The cockpit hung in a silence so thick it seemed to press against the bulkheads. Then the Housekeeper AI broke it. "Combat concluded. Materials confirmed in storage. Level 6 tires upgradeable. Shall I initiate the process now?"
The words snapped everyone awake. Faces twisted into odd, half-formed expressions, as though the crew had just remembered how to feel.
The Atlantean woman was truly dead.
A gold-level monster had fallen that easily.
They had known she could not be trusted. Still, a wordless ache gnawed at them. Had they struck down the wrong life?
Even Mu Zhong's eyes clouded with doubt. He drew a steadying breath and spoke. "She was a treasure chest monster. She was a relic. Scour your minds of anything that does not belong there. Entertain no delusions. Unless we want humanity to join the ranks of relics, we must see this race for what it is. No matter how closely it mimics us, it is not human."
The warning landed like cold water. Calm returned, at least on the surface, and the fog of confusion lifted from their faces.
With the gold-level threat neutralized, the alert status dropped. Off-duty crew filed back to their quarters to snatch whatever rest they could.
The cockpit emptied until only four remained: Mu Zhong, Wei Huan, Xu Qingqiang, and the intelligence analyst.
Once the last footstep faded, Mu Zhong spoke again. "Something feels wrong. This world is wrong. Tell me what you saw in that woman."
The analyst nodded and began ticking off anomalies, then described the mental tug he had felt, before concluding. "Mental domination is the only explanation. I kept repeating to myself that everything was illusion. Yet her death makes no sense. Treasure chest monsters are puppets of the Challenge World. They know only attack. They do not flee. They do not surrender. So was she something else entirely?"
"That is the crack that shook me," Mu Zhong admitted. "Anyone who watched her die will feel the same tremor. To perish proving innocence—there is no counter to that."
He turned to Xu Qingqiang, who had been drawing silently on a cigarette. "Brother Qiang, what do you say?"
Xu Qingqiang flicked ash, squinted through the smoke, and gave a crooked grin. "She was trying to get under my skin. Hell, I still am not calm. What do I think? Trouble. Big trouble."
Mu Zhong nearly laughed, but the humor died halfway. He nodded instead. "Exactly. Something is off, and my own mind kept whispering that I should believe her. That is not natural."
He paused, searching for the right words. "It feels like mental contamination. We have already been infected. The effect lingers even though she is gone."
Wei Huan finally spoke, his voice low and deliberate. He knew far more than he could say, so he guided them as an equal might. "The Challenge World's power lies beyond touch or comprehension. Suppose Atlantis once ruled the seas. Suppose it was mighty. In the end it was boxed and reduced to relics. That proves its civilization stood far beneath the Challenge World.
How, then, did she slip the leash that binds every chest monster? Or did she never slip it? Was her performance merely another form of attack?" He met Mu Zhong's gaze. "Mental pollution, perhaps."
He let the silence settle before adding, "Proceed with care. Mental effects are new territory for us. Do not drown in the contamination. Hold fast to conviction."
No one argued.
They had yet to clear the dark beast lord gauntlet. A greater battle loomed within hours. Their own survival remained uncertain. Even if a lost civilization begged for mercy, they could offer neither aid nor interest.
The monster incident closed. Sleep eluded Wei Huan and Mu Zhong, so they remained on cockpit duty, cataloging the equipment harvested along the way.
Bronze and black iron pieces filled crates to overflowing. They served no purpose aboard and would likely be traded to the legion once the assessment ended. Some would travel to junior highways; others would cross borders to foreign fleets.
Silver equipment had reached saturation. New arrivals notwithstanding, Wei Huan's vehicle brimmed with silver-grade gear sold at cabbage prices. A single skirmish yielded handfuls, and the past days had brought far more than one skirmish.
Silver stayed in reserve. The vehicle itself hovered on the cusp of another upgrade.
Wei Huan had cracked open chest after high-tier chest. He even held complete Level 6 vehicle blueprints. Three months—perhaps less—and the crew would swell to 1001 souls, demanding a fresh wave of replacements.
Gold-grade items, however, remained precious rarities.
They had bypassed every ruin on the route. One glaring gold-tier site had been ignored in the name of speed. This latest chest marked their first gold opening since entering the assessment.
