Chapter 304: Echo

"Number One" glides through the void like a silent whale diving into a sunless abyss.

The surroundings are no longer pure "nothingness".

Ahead, a "sea" appears.

A sea of trash composed of countless shattered, rotting world remnants.

They resemble solidified sludge and floating corpses, silently hovering, rubbing and colliding, emitting a soul‑tingling, teeth‑aching scraping sound.

This is the early testing ground of the Void Net, a forgotten graveyard of a failed project.

The Sea of Despair.

As the fortress draws near, an indescribable stench seeps in.

It is not a physical odor, but a spiritual toxin condensed from the final wails of countless beings as they march toward annihilation.

Viscous, murky, saturated with curses and resentment.

"Ugh!"

Wang Zhitao, lying on the deck, jerked his head up and dry‑vomited.

His stomach, worthy of a cosmic‑level trash can, protested for the first time.

The desperate energy is, in theory, also "food", but it feels as if someone forced a pile of moldy, rotten, green‑mold‑covered ancient trash into his mouth and forced him to swallow.

So disgusting.

And it's a chaotic mess; eating it would surely cause stomach trouble.

Wang Zhize, however, stood on the bridge, his eyes dazzlingly bright.

His consciousness swept over those ruined worlds like a masterful sonar, capturing the faint, almost nonexistent echoes emanating from the depths of the debris.

Li Hu's report surfaced in his mind—those "lurking shadows" deeply infiltrated by the Void Net, still have a chance of rescue, yet cannot be rescued.

So they were all here.

"Pause for a moment."

Wang Zhize ordered, and the beast‑like fortress steadied itself in the void.

He looked at Wang Zhitao's face, which resembled having eaten shit, and laughed.

"Indigestion?"

"Brother, can this thing be eaten? It's even more disgusting than void worm excrement!" Wang Zhitao gritted his teeth, his face full of disgust.

"This is a buffet; you just have to learn to pick the dishes yourself."

Wang Zhize's gaze locked onto one of the largest world fragments.

It was once a plane called Bright Sanctum; now only a charred skeleton remains, and on the few surviving continental plates, the lingering holy light has twisted into a bizarre purplish‑black, exuding a profane aura.

He decided to go down himself to "taste" it.

Not to save.

But to test whether any recoverable data remains in these deeply formatted "hard drives".

A thread of will peeled away from Wang Zhize's body.

It did not become light nor assume any form; it was merely a logical "singularity", an absolutely misplaced, unnaturally clean "program" in this Sea of Despair, silently piercing the world's barrier.

…

Bright Sanctum.

The sky was lead‑gray, raining endless black rain, each drop bearing a law of despair that corrodes souls.

The once‑glorious holy city had long become ruins; the broken angel statue's face was frozen in terror, its cheeks streaked with two black tear tracks washed by the black rain.

A holy knight knelt in the mud.

The armor that once symbolized honor and light was now rusted, riddled with fist‑sized holes, its black bloodstains mingling with mud.

The holy sword in his hand had a chipped blade; the holy flame that should have burned was reduced to a faint spark, flickering uncertainly in the black rain, ready to extinguish at any moment.

His name was Ao Gu Si Ding, the last holy knight of the Sanctum.

His faith, having watched deities devoured by the void, comrades slaughtering each other in despair, and the populace crying out as they became fodder for the Void Net, had shattered into powder.

Now, what keeps him alive is only a bone‑deep terror of that invisible great net.

He cannot even commit suicide.

Because the Void Net's mark is etched into the deepest part of his soul, everything about him, including his life and death, belongs to the "Net".

Just as his consciousness was about to be completely washed away by the black rain.

A piece of incongruous "absolute", a clean, emotionless logical symbol, landed on his brow.

Buzz—

Ao Gu Si Ding's whole body convulsed violently.

He was like someone who had been soaking in a cesspit for tens of thousands of years, suddenly inhaling the purest air from a snow‑capped peak!

The despair law that constantly choked his soul was forcibly "nullified" by a more domineering, unreasonable force!

Though it lasted only an instant.

Yet that momentary void was enough for a data stream to flood his mind.

It was a vision of a world.

A world in its infancy, where all things thrived, the laws were clear, and infinite possibilities abounded.

There was light—real light—warm and not blinding.

There was life, free life, running to survive and reproduce, not to become anyone's fodder.

Immediately, a grand concept unfolded in his consciousness.

"Anti-Void Unified Front".

An alliance composed of countless worlds and civilizations that resist the Void Net.

An organization that provides one‑stop anti‑invasion, anti‑penetration, anti‑harvest services…

In Augustine's long‑dead, silent eyes, a ripple appeared for the first time.

That dying consciousness was like a drowning person clutching a blade that broke the water's surface.

Is it an illusion?

Is it a new method of torment by the Void Net?

No.

That will of the Void Net gave him no promises, no comfort, only coldly stated a fact: resistance is the only way out.

But… how to resist?

His soul, his power, even his thoughts were tightly bound by that net. He was like a marionette, without even the freedom to move a finger.

"Freedom is not given."

"It is taken."

The will left a final sentence and a mark weaker than stardust, branded in a corner of his soul.

It was a "Hope" virus.

A back‑door program linked to the fake site "Anti‑Void Front"…

As long as Augustine does not give up, as long as he is still willing to "click" this back‑door, the virus will quietly and continuously, deep in his soul, wrest a sliver… of computing power that does not belong to the Void Net.

Having done all that, Wang Zhize's will instantly detached.

On the bridge, he opened his eyes, a playful curl forming at the corner of his mouth.

He spread his hands toward the curious Wang Zhitao who had leaned over.

"Done."

"Brother, what did you do? You were muttering inside for ages."

"It's nothing," Wang Zhize patted his hands like a boss who had just closed a big deal, "It seems the scope of our 'Demolition Office' needs to expand a bit."

"From now on, we'll not only handle physical demolitions, but also moonlight as psychological counseling and… reverse pyramid schemes."

Wang Zhitao scratched his head, half‑understanding.

"What's that? Does it taste good?"

"It's not tasty, but it makes others willingly bring delicious things to our mouths."

Wang Zhize's gaze swept over the whole sea of dead, silent despair, his eyes shining terrifyingly.

This is not a graveyard.

This is an untapped mine! It is a massive, unimaginable pool of potential customers waiting to be awakened!

What he must do is, before reaching the Father of the Void's lair, scatter countless "Hope" fishhooks across this ocean of despair.

He will turn these enslaved, abandoned wills into the sharpest daggers he can thrust into the enemy's heart.

"All ships, attention."

Wang Zhize's will spread throughout the entire fortress.

"Activate the 'Hope Gospel' wide‑area broadcast mode."

"My definition: any surviving will that receives the signal will gain a… right to dream."