Chapter 287: Omega Bloodline, African Chief

Sudden transformation.

Mayer and the others at the rear, who had been about to rush toward the treasures, all froze in shock, halting their steps instantly, faces pale with terror.

Those who had touched the treasures saw their bodies wither like stone aged for millions of years—hair, skin, flesh—all gradually turning to fine, glittering sand, shimmering with starlight, dazzling and radiant.

Yet no one admired the beauty of the scene; all were horrified by the sight of human bodies turning to light.

"Ah!! My hand!"

The one who had touched first—the man who had reached for the golden divine armor—stared in horror at his left hand.

His hand was decaying, like the corner of a paper dipped in water, the moisture slowly consuming the entire sheet—he himself was that paper, dissolving piece by piece.

"Bert!" his companion cried out, desperate to rush to his aid.

"Don't go! We don't know yet if this effect is contagious."

Mayer grabbed the man and sternly addressed everyone present:

"Don't touch anything here. Stay where you are. No one moves!"

The only clear fact now was that these people's transformations were tied to the treasures—only those who touched them had suffered; everyone else remained unharmed.

Watching one's own body slowly disintegrate was unbearable torture—no one could endure it.

Those who had not touched anything felt their scalps crawl; just minutes ago they had been chatting merrily with these people, and now they watched them die slowly—the stark contrast delivered a crushing psychological blow.

"Billy, save me!"

The man who had touched the golden divine armor begged his companion for help—but no one dared approach.

He wanted to move, but suddenly realized that even the slightest motion accelerated his disintegration—he froze in terror.

Unfortunately, staying still didn't solve the problem.

Like sinking into quicksand, these men underwent a slow death—in mere minutes, they dissolved into glittering specks, then even the light vanished, leaving nothing behind.

The hall fell silent, so quiet a pin could be heard dropping.

Their gazes remained fixed on certain spots—moments ago, a living person had stood there.

"Are these treasures poisonous?"

Someone whispered, legs trembling like a sieve.

The earlier greed, the burning desire to claim every treasure for oneself, had been doused like a fire plunged into a bucket of ice water—extinguished, chilling to the bone, even the soul shivered.

Mayer was about to respond when his peripheral vision caught something—he froze:

"What's going on? The treasures are gone!"

As he spoke, he pointed to the spot where the man who had touched the golden divine armor had stood.

"Where's the divine armor?"

Everyone stared in shock.

The golden divine armor was gone—vanished without a trace, just like the man who touched it. And not just the armor—all other touched treasures had disappeared too.

Confusion, bewilderment, astonishment filled their minds.

"Could it be… these treasures aren't all real? The true treasure is hidden among them, while the rest are decoys meant to guard it?" An elite member speculated, staring at the towering piles of treasures filling the hall.

At this, everyone's eyelids twitched violently.

Come to think of it—it was entirely possible. Using decoys that killed anyone who touched them to conceal the real treasure.

To obtain the treasure, one had to distinguish the real from the fake—or else keep touching treasures one by one until hitting the real one…

But touching a treasure meant playing with death—one touch, one life.

There were at least ten thousand treasures piled here—meaning at least ten thousand lives would be needed to claim one.

Hair-raising.

Everyone was terrified. The glittering, dazzling treasures before them now seemed like soul-snatching ghosts—no one dared attempt to touch any.

Because no one believed they were an Omega.

This opportunity was bloody, too intense—so intense it made people want to retreat, avoiding it like venomous snakes and scorpions.

"But what if I touch the real one?"

Someone urged them on, hoping someone would try—after all, each false treasure removed increased the chance of drawing the real one.

Everyone rolled their eyes.

"You think we're idiots? If you're so brave, go touch it yourself. I've never pulled an SSR in any gacha game. With my African chief bloodline, I'd die in seconds. Fuck, I swear Su Daji plays modern games—why else would she design such a gacha trap? It's torturous."

"Damn it, if I survive this, I'm telling the big shots to scrap every gacha system. Who the hell can take this after divine magic?"

"I agree. I firmly oppose gacha mechanics."

Someone groaned: "Damn it, I thought playing games for Omega luck was bad enough—now I have to fight for Omega luck even in a divine-magic opportunity? Are they trying to kill off all the African chiefs?"

At that moment, someone suddenly remembered something and blurted out:

"My god! If this place works like those Omega-luck games… then maybe… all these treasures are fake. There's no real one at all."

The words rang out.

Everyone held their breath.

Right—what if all these were fake? Gamers knew: some games claimed you could pull rare items, but the odds were secretly rigged—those rare items were impossible to get.

The ones who pulled them? All plants.

The entire hall grew even quieter.

Especially those who prided themselves on being Omega in games—hesitating whether to test their hidden luck—then froze in place, too terrified to move.

"Captain, you've read so many xianxia novels—has any protagonist ever dealt with a situation like this and claimed the opportunity?"

Mayer's teammate asked him.

Without hesitation, Mayer answered:

"Yes. And there are many."

"How did they pull it off?" The team members' eyes lit up; if Su Daji had used such modern methods to set up her protections, perhaps there really was a way to find a solution within Huaguo.

"They? They relied on the protagonist's aura." No one noticed that Michael had said this; everyone winced.

"What's the protagonist's aura?"

"The protagonist's aura is like being an Omega Luckster—so absurdly lucky that everything turns out fine: you fall off a cliff and don't die, instead you meet an ancient elder, powerful yet persecuted into a spirit, or you pick up a divine-level cultivation scripture."

"Or when you compete with a group for a chance, you bow to a powerful figure—and you get the opportunity, while others, even if they kowtow, are instantly incinerated, because 'I'm destined to you, I like your face.'"

The left corridor fell into eerie silence; personnel vanished one by one. The central corridor led nowhere; they cursed the Omega Lucksters in frustration.

Meanwhile, in the right corridor, Kamikawa Mitsu and Kamikawa Sashiko advanced without obstruction.

He moved swiftly, catching up to the group that had entered the right corridor earlier.

On the other side.

As time passed, one day had elapsed since the palace in the corner of Heian-kyo had fallen.

Under global attention, not a single person had emerged from the palace that day; instead, newcomers continued to enter it.

…

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