Chapter 41: “How Many Times Have I Told You, Never Trust Any…”
Xiang Nanli arrived rather late. When he swiped his card and stepped into the elevator, he surprisingly found himself to be the sole occupant.
He carried a heavy briefcase containing his boss’s exoskeleton.
The second-floor spectator stand was somewhat crudely decorated. Though seats were provided, few spectators bothered to sit properly; most leaned over the guardrails, gazing down into the pit. It felt strikingly like a Roman colosseum.
The announcer’s voice echoed through the loudspeakers mounted on the cliff faces along both sides.
Xiang Nanli was single-mindedly focused on finding his boss to collect his pay. When he looked up, the announcer on the high-definition screens across the arena was now Xiang Chenxi: “I am deeply honored to serve as the honorary judge for this Advanced Selection Tournament.”
He was seated high above in the judges’ box.
A wave of thunderous, enthusiastic cheers erupted from the surrounding crowd. Xiang Chenxi smiled warmly, raised his hand, and made a pressing downward gesture, instantly hushing the arena into silence.
His facial features lacked any sharp hostility, naturally evoking a sense of approachable warmth. Famous for his dedication to charitable work, he frequently accompanied mendicant monks into heavily polluted areas to distribute free medical care and supplies, earning him immense popularity among surface dwellers. The underground dwellers, however, remained largely indifferent to him.
The spectators nearby were buzzing with chatter, and Xiang Nanli couldn’t help but eavesdrop on a few snippets.
Xiang Chenxi was the adopted son of the Holy See’s Pope, rescued by His Holiness twenty years ago from a minor surface outpost. He was Xiang Nanli’s descendant; because of his extraordinary talent for communicating with “transcendent organisms,” he was widely considered the top candidate to become the Holy See’s future Holy Child. Furthermore, he had reportedly brought back a wealth of lost dark tech for the Black Cross Inquisition…
Xiang Nanli processed the gossip: So he’s a translator.
Still, the thought that he didn’t even have a wife, yet inexplicably possessed a descendant, struck Xiang Nanli as exceedingly surreal—especially since this descendant resembled him even more closely than his own younger cousin did.
Xiang Nanli muttered under his breath, “The Black Cross Inquisition better not be using my name to run scams.”
His impression of the organization was abysmal, considering he had been hunted down by an Apocalypse Knight the very first time he encountered them.
Xiang Nanli had later pulled records from the Human Alliance database. According to the archives, the deity worshiped by the Holy See had no specific name, referring to it only by the vague title of “God.”
One must not speak its true name, nor gaze upon its divine form, nor disturb the God’s eternal slumber. It was the symbol of life, nature, and the universe; one day, the God would awaken to save mortal existence from its suffering.
Furthermore, the Holy See firmly believed in soul immortality and reincarnation. Death was merely returning to the embrace of God, who would grant them a superior rebirth in the next life. This doctrine rendered their members utterly fearless when making sacrifices.
Whether outsiders believed it or not, the inner hierarchy believed this rhetoric fanatically. Some were playing dumb while secretly aware, but others truly believed it.
After all, to certain people, advanced technology was already indistinguishable from divine miracles.
After speaking for three minutes, Xiang Chenxi returned to the VIP suite.
Xiang Nanli failed to spot his boss among the frantic crowd. Instead, he caught sight of Andrew, who had disguised himself as a tournament committee service robot, sneaking around with a tray to illegally sell watered-down moonshine.
With his degree of cybernetic modification sitting at 99%, not a single soul suspected his true identity.
“Andrew?” Xiang Nanli called out experimentally, eyeing his back.
Andrew turned around nervously: “Ah, A-Ah, Mr. Xiang! Care for a glass? It’s on the house for you!”
Andrew possessed four mechanical arms. At that moment, two of his hands were balancing the tray, while the remaining two were nervously fidgeting beneath it.
Xiang Nanli picked up a disposable paper cup, inspecting it closely in his hand: “Isn’t there no network here? How do you accept payments? And you’re charging 200 credits a cup?”
Andrew answered guiltily, “Paper vouchers… They can be redeemed in the prison… er, bank. As you know, I still have sixty years of mortgage payments left.”
Inmates in prison obviously had no access to the network, making these credit vouchers as good as hard cash inside. Normal banks didn’t issue them to common citizens.
However, in the surface ruins where transportation was treacherous and fraud was rampant, vast quantities of these paper vouchers circulated as currency.
Xiang Nanli took a small sip; the harsh, burning liquor blasted straight up his nasal cavity.
The announcer’s voice drifted over his ears: “This edition of the Advanced Lifeform Selection Tournament adopts a format vastly different from previous years! The tournament committee believes that as time progresses, 1v1 duels are no longer the mainstream of combat competitions. We need our contestants to demonstrate superior survival capabilities!”
Headshots of the contestants appeared sequentially across the giant screen.