The monster's uncanny behavior could wait. Wei Huan alone probably understood what those relics truly were.
The loot itself proved superb.
The wisdom potion went down Wei Huan's throat first. It was his final bottle; gold tier imposed a hard cap. The gain amounted to a modest fifteen points—less than two days of "joint farming" with Mu Zhong. Still, wool left unsheared was wool wasted, and five bottles formed the absolute ceiling.
Two gold weapons followed the potion into storage for future exchange. Gold carried real value; newcomers would need to hoard DKP for weeks before claiming even one.
The Level 6 tire blueprint required no debate. Materials were on hand, and the upgrade began immediately. Faster wheels meant a sharper edge for the mission ahead.
Last came the gold circlet.
The name alone promised uniqueness. A closer look confirmed it. Another set of "attribute glasses," virtual-screen technology like Mu Zhong's pair, yet wrought in intricate gold filigree. Worn as a triangular kerchief across the brow, it screamed femininity. Neither man wanted it.
Wei Huan had hoped to improve his own glasses, but this piece was unwearable. One glance, and he pushed it away.
"Pass it to Cousin Mu," Mu Zhong said, twirling the circlet with a grin. "He told me he would take it."
Sure enough, just past five o'clock, Cousin Mu arrived nearly an hour early for his shift. He spotted the circlet, slipped it on without a word, then conjured a legion badge to simulate a peaked cap above it. Facing the amused pair, he declared, "Problem solved."
Wei Huan felt a flicker of disappointment.
Cousin Mu promptly lost himself in data streams, eyes darting across holographic readouts. Curiosity finally overruled manners; he pulled Wei Huan's attributes. His face blanched.
"Over eight thousand underworld power?"
Add the two super energy reservoirs, and Wei Huan commanded twelve thousand usable points daily. Low-tier undead like Sprint Wolves could number two to three thousand in a single day. Higher-tier Flying Monkeys approached a hundred.
The numbers bordered on nightmare.
Yet the forces Wei Huan displayed in public bore no resemblance to that reservoir.
Cousin Mu recovered quickly. "Apologies, boss. That was rude."
He turned to Mu Zhong. "Can attributes be shielded? Exposure invites targeting."
Mu Zhong's smile was easy. "We talked it over. He believes attribute glasses are the hallmark of the strong. Let them see. Let them fear."
Cousin Mu considered, then bowed his head in respect. "Wise. Conceal the blade when weak; brandish it when strong. Certain nations and individuals only behave when they face someone truly untouchable."
His gaze shifted back to Mu Zhong. "Your spirit pool exceeds four thousand. That surpasses Sequence Five."
Mu Zhong tapped "colossus". "It can climb higher. Wei Huan paves the way. Every dive into the micro-world lifts me further."
A spark lit Cousin Mu's eyes, then guttered. "Cultivation holds no appeal for me. Still, the method could spread aboard ship."
Mu Zhong shook his head, chuckling. "The requirements are brutal. Mass adoption is impossible. Solo micro-world dives are safer and still effective."
"Brutal how?" Cousin Mu asked, genuinely curious.
Mu Zhong arched a brow and offered only a mysterious smile.
The cockpit filled steadily as the clock neared six. At the stroke, the Challenge World ignited into daylight.
Even along the world edge, where apocalyptic storms never ceased, the dawn's glow loosened the knot in every spine.
The full complement assembled. Wei Huan delivered the day's opening order.
"Final half-day. At 2 p.m. we make contact with the first dark beast territory. Eighteen hours of high-intensity combat follow. All combat personnel prepare. Confirm tactics. Conserve strength."
"Yes, sir."
The cockpit seats belonged to senior combat officers: overall captain, ranged captain, melee captain, training and logistics instructors. They snapped to attention, tension and eagerness warring on their faces.
Soldiers trained a thousand days for a single hour of use.
Past sorties had prioritized drills, forging synergy with the undead legions. Now the real war arrived. They would face the dark beast lords they despised above all else. This was their calling.
The war vehicle thundered at maximum velocity. Wei Huan moved through the decks from time to time, inspecting readiness.
A storm-front tension gripped the ship, yet excitement pulsed beneath it, impossible to suppress.
