Chapter 967 - This Game Is Too Realistic

Chapter 967: The Ashen Ambition The axe blade sliced through the air like a flash of lightning, crashing towards the enraged Tyr. "You seek death!" Roaring in fury, Tyr let out a deep and muffled howl. He swung his fungus-covered right arm forward, blood-red tendrils shooting towards Old Bai like javelins! As those crimson streaks threatened to pierce his face, Old Bai calmly raised the explosive shotgun in his left hand, firing two pre-loaded airburst incendiary rounds forward. With two gunshots, a burst of orange-red fire erupted in the confined space! Upon contact with the flames, the scarlet tendrils were instantly ignited by the compressed fuel, withering and turning into blackened charcoal at a visible speed! "Argh—!" Tyr let out a howl of pain, the vicious light in his eyes intensified, gripping his outstretched right hand tighter. Scarlet tendrils sprouted from the floor like seedlings breaking through the soil, reaching for Old Bai's ankles as if hands reaching from a grave. "You brought this upon yourself! This is my domain—!" Instead of evading the tendrils snaking towards his ankles, Old Bai continued to stride forward, uninterested. The steel soles of his boots thudded against the ground, severing the smaller roots on impact before they could even begin to bind together. As for the thicker roots, they collided head-on with the titanium-alloy combat knife mounted beneath his explosive shotgun! Brute force and the armor's power components allowed Old Bai to slice through the barriers in his path with ease. Meanwhile, the energy stored in his thermocutting axe neared its critical point of release! Seeing the armor so close at hand, a flicker of panic finally crossed Tyr's face. For a human yet to fully master the "Power of Gaia," it proved too challenging to battle both internally and externally at once. "Don't even think... of approaching me with your filthy hands!" Tyr's mouth let out a hysterical roar, the scarlet mycelium covering his body swelled like erupting lava. In an instant, his human form twisted, morphing into an indescribable mass of flesh. The pulsating appearance resembled a demon's heart, or perhaps chaos incarnate. A blasphemy... Though silent, Old Bai was taken aback, leaving him with that singular thought. Rather than becoming "the Hive" or "Gaia," it seemed Gaia had become him. After consuming his ambition, the consciousness-lacking Gaia used its unfathomable power to manifest his mental world! If left to continue distorting, he might become another "Hive." But, one that no one has ever seen. However, it ends here. "You talk too much!" With a deep growl, Old Bai gripped the thermocutting axe and swung it against the interwoven tendrils before him, like a comet crashing into a forge. A sudden blaze of sparks burst from the scarlet wall of flesh. "Boom—!" The tremendous force shook the entire laboratory, even causing Tyr's body to uncontrollably sway back. Did he block it? Watching the "human tank" finally stop advancing, Tyr felt a brief surge of joy. Yet, that joy vanished quickly, severed by the swift torrent of blinding sparks. "Aaaah—!" The scorching plasma plume cut through the intertwined tendrils, showering sparks on his face. That was plasma at tens of thousands of degrees! Even a thumb-sized fragment could ignite all carbon-based matter on him! Tyr screamed in agony, stumbling backwards, yet unfamiliar with his legless body, he tumbled to the ground. Old Bai strode over, granting no time for last words, hefting the thermocutting axe once more, driving it fiercely into Tyr's face. "Boom!!!" Explosive sparks erupted again! The searing molten flow pulverized the mass into cinders, even cleaving through the alloy-cast floor. The "fire axe" was originally an anti-armor weapon, capable of piercing power armor plating—breaking down an alloy room was trivial! Once, twice, thrice! Wielding the thermocutting axe, Old Bai hammered the ground into a sunken crater, turning Tyr's transformed body into burning charcoal. Severed from the brain that drove it, the surrounding tendrils flailed mindlessly like a headless frog. Ensuring Tyr was death beyond revival, with not a single neuron remaining, Old Bai lifted his explosive shotgun, unleashing a barrage of high-explosive incendiary rounds around him. Watching the twisting flesh vanish into the boiling inferno, he activated the air circulation system within his power armor, finally exhaling in relaxation. "Now... he's surely dead, right?" Leaning the ax against