Faced with this challenge far beyond their level, everyone present cast aside any thought of holding back and brought out their best hidden treasures. Whether they were offensive items or disruptive ones—even Xia Xueqin’s smog and acid rain—against the Insect King as tall as a small hill, they were like ants trying to shake a tree.
Mu Shan’s scorched earth skill was still on cooldown. The peashooter’s attacks felt like mere tickles, and the other items were even more like toys to a giant.
When a body grew to a certain size, one more thorn on the ground or one less made no difference.
For the first time, she truly recognized the gulf brought by absolute power.
The players stumbled forward in a frantic run. Behind them, the winged beetles took to the air like squadrons of bombers, drawing ever closer to the group.
In the instant before they breached the safe distance, a massive sand snake suddenly burst from the woods, its bloody maw snapping open to seize the lowest-flying beetle. Its razor-sharp fangs clamped down, crushing the insect’s shell to pieces.
“Roar—”
The swarm of flying giant insects scattered in chaos from this sudden interruption. The Insect King was momentarily stunned by the sand snake’s ambush, its movements slowing by half a beat.
That half-beat bought He Yuncong precious time.
His eyes suddenly turned pitch black.
Golden patterns lit up bit by bit across his skin’s surface, spreading from his fingertips all the way to his neck. The black beast-head mask grew ever more lifelike, as if sharp fangs might emerge from beneath that canine snout at any moment.
Camel bells rang out, “Ding-ling—ding-ling—”
From some unknown place came the distant chant of a poem. The pyramid in the forest silently rose higher, its golden tip reflecting the sunlight. Stick-figure shadows abruptly appeared, circling and dancing around the pharaoh’s tomb.
It was a beauty poised between reality and myth, utterly stunning.
As Mu Shan ran, she sensed something wrong—the ground beneath her feet… or rather, the sand… was moving.
The sand came alive. One portion carried them in the opposite direction to flee, while another surged toward He Yuncong, merging to become part of the massive sand snake.
“Splash—”
She watched as the snake grew visibly larger with the naked eye. Surrounding soil, stones, and grit piled onto it like a tornado, forming its razor-sharp scales, sinuous tail, and slender venomous fangs.
The enraged Insect King charged with brute force. He Yuncong’s sand snake had nearly matched its size and met it head-on.
The clash of these two colossal behemoths was deadly to the humans below. Countless trees toppled, earth and stone crumbled, and hillsides collapsed.
The Insect King’s sharp, hardened horn pierced the sand snake’s body, instantly shattering a chunk of its form. A massive cascade of pulverized sand poured from the breach in the ground.
The sand snake roared in agony. At that moment, over a dozen beetles lunged forward, their enormous pincers tearing into its serpentine body.
To the players, the sand snake had been as massive and mighty as a mountain, yet it was crushed and devoured by these giant insects. The beetles swarmed it completely.
“Roar—”
The sand snake let out one final howl before its enormous body went still, dissolving back into true sand that scattered across the ground.
The Insect King stepped onto the rigid remnants of the sand snake’s head and reared toward the sky, bellowing its victor’s roar.
To the players’ ears, it was a deafening “Hiss—” of insect noise, but its sheer volume made it thunder like a mountain’s cry.
He Yuncong led the way ahead, guiding Mu Shan and the others in their escape. At the Insect King’s cry, however, he seemed to understand it, his body freezing for an instant.
【Nameless false god, leave my forest!】
【Deceitful humans, greedy devils.】
【By the name of the Insect King, I swear: our grudge shall never end, our war shall burn eternal—!】
About three kilometers from the old Insect Nest, the group sat clustered by a stream.
The extreme heat had caused water levels throughout the forest to plummet rapidly. Even as they sat there, dying small animals overcame their fear to creep forward and drink.
The entire forest struggled for survival amid the scorching heat.
Yu Da produced another pile of colorful mushroom drinks, each with its own bizarre flavor.
Wang Dama helped distribute them. “Is everyone alright?”
Xia Xueqin took a red bottle. “My sunny day skill is off cooldown now, but I can’t heal yet. Hold on a bit longer, everyone.”
Zong Rui said, “No problem. I can bandage myself.”
As a cleaner, she had been the main force against the giant insects. After the fierce battle, her body bore wounds large and small. Yesterday’s old injuries had reopened and bled, joined by fresh cuts and scars from long ago.
Zong Rui bit the hem of her shirt, indifferently wrapping bandages tightly around her waist. Her abdomen was firm and powerful, the exposed skin rippling with distinct muscles. She had the air of a female special forces soldier with a decade of combat experience.
Mu Shan felt some curiosity toward her and handed over a bottle of water. “Sister Zong, is your squad mostly close-combat classes?”
Zong Rui thanked her. “Not really. Our team’s specialties cover a wide range: healers, mages, ranged, supports, assassins. But I’m definitely the strongest bodyguard in the squad.”
“The System assigns instances randomly each time. How do you ensure your team members get grouped together?”
Zong Rui smiled. “We can’t ensure it. But per the System rules, formally contracted teams have a fifty percent higher chance of overlapping instances.”
“So as long as we have enough people, there’s a chance we’ll regroup inside the instance.”
Mu Shan looked puzzled. With who knew how many in the System’s instances, what confidence did this team have?
Zong Rui’s eyes suddenly lit up. “Little Mu, want to join our squad?”
Li Gang chimed in from the side. “The Third Person squad is famous in the industry. They don’t recruit lightly—every member is an elite player.”