Xiang Nanli instantly spotted “Dongfang” at the bottom of the roster. His digital face model was strikingly handsome, standing out effortlessly from the rest. However, the score listed behind his name was somewhat pathetic: a mere 1 point.
“Therefore, the committee has made a sudden decision to abolish individual ring arenas. All contestants will enter the arena simultaneously! We are switching to a no-rules free-for-all battle royale! The ban on weapons remains in effect. Contestants carry base points corresponding to their preliminary rankings, and points will accumulate dynamically!
“For instance, if Contestant A is worth 8 points and Contestant B is worth 9 points, and A eliminates only B in this round, A’s final score will be 17 points. However, if B previously eliminated C (5 points) and D (5 points), B’s temporary score would be 19 points, putting B’s ranking higher than A’s upon elimination!
“The match will last thirty minutes! When the timer expires, the contestant with the highest score wins! Furthermore, the prize pool for this tournament has doubled once again! Behold—”
Two staff members carried a transparent safe onto the main stage. Inside were rows of vibrant Gene Serums, gleaming enticingly under the warm yellow lights.
“These are all legitimate Gene Serums produced directly by Immortality Tech, with a stability rate of up to 99.7%! Previously, you could only win one bottle, but now we are doubling the reward! A special thanks to the Yinshan City Black Cross Branch for their massive support!”
Someone in the spectator stands surged forward, roaring furiously at the announcer: “You sons of bitches! What the hell are you playing at? Are you trying to get all our fighters killed down there?!”
“With such reckless rules, let’s see if anyone bothers registering for the next tournament?!”
Even the doubled rewards failed to suppress their outrage.
Several people tried to contact their superiors, only to run into immediate trouble: “Why is there no signal?! I can’t even dial out a phone call!”
“They said the blizzard caused the cloud network to go offline?”
“I’m using a damn satellite signal!”
Naturally, not everyone possessed a brain or a conscience. A large portion of the crowd had their eyes glued entirely to the Gene Serums, craning their necks and staring with pure greed.
Seated inside the VIP suite, Xiang Chenxi mused indifferently: As long as the prize pool is large enough, why worry about a lack of applicants?
Those who came to compete here were either scumbags operating in the grey zones with active warrants, lone wolves with no ties, or hired dogs brought in to bite others.
Information regarding the Holy Spirit could not be leaked; these people were meant to die anyway. Dying here would allow their souls to return to the Kingdom of God, earning them a chance at a better rebirth.
He would pray for them.
Having received his orders, the announcer completely ignored the furious onlookers. Knowing full well there would be no live broadcast, he nonetheless proclaimed to the crowd: “Dear spectators tuning in across the screens, you may still log onto the official website to place bets on your favorite fighters! Who will claim the crown this year? Let us wait and see. Now, the contestants are in position!”
The arena gates ground open, and a crowd of contestants emerged from the tunnel.
It was evident they had only just received the news as well; many bore confused, bewildered expressions.
“3, 2, 1—Begin!”
Dongfang Qingdi felt a strange sensation against his wrist.
Bound there was a “Vital Signs Monitor” issued by the tournament committee. Just a moment ago, a needle as thin as a mosquito’s proboscis had extended, attempting to inject something into his body.
Unfortunately, the soft needle bent out of shape without so much as piercing his skin, spraying a tiny mist of transparent liquid into the air instead.
Around him, the other contestants began to grow volatile and frantic. Faced with rules that were blaringly suspicious, not a single one chose to protest or withdraw. Instead, they swung their fists violently at the nearest opponent.
Thud—
One fighter was caught off guard, taking a heavy blow right to the forehead.
Blood gushed from his nose, dripping onto the ground and seeping into the stone at an unnaturally sluggish pace.
“Motherfucker!” Cursing furiously, he scrambled up from the ground and instantly locked in a desperate brawl with his attacker.
The match devolved into utter chaos.
The fighters in the pit had clearly gone blood-mad, and blood was spilled almost immediately.
The first contestant to lose consciousness was promptly carried off the field by a referee robot.
Andrew watched, dumbfounded: “What’s the point of doing this? Is the committee abandoning the broadcast fees?”
Xiang Nanli frowned: “They’re saving time. And they probably want to maximize the body count.”
[Xiao Qing, are you alright?]
[I’m fine.]
Dongfang Qingdi navigated through the throngs of combatants. He continued to weave and dodge, his counterattacks executed with extreme subtlety. Hardly any blood was spilled by his hands, yet his strikes rendered opponents instantly incapacitated.
He had formed a temporary alliance with Sirius, appearing to be nothing more than a opportunist riding coattails.
Sirius’s eyes were blood-red. Though he had yet to unlock his genetic limiter, his body was swelling unnaturally. Beneath his uneven skin, dark, swollen blood vessels bulged visibly as he panted heavily.