the wall, Old Bai grinned, deactivating the various buffs from his strength attribute, sliding down to sit on the floor against the wall. At least, the visible Tyr had been killed. As for the specter haunting the Vylandtons—the unseen Tyr—that was another matter entirely. Nonetheless, he had faith in them. Like Boulder City, they had the capacity for self-correction and a respect for history, even though their history was short, unable to trace back to the Age of Prosperity or earlier epochs like other survivors. Just then, a scarlet sprout emerged from the ashes, morphing nearby into a rounded tendril. Old Bai reached for his axe, but a weak voice halted him from the mimicked vocal cords. "Yiwu..." Upon hearing the familiar sound, Old Bai's face broke into surprise, loosening his grip on the weapon. "Oh, your sub-entities are still alive." Xiao Yu's core was at Shelter 404—possibly the safest place on this planet. The slime mold attached to the fighter jet Luoyu piloted was merely a part of Xiao Yu's entity. "Yiwu!" The rounded tendril chirped energetically, like a dolphin at an aquarium. But Old Bai, lacking a biological interface and not so intimate with Xiao Yu as to communicate "spiritually," naturally couldn’t understand it. "Haha, good to know you're okay. Sorry I can't understand you. If you're asking about Luoyu, he's probably waiting to be revived in Dawn City." The round tendril straightened, waving from side to side like a gesturing mute. After a long pause, it finally managed to utter a broken form of the human language. "...Thank you... Tyr... is dead... Now I control this body." Surprised, Old Bai gazed at Xiao Yu, recalling it actually could speak, just seldom did. After a pause, Xiao Yu organized its thoughts to continue. "This is not... our... Hive... It is... something else..." So that's it. Recognition spread across Old Bai's face. Indeed, they hadn't encountered a Hive, but something different. As for how this thing emerged, perhaps the Alliance's biological research center could provide an answer. "Pass your findings onto Luoyu. He'll relay it to us." Pausing, Old Bai continued. "By the way... can you retract those tendrils back into this building? Leaving them on the streets would be a hassle, both in terms of explaining and cleaning up." "Yiwu!" The round tendril nodded, then obediently retracted into the smoldering ashes. Watching the dying embers dim, Old Bai picked up his weapon, stepped over the scattered blackened charcoal, reaching the missile-blasted breach. The tendrils waving around the building had snapped like dead branches, the once smoke-filled city in the distance now quieting with the cessation of gunfire and shelling, as dawn's light began breaking in the far-off night sky... Pausing to admire the transition from night to day, Old Bai tapped his helmet side with his index finger, speaking with firm clarity. "Calling command, this is Old Bai..." "Tyr is dead. I killed him myself." "The war is over." ... With Baldwin's surrender and the fall of "The World Tower," the last group still fighting for the Southern Legion raised their hands in surrender to the Alliance's forces. At the same time, the Alliance banner unfurled at the highest point in Avent City—the rooftop of the "World Tower." Victory was evident, arriving faster than anyone had anticipated. The gloomy skies began to lighten with pale hues. The first rays of dawn pierced the darkness, casting light over the concrete ruins shrouded in smoke. Tyr was dead. Augustus was dead too. Along with Tyr’s confidants and the war-driving commanders, those with more than five-star ranks. Some were found having committed suicide in their homes, others perished in bunkers or elsewhere. Clearly, not every Vylandton valued honor as life, at least those lackeys of Tyr lacked the concept of honor—focused only on winning and losing. Likewise, not everyone had the courage to face failure. Rather than enduring the victor's shame, death seemed a more acceptable option. The latter choice was often easier to accept in comparison. There were exceptions to this, though. Take Geoffrey, for instance, Dickens' superior and Minister of General Affairs for the Southern Legion. This four-star commander, near Augustus' rank, oversaw logistics and military production for the entire Southern Legion. He intended to commit suicide, even having a cyanide capsule in his mouth, but fear held him back from biting down, and soldiers storming in pinned him to his desk, extracting the capsule. At over 200 pounds, it took