Their vehicle flew the banners [Dark Beast Nemesis] and [Dark Beast King Nemesis].
They existed to slay dark beast lords, to shatter the walls that barred human progress.
They were the hardest fist humanity could swing, destined for the vanguard, driving civilization forward.
Anticipation crested. Then someone spotted the shift: the vehicle eased away from the world edge. Lightning and gales subsided. The sky brightened. Not far ahead lay the first territory built amid the waves.
"Level 3 only!"
A single glance at the island's footprint revealed the grade.
Size offered the truest metric, as reliable as the visible "attack sentry" atop any vehicle. A Level 5 ride always displayed a sentry above Level 5; concealment was impossible.
Sea-bound territories came with Challenge World–gifted landmasses matching the territory's rank. The eye needed no further proof.
Slow growth here likely stemmed from the hostile environment.
A Level 3 territory amounted to a speed bump for Wei Huan—he could topple it with a flick of one finger.
Still, to season his warriors in siege rhythm, he adhered to established protocol.
Undead legions surged forward to apply pressure.
The three Level 5 support vehicles took firing positions for remote support.
Undead ignited blazes across the field, drawing enemy fire to the walls. Demon Eye Lords slipped inside, striking while seeding small kobolds.
Kobolds died easily, provided they were killed before completing their teleport.
While the main dark beast forces pinned against the walls held back the undead tide, kobolds dropped in dense clusters inside. Let one survive, and the lord faced annihilation.
Kobolds excelled at vanishing into shadows.
Melee specialists aboard trained to teleport the instant the portal flared.
They might materialize in a quiet corner, mid-pursuit, or beside a live weapon. Evading the opening salvo was paramount.
The new melee contingent had drilled these scenarios for days. They were elite, gifted warriors. The moment they arrived, they executed textbook assessments.
A nearby hero fell. An attack structure toppled. In the shortest span, a safe pocket formed—nailed in place like a spike.
Tactical earpieces crackled with a voice that set blood aflame.
"Black 1, east hero temple. Path clear for now."
"Yellow 1, west barracks. Inbound squad. Sync with undead."
"Blue 1 and Red 1, lord hall. Heroes detected. Undead sweeping. Stay sharp."
Colonel Wei himself.
In prior drills they had followed undead like leaves on a stream—weightless, peripheral. The sensation had gnawed at pride.
Now everything changed. They formed a vital link in Wei Huan's battle plan. Tasks were precise. They were no longer optional extras.
For warriors hungry to carve their names in history, death in glory terrified less than life without purpose.
Wei Huan's voice struck like a shot of pure adrenaline.
"Black 1 copies!"
"Red 1 copies!"
"Yellow 1 copies!"
"Blue 1 copies!"
The acknowledgments rang out crisp and unbreakable, forged steel given sound.
Even Wei Huan felt his scalp prickle with unnamed exhilaration.
The territory war unfolded with laughable ease.
It was annihilation, not battle. The dark beast lord crumbled. The front rolled forward to the lord hall without resistance.
The core stone shattered. The entire territory aged a thousand years in a heartbeat, crumbling to sand. Winds and waves swept island and mirage alike into nothingness.
Combat personnel returned flushed with triumph, blood drumming in their ears, already craving the next fight.
Wei Huan allowed no lull. The vehicle punched through the territory's dying golden haze and bore down on the following battlefield.
Less than five kilometers separated the ruins from the next island.
Still Level 3.
"Combat stations."
Wei Huan's command echoed ship-wide.
B-group fighters stood in perfect formation on the plaza, fully armed, awaiting deployment.
The vehicle braked short of top speed. Undead legions and the two Level 5 escorts launched first.
Wei Huan's fleet comprised three Level 5 vehicles. In battle the command rig hung back at the edge of Wei Huan's summoning range for oversight. The escorts advanced to the [War Platform]'s maximum output arc, trading fire with wall emplacements and pulling aggro.
A Level 5 [War Platform] reached three thousand meters. From the optimal firing line it sharpened aim, amplified damage, crit chance, and range while shielding ranged units.
Against a Level 3 territory whose wall weapons topped out at two thousand meters, the exchange amounted to unilateral slaughter.