The combatants Dongfang Qingdi eliminated were all minor, insignificant players.
Yet, amid the rabid, violent slaughter reminiscent of venomous insects trapped in a jar, his calm demeanor was dangerously conspicuous.
Xiang Chenxi pulled up a screenshot on his display, turning to Sariel: “This one looks fairly capable.”
Sariel glanced at the data and remarked indifferently, “He’s a Synth.”
“Forget it then.” Xiang Chenxi lost interest instantly.
While the Holy See utilized plenty of Synths internally, their cultivation technology was entirely different from the Human Alliance’s.
In short, Synths produced by their rival did not fit their requirements.
Sariel rubbed his chin. The vertical third eye on his forehead was tightly shut, replaced by his natural pair of eyes.
Yet those eyes lacked pupils entirely—nothing but pale, slate-gray whites that resembled cheap plastic balls.
Sariel soon closed his eyes again, snapping his vertical eye open: “The guy next to him isn’t bad, though. I can see it—his soul flame burns exceptionally bright.”
Xiang Chenxi scoffed, “Spouting superstitious nonsense again. That works for fooling the surface peasants, but don’t go fooling yourself.”
Sariel didn’t bother arguing: “The Holy Spirit is about to hatch. I’m heading underground to guard it. Don’t wander off.”
Humans were incapable of understanding things they had never witnessed.
At the very least, in Sariel’s eyes, Sirius was a roaring, blazing pillar of blue-white flame—a magnificent nutrient.
Xiang Chenxi, on the other hand, was a golden flame shaped like a lotus. Though less intense, its purity was exceptional, promising a delicious taste.
The carnage inside the arena had reached a fever pitch, with fewer and fewer contestants remaining standing.
Dongfang Qingdi calculated his current score, confirming he wouldn’t fall outside the top ten, then flashed a subtle eye signal to Sirius.
He let Sirius eliminate him.
To make the defeat look convincing, Dongfang Qingdi deliberately rolled across the blood-soaked ground, coating himself in other people’s blood.
The hijacked vital signs monitor indicated he was in a state of critical organ failure.
An agile, car-type medical robot sped onto the field, locating him among the fallen bodies.
Xiang Nanli watched as Dongfang Qingdi was loaded onto the robot and carried away, vanishing from his sight. He let out a quiet sigh of relief.
He queried: [Xiao Qing, how are you holding up?]
It took several minutes before Dongfang Qingdi’s voice transmitted back: [The signal down here is somewhat weak. The committee is utterly ruthless; these fighters are being hauled directly from the backstage into the deep underground to feed the serpent. Synchronizing my visual feed with yours now. I’m making my way back to the surface; it’ll just be a moment. Wait for me.]
Dongfang Qingdi had hijacked the transport robot’s operating system halfway through transit and climbed right out of the sealed container. That contraption truly resembled a coffin.
Hacking a minor robot posed zero challenge to him; infiltrating their backend was as effortless as stepping into his own living room.
Through the transport robot’s sensors, Dongfang Qingdi observed the scene inside the incubation chamber.
The shared visual feed was limited to the transport robot’s camera, which possessed poor resolution, outputting a grainy monochrome image.
Indeed, just as the Gospel had foretold, the Holy Spirit was on the verge of hatching. Sticky blood and flesh filtered down from the arena floor above into the subterranean facility, dripping onto the surface of a giant white eggshell after being refined. The eggshell was paper-thin, revealing webbed blood vessels clinging to its surface, inside of which a writhing monster thrashed violently.
The white egg, nearly fifteen meters in diameter, floated in a pool of blood that served as its amniotic fluid. Within the pool, half-digested mutants and unnatural beasts were visible—joined now by the corpses of the tournament contestants.
Xiang Nanli counted twenty heavy-armored Knights guarding the entrance.
The controlled transport robot continued forward. Having traveled this route numerous times, its movement raised no suspicion among the guards.
Carrying the empty coffin, its treads ground over the rocky floor as it crept closer to the Holy Spirit.
Given the weapon systems installed on a simple transport unit, it was impossible to inflict meaningful damage on the Holy Spirit. Nonetheless, Dongfang Qingdi intended to try.
Clack, clack, clack—
Heavy, ominous footsteps echoed from the entrance.
Under remote control, the transport robot turned its optical lens toward the newcomer.
Stepping into view was a tall, eerie figure bearing the head of a ram, radiating an unmistakable malevolence.
“Lord Sariel.”
To one’s surprise, these statue-like Apocalypse Knights were capable of speech.
In the next instant, the ram-headed figure stepped forward and crushed the transport robot into scrap metal under his boot.
The visual feed before Xiang Nanli’s eyes went dark instantly, leaving the audio receiver to capture only Sariel’s parting words:
“How many times have I told you, never trust any machine! Have you learned nothing from the past?”