three men to subdue him like a pig to the slaughter. In a city of thin folks, even Tyr and Augustus included, only he indulged himself to obesity. His flushed face still struggled against those restraining him, but it was futile. Tasked with the capture was the Vylandton Expeditionary Force's First Division. As soldiers burst into the room, Commander Kluan approached Geoffrey’s desk, tossing a wanted notice from the flyers onto it. "Mr. Geoffrey, you're under arrest." Geoffrey used all his strength to raise his head, glaring at the man before him, his surprise lasting a few seconds. Panting heavily, he gritted out through clenched teeth. "…You’re Vylandton." Kluan, unfazed, replied straightforwardly. "Former Centurion of the 34th Legion. Thanks to you, I had the fortune to retire to the customs of Evernight Port." Geoffrey stared intensely at him, wheezing out from his bloated throat. "Why did you betray us…? Did the Southern Legion wrong you?" Kluan chuckled, locking eyes with him. "Have you heard of snake oil?" Geoffrey blinked in confusion, bewilderment painting his features. "…What is that?" "It's a substance that ensnares people in dreams, trapping some who fall into it, akin to ants drowning in a honey pot. I used to be one of those people, even an accomplice to your deeds." "We were deceived by your ambitions, used, rallying under Marshal Julius's banner to commit acts that would shame him. In his name, you enslaved your own people… That's why this defeat was inevitable." Kluan leaned on the desk with both hands, staring Geoffrey down until fear flickered in his eyes. Only those with guilt fear reminders of guilt… and Geoffrey undoubtedly belonged to that category. Perhaps he never directly partook in massacres or sold any snake oil, but every bit of fat on him came from those blood-drenched oppressions. He was the most cunning and malicious of criminals... The poison he peddled was filthier than snake oil. Watching the pallid Geoffrey, Kluan straightened, gesturing to the soldiers restraining the portly man. "Take him away." The three soldiers obliged, hauling Geoffrey out of the office, as he passively allowed himself to be led by the young Vylandton men. As Geoffrey passed by Kluan, the latter paused, nonchalantly advising. "About that snake oil, perhaps you should inquire with Minister Dickens from the Boro Province War Department." "I suspect… it won't be long until you two meet again." … Following the fall of "The World Tower," the Southern Legion's administrative building also flew the Alliance's flag. Hospitals on Veterans Road, the War Department's building—all bore new banners. As everyone hoped, the war was over. Survivors, hidden in basements and cellars, cautiously peeked out from debris. The gunshots and explosions outside had ceased, Tyr's hysterical broadcasts no longer filled the airwaves. What replaced them was an unheard voice—a new sound: "…Survivors of Avent City, survivors ravaged by war, survivors deceived by evil—your war has ended." "Your highest commanders, Tyr and his madness, were extinguished by the Burning Legion. Chief of Staff Augustus committed suicide in disgrace... that vile man not only murdered countless families but his own family too. We condemn the actions of such a coward." "Everyone is responsible for their actions, and we believe you share our contempt for reactions of helplessness vented upon one's own loved ones…” “If so, consider your parents, your children, your loved ones, your friends. Is dying for wolves in sheeps’ clothing, for illusory glory, worth letting them live with remorse and suffering for life? You’re not just soldiers of the Legion—you’re someone’s child, someone’s husband, someone’s father, living, breathing humans." "We promise a fair and public trial for the criminals. Mistakes made are not without chances for redemption. Together, we'll find measures both societies can accept, reaching a brighter future." "I, the Governor of Waynehold, formally announce—you can lay down your arms with dignity. Triumph City guarantees your lives will not be infringed upon by anyone." For most Vylandtons, Triumph City served as both a spiritual sanctuary and a homeland of the soul. Despite Tyr’s relentless derogations of Triumph City’s "betrayal" in the "Southern Legion Victory Report," it could not erase what was ingrained in their Vylandton souls. Broadcasts from Triumph City's Governor assured soldier safety post-surrender, and the provision of food, medicine, and essentials for displaced refugees. Though the broadcast