Mu Shan knew her own limits. “I’m just an ordinary player.”
Zong Rui waved it off. “Player ratings are just the System’s initial scan impression. Go look at those sprint champions, strongmen, or corporate CEOs— all start as elite players.”
“But how many of them are still alive now?”
“Cough.”
The only three elite players present—Yu Da—coughed once. He quietly glanced at He Yuncong, who sat motionless with his back to them.
This one was also an initial elite player, still ranking on the top players list even now.
Mindful of the Dream Faller, Zong Rui swallowed her unspoken words.
She scooted closer to Mu Shan. “I’m serious, Little Mu. Think about it.”
“Our captain is a tactical genius. With him leading, any instance drops in difficulty. You two would pair up great for clears— like they say, 1+1 > 2.”
Mu Shan had heard the name “Third Person” several times now. Before she could reply, she felt a chill gaze shooting from behind her.
He Yuncong’s stare was tangible, fixed unyieldingly on Zong Rui without a word.
Though not aimed at her, it was impossible to ignore.
Zong Rui realized she’d said something she shouldn’t and coughed, scooting back a bit.
Mu Shan soaked her hands in the now-tepid stream water and changed the subject. “That golden giant Insect King—its final roar felt like it was speaking?”
Li Gang raised a hand. “Thanks to my profession, I can understand a bit.”
“But cats and bugs don’t communicate easy. I vaguely caught it cursing.”
Mu Shan: “…Cursing?”
Li Gang: “Cursing, literally. The Insect King really hates humans. Maybe because us players kill too many bugs?”
“And how many players has that bug killed?” Xia Xueqin retorted from nearby. She had an unlit cigarette in her mouth, looking utterly weary and disheveled.
“Bugs you could squash with one shoe sole back then are now man-eating monsters. A stag beetle the size of a hill—who beats that besides Ultraman?”
Xia Xueqin scoffed coldly. “The cycle of heaven is fair; the System spares no one.”
The hard-won clear of this desperate mini-game brought no main quest progress, leaving the mood subdued.
Mu Shan wiped her hands and noticed the abnormally heavy breathing from the person beside her.
“Ha—hah—”
He Yuncong sat with his back to the group, his spine hunched, disheveled black hair damp and clinging to his shoulders.
The golden patterns on his skin hadn’t faded—instead, there were more of them, writhing across his dark flesh like living things.
The golden little snake armband on his arm was gone.
Mu Shan tentatively touched his arm. The man flinched away, a muffled sound rumbling from his throat. “Don’t… touch.”
“What’s wrong with you?”
He Yuncong didn’t speak, but Li Gang answered. “His assimilation level is too high. Look at this state—he’s hit the 70% critical point.”
The middle-aged man, with his pair of cat ears, said sadly, “Assimilation is the common affliction for bloodline, summoner, and parasite class players. The higher the assimilation, the more we lose our sense of self, eventually becoming vessels for nonhuman entities.”
Li Gang gave a wrinkled, bitter smile. “But I’m fine—at least when I die, I’ll already be a cat. Cats have no worries.”
Mu Shan’s expression grew serious. She turned to the tense man beside her, whose head hung lower and lower. In one instant, she couldn’t spot the gap between the mask and his cheek.
Mu Shan suddenly seized He Yuncong’s wrist.
His skin burned hot, his body trembling faintly as if locked in struggle with some colossal entity.
She’d barely gripped him when he flipped his hand to clasp hers in return.
Just moments ago he’d said not to touch, now he clutched her tightly without letting go.
It hurt a little where he gripped her, but Mu Shan said nothing. Instead, she gently patted his back with her other hand.
Just like when he’d once soothed her as a crying child.
Li Gang watched their interaction. He’d just been about to say such comfort had no real effect when He Yuncong raised his head.
His voice rasped like torn cloth, his pitch-black eyes fixed on Mu Shan. He spoke word by word.
“—It said ‘our grudge shall never end, our war shall burn eternal.'”
Mu Shan quickly guessed who “it” was.
The seven rested by the stream for about two hours. Countless animals came to drink during that time, but after two hours, the stream—which had been twenty centimeters deep—had dried up completely.
Surrounding plants yellowed and withered. Animals and insects died off in waves.
Even in the tree shade, the absolute heat warped the air and scorched like an oven.
Mu Shan had drunk three bottles of water, but her lips still felt burning and cracked. Her throat and nostrils showed signs of bleeding; every word felt like tearing muscle, her mouth full of the taste of rust.
Xia Xueqin croaked, “Environment temp’s at 62°C now. Going out there is suicide.”
“Wait for sundown; it’ll drop a bit. Hold on.”
In the super-high heat, even breathing hurt.
The group slumped by the mud like dried fish, inhaling the searing air.
Mu Shan’s vision blurred with sweat. She felt her body screaming at its limits.
Challenging the System’s authority with mere human life was unrealistic, even if humans saw themselves as “superior beings.”
The System had only tweaked the instance slightly, and they could no longer survive.
Be it the flood that submerged the sunroom or this heat beyond human limits.
In her discomfort, Mu Shan’s thoughts grew muddled. She sensed the main god System’s favoritism toward Earthlings—like a parent indulging a mischievous child.
Yet she could also discern the System’s fairness: Earthlings faced death just like NPCs, ordinary animals, and insects, one after another.
She tried to grasp the main god’s intent, then realistically admitted: with her perspective as an ordinary Earth college student, she couldn’t fathom it.
But one thing was clear: whatever lay ahead unknown, humans would struggle on for every scrap of survival chance.