strands were like chaotic programs refusing to be disciplined.

So he instead put all his remaining strength into the most important and extreme problem.

—Survive.

…Time quickly reached midnight.

Under the cover of thick fog, the sky was low and pitch black. Looking from afar, the ruins were also submerged in dense darkness. But approaching the ruins, one could discover a faint, tiny glimmer hidden within. It wasn’t a star, not a firefly, not the reflection of dew.

Following the light to its source, one would see, at the peak of a towering garbage mountain, a completely damaged computer, not yet covered in dust…

But it wasn’t what was glowing.

The glow came from a smaller screen positioned slightly below.

When Charon scanned for the nearest energy source, he unexpectedly found some discarded electronics scattered not far from the main unit.

Thanks to those rodents, while they gnawed through power and data cables, they also caused Charon’s wires to fall from the highest point like jellyfish tentacles;

Thanks to a specific dangling data cable, the main unit’s remaining power couldn’t sustain Charon’s virtual entity, so he couldn’t connect these devices himself. A twist of fate caused the data cable to touch a device’s charging port;

And, thank goodness for the still-operating, large-capacity battery.

Charon opened his eyes once more.

He copied all his core data into the data space he was now in. The moment the export was complete, the previously empty power bar completely dimmed, signaling the main unit’s complete obsolescence.

The AI lowered his eyes.

That was the place that had accompanied him for thousands of years. If he were human, he would probably call it home. But he shouldn’t have such emotions. He simply reached out a finger, touching the now gray data wall, feeling his fingertips cold. Ever since that black book crashed into his firewall, he had increasingly felt these ethereal sensations.

What was the benefit of this?

Charon turned around.

He surveyed his current location.

Unlike the original data hall, his current location was at most the size of a single room. The room’s walls were painted in cozy light blue and white stripes. He attempted to manipulate his body but found that due to the device’s insufficient display resolution, his virtual appearance was now simplified into a silver-haired, high-ponytail pixel figure. Even his ice-blue eyes had become a single, light colored pixel.

In a corner of the room sat a peculiar basket. Charon walked over to inspect it and found it contained a basket of carrots. The carrots looked to be of good quality, each brightly colored, uniformly sized, and well-hydrated.

…AIs do not need to eat.

However, this might signify something.

Charon walked to another corner and, sure enough, picked up a white rabbit with pointed ears from the corner.

The white rabbit was a classic cute design, round-bodied, with red eyes. Its program clearly didn’t include instructions for “what to do when picked up by two ears,” so it froze, stunned. The AI read its interaction data and found it hadn’t eaten carrots in decades.

…

Charon casually picked up a carrot and set the rabbit down.

Sure enough, the rabbit began to elegantly nibble on the carrot. In fact, a creature that had been starved for days would usually gobble down food, but then again, this was just a virtual rabbit driven by a program.

Charon tried to get along with the natives, first checking all commands related to the rabbit.

He stroked it; the rabbit’s ears twitched, and a glowing red pixel heart slowly appeared above its head.

Well, that wasn’t too bad.

Although Charon now retained only his most core functions, and his calculation speed was significantly slower than before, his recent exploration was enough to allow him to completely take over the device he was in. He set down the AI rabbit and began to consider what to do next.

The immediate priority was to figure out how to leave this landfill.

The large-capacity battery that had kept this device running for decades now had little energy left. Especially, Charon consumed significantly more power than this rabbit. Therefore, to ensure he didn’t become scrapped, he had to find a place to charge the device promptly.

Charon weighed his options.

Firstly, he could now barely manifest a data entity, but only for a very short time, and it required a lot of energy, so he definitely couldn’t walk out of here successfully.

Secondly—

Before Charon could think carefully, he vaguely heard sounds from outside.

It was human footsteps.

This was the conclusion the AI reached in an instant.

Short-distance, fast frequency, sounding very light. Stopping occasionally, as if looking for something in this forgotten place. The owner of the voice occasionally hummed an out-of-tune tune with pleasure.

Who was this person?

Why was someone looking for something alone in a landfill at midnight?

Before Charon could process all of this, he felt the device he was in being gently lifted, observed from front and back. Then, he heard a light and cold sentence that sounded like a pronouncement:

“—This doesn’t seem very useful.”