Sages and Hunters on the platforms needed only to plant their feet and pour fire.
Ranged cover slashed undead casualties.
The siege spearhead remained the Zombie Berserk Bears.
Forming full Berserk Bear legions took too long, so Wei Huan had shifted from quantity to quality. Sequence Four necromancers now sculpted directed evolution; every Berserk Bear grew thicker hide and denser muscle.
Under Wei Huan's singular focus, elite specimens emerged—attributes doubled.
Big Bear had become an "epic hero" commander. Stats multiplied tenfold. Stamina hit thirteen thousand. Layer on buffs, Flying Monkeys, and green healing orbs, and Big Bear's durability trailed only Fang's captain across the entire world.
A walking fortress.
Fang's captain could not die. Big Bear could—and did—countless times.
Big Bear absorbed the full barrage and lumbered forward like a main battle tank.
Level 3 weapons, even upgraded to Level 4, scratched paint. Slow green healing kept the health bar pinned.
Monkeys nested in the shaggy back fur yawned and hunted imaginary fleas.
Wei Huan cultivated Flying Monkeys with equal care.
They served two roles: "status master" to inflate spirit pools, and "kite status" to balloon stamina.
Big Bear traveled with a permanent escort of ten. Each monkey now boasted nearly three thousand hit points.
Higher-star Flying Monkeys demanded far more effort than two-star Berserk Bears. Wei Huan could churn out over a hundred Berserk Bears daily; three or four Flying Monkeys left him drained.
The payoff was devastating.
Big Bear plus Flying Monkeys equaled despair.
When the enemy finally charged a massive strike to cripple the bear, the explosion roared—and a single "Squeak!!" answered. Big Bear stood unscathed. One monkey sacrificed itself.
Seconds later the same monkey flapped back into formation, wings fluttering lazily.
Big Bear reached the wall. Contact ignited total war.
Trailing Berserk Bears closed. Facehuggers concealed beneath bellies latched onto the base and began gnawing.
This tier required no underworld fire bombs. Wei Huan husbanded those for the trials ahead.
Claws alone chipped away one point at a time. Enough chips, and even the sturdiest wall buckled.
While flames ringed the battlements, Demon Eye Lords advanced under a fresh kobold swarm.
This territory had layered an extra veil of war fog—clear evidence they had studied Wei Huan's playbook and sought to blind him to internal strikes.
Wei Huan adjusted on the fly. He unleashed the Ghost Crow legions.
Soul-form Ghost Crows had dwindled in frontline utility, but they retained niche brilliance.
Opening chests across plowed earth. Dispelling "war fog."
Swarms poured in. Every square they occupied peeled back a one-by-one-meter patch of haze.
A single square meant little. Thousands? Tens of thousands? The fog evaporated.
Beneath the Ghost Crow canopy, Wei Huan saw every critical structure, every ring of defenses, every troop cluster.
Dark beast lords shared intelligence. Wei Huan's arrival was no surprise. They probed for weaknesses, tested ceilings.
This territory's layout verged on grotesque.
Production buildings were almost absent. Beyond barracks and mandatory cores, no farms or pastures existed—only sentry towers bristling like spines.
They had tailored the defense to neutralize Wei Huan's "airdrop kobolds."
Teleport kobolds were miracles in friendly hands, doomsday in enemy ones.
Let one live, and an avalanche of elite reinforcements poured through.
Demon Eye Lords pressed downward under kobold cover. Sentries tilted skyward and loosed volleys with sharp whistles.
On Wei Huan's order the Demon Eye Lords traded lives for sentry demolition, carving a foothold by force.
The wave cost numerous Demon Eye Lords.
Yet the porcupine-thick ground opened a clearing.
Underworld fire bombs would have been cleaner, but Wei Huan kept them sheathed—his ace.
Kobolds remained fragile. Three Facehugger slashes or a long fall ended them.
Nothing in war was flawless, undead or otherwise.
At last the kobolds reached viable range. Mouths gaped and spewed.
"Ptoo!!"
Shura Horses erupted in chains.
Combat squads dropped among them. The moment boots touched ground, Wei Huan's voice filled their ears.
"Group 2 copies!"
Objectives locked.
They charged.