originated from the Governor, it was transmitted by Alliance forces, evidently endorsed by them. Survivors slowly emerged from their shelters and crumbling homes, directed by nearby patrol units to centralized assembly points. There, tents from the Lavinka Industrial Zone awaited, along with compressed biscuits, instant noodles, sausages, and hot water. As for the choice of instant noodles, it was primarily due to the lack of cooking infrastructure, with only water boilers set up, thus noodles sufficed as a temporary solution. Moreover, it was efficient—one line for noodles and sausages, another for hot water provision. Those rejoining the line were no issue, given the minor cost of such supplies. While instant noodles were merely satisfactory for Alliance soldiers, for the Avaint City survivors long acculturated to rationing, they were a rare delight. Awed by the steaming noodles in their hands, gaunt faces lit up in surprise. Even forcibly conscripted child soldiers couldn’t hold back their tears. They never experienced the South Legion's best meals. By the time guns were placed in their hands, all that remained in bowls were rock-hard bread and pitch-black nutrient paste. Stomachs growling repetitively echoed the camp, and if not for the scalding water, these fifteen- and sixteen-year-olds would already carelessly dive into the noodle bowls. In fact, some attempted, stopped only by swift player intervention. The Burning Legion's [Tomato and Scrambled Eggs] walked through the camp, tapping an iron pot with a ladle and calling out to the ravenous survivors. "Take your time eating! We've got more than enough instant noodles and hot water—there’s better food coming tomorrow! Don’t eat yourselves sick!" Watching the survivors clutch their instant noodles as if they were treasures brought back memories from his past—skinning mutant hyenas in Linghu Wetland Park. In terms of eating habits, these Vylandtons reminded him of the drifters they’d once rescued from the wastelands. A Southern Legion centurion, looking as if he’d just crawled out of a chimney, held his instant noodles with both hands, standing before the boiling water kettle. Addressing the Vylandton Expeditionary Force soldier manning the spout, he shakily asked, "…Is this the last meal?" Reluctant to speak with the Alliance soldiers, he was relieved to find a familiar face. The expeditionary soldier gave him a teasing smile and replied, "Of course not. Grain, vegetables, and frozen meat are still at the port north of the Batoia Province. Before the relief supplies arrive, you’ll have to make do with instant noodles for a few meals." Instant noodles… make do for a few meals? The centurion stood dumbfounded, uncertain whether to cry or laugh. How on earth could they have continued fighting this way? Though he’d never bought into the nonsense from "Southern Legion's Victory Report"—famine in Boulder City, an uprising at Settlement One, and such—the scale of the Alliance’s supplies was astoundingly exaggerated. The war was over. He trusted the Alliance wasn’t just putting on airs to deceive them; he was simply astounded at the ridiculous lies Tyr had fabricated, that even he, a centurion, nearly believed them! While he stood there in silence, savoring his instant noodles, a few players from the Skull Legion were conversing nearby. Young Builder stretched, looking unsatisfied. "Are we really done here?" Edgewater glanced around, nodding in acknowledgment. "It appears so. Tyr is dead, the Southern Legion leadership is either dead or captured... Most of what’s left is here." With that, the Legion became a term of history, and Avent City reborn likely didn’t wish for its return. What should the Southern Legion be called from now on? Warzone Guy had already claimed the ID "Vylandton Alliance," and "Southern Alliance" overlapped too much with the South Sea Alliance, lacking distinctiveness. Edgewater scratched his head, failing to come up with an answer, eventually giving up. He decided to leave the matter for the Vylandtons to figure out. They didn’t necessarily have to follow the Alliance’s path, as long as they avoided straying onto questionable avenues. Staring out at the distant ruins, [Outlaw] wore a wistful expression, though he wasn't sure why. "Damn, these pro players are out of this world! I didn’t even get a glimpse of the final boss before we won!" [I'll Die First] laughed, patting his buddy’s shoulder. "Don’t worry about it—participation is what counts! If you’re curious, go check out the website." To be continued...