Chapter 27: Tyrant

Changsun Yao stepped out of Starbucks and pressed her car key. A parked electric vehicle at the end of the street lit up its lights, autonomously gliding out of its spot and arriving at the café’s entrance.

Autonomous parking technology was only recently legalized and installed on certain vehicle models.

“Get in.”

Changsun Yao opened the door, slid into the driver’s seat, while Li Cheng took a seat in the back, fastening his seatbelt and murmuring, “I thought you’d vanish again, like last time.”

?c〇

“That’s my personal skill. Players expend resources like Qi to activate abilities; if there’s no urgency, it’s better to use ordinary transportation.”

Changsun Yao fastened her seatbelt and added casually, “Also, using supernatural powers on Earth accelerates rift expansion. You know what rifts are, right?”

“I know.”

Li Cheng nodded. “The experiment subjects in the Killing Ground fall through rifts into the real world and cause disasters.”

“Exactly. According to the Global Supernatural Alliance, supernatural power is like CFCs in the ozone layer crisis. The more you use it, the blurrier the boundary between reality and the Killing Ground becomes, and the more frequent the anomalies grow.”

Changsun Yao smirked. “Before everyone knew this rule, they abused supernatural powers, causing rifts to flood everywhere.”

Four years ago, a Category 5 hurricane struck the U.S. East Coast, leaving over a million homeless and killing thousands.

That was the official story. In truth, a rift event occurred—a dragon-shaped divine corruption escaped from the Killing Ground.

At the time, the Killing Ground had only opened for half a year; players were all low-level and utterly powerless against it. The military’s nuclear missiles were destroyed by the hurricane and lightning surrounding the entity.

In the end, an American player flew a fighter jet, dropped a nuclear bomb point-blank onto the entity’s face, and combined it with a Scroll of Dragon-Slaying Slash to blast it back into the rift and banish it to the Killing Ground.

That dragon-shaped divine corruption, with its white wings and golden horns, was named Tianjin Huotu.

“Named after the Lanlong from Monster Hunter?” Li Cheng said. “Kinda... anime.”

“The Killing Ground occasionally releases scripted missions that overlap with real-world media—games, animations, comics, novels. Players study all kinds of art to improve survival rates.”

Changsun Yao said, “Besides the Tianjin Huotu incident, the three-and-a-half-year-old Busan gas leak, the three-year-old London Fog Killer, and the New York Underground Ratman—all were Crimson Alert-level catastrophes. One misstep and an entire city collapses.”

The real world has a carbon footprint; we players have a ‘supernatural element footprint.’ Abusing power makes you an enemy of all humanity, punishable by death.

Thus, even the top-tier Qiangzhe who ignore human laws rarely unleash power on Earth—for their own sake.

Protecting the environment is everyone’s duty. It makes sense.

The car drove through the bustling streets. Li Cheng paused, then asked again: “Why give me a free ride? I thought guild leaders were always busy.”

“Three reasons. First, I’m still pretty bored. Might as well do something.”

“Second, I’m a broker. One of a broker’s professional rules is to treat everyone as a potential client—especially in the Killing Ground, where anything’s possible. A kindness today might save your life tomorrow.”

Changsun Yao drove along the navigation map, calmly adding, “Third—you’re interesting.”

“Interesting?” Li Cheng raised an eyebrow.

“The Killing Ground selects players based on individuals possessing traits far more pronounced than most of their kind.”

Changsun Yao said, “You’re far superior to ordinary people. Logically, you should’ve been selected long before your transformation. But you weren’t.”

And after being infected by the Lord of Insects and gaining supernatural power, you became even more eligible—yet still weren’t chosen.”

Such cases aren’t unheard of, but they’re rare enough. That’s why I find you interesting.”

Is this... a compliment?

Li Cheng smiled wryly inside, gazing out the window.

One month. He had only one month left to live.

Before this, Li Cheng rarely thought about life and death—even after learning he was infected by the Lord of Insects, he remained optimistic, searching for a cure.

Now, with the cold deadline staring him in the face, he suddenly felt a heavy, surreal weight.

“We’re here.”

Changsun Yao stopped the car. Ahead loomed the towering Prometheus Laboratories branch in Yin City.

It was deep night. No security patrolled outside—only two three-meter-tall bipedal robots stood guard.

They featured reverse-jointed legs, wide feet with retractable roller-skates, dual arms mounted with police-grade stun guns and high-pressure water cannons, and a body sheathed in black bulletproof fiber.

Their overall design resembled the ED-209 robot from old sci-fi films.

And their name was indeed ED-209—Prometheus Laboratories had outright purchased the design rights from the film studio and deployed them as security bots.

Calling them “security bots” was misleading; swap their stun guns and water cannons for machine guns and flamethrowers, and they’d instantly become battlefield units.

Li Cheng followed Changsun Yao into the lobby. Someone recognized her and rushed over warmly, learned their purpose, then escorted them upstairs via elevator.

They were led to a luxurious, elegantly decorated reception room.

Several suited waiters arranged tea sets and brewed a pot. Changsun Yao reclined on the sofa, sipping tea as casually as if it were bubble tea. Moments later, a blond, blue-eyed man and a middle-aged professor entered.

“Good evening. I’m August Perez, Head of Security at Prometheus’s branch.”

The blond man from the night the divine corruption appeared by the canal introduced himself in flawless Mandarin: “It’s late, or else our boss would’ve hosted a banquet for you, Miss Changsun.”

“Oh, this is my friend Derek Acheson—Research Director at Gen-Sys Biotech’s Yin City branch.”

“I just happened to be here discussing a business project. What a coincidence.”

The middle-aged professor smiled politely. “Miss Changsun, long time no see. May I ask your companion’s name?”

He turned to Li Cheng, who paused, then replied calmly, “Call me Pipifu.”

“From ‘Pipifu shakes the tree’? A good name. We players, fighting for survival against the Killing Ground’s relentless advance, really are just ants.”

Derek, well-versed in Chinese culture, nodded approvingly.

In truth, Li Cheng hadn’t thought that far—he’d absorbed ant DNA first, then mantis DNA.

“Pipifu shakes the tree,” “a mantis blocks a cart”—both phrases carry the same absurd, Don Quixote-like sense of doomed futility.

Security Chief August sat across from them, Tingwanqingkuanghou , crossed his hands on the table, and said seriously: “Then, Mr. Pipifu, let’s speak plainly.”

“First, all divine corruption infections are problematic—but the Lord of Insects is worse.”

The Lord of Insects’ infection isn’t localized; it permeates every cell’s DNA in your body—including brain cells.

Over time, it continuously rewrites your entire genome until you become a full monster.”

No guild, not even the Special Affairs Bureau or the Global Supernatural Alliance, can easily resolve this.”

Prometheus Laboratories has three solutions.”

“One: We extract your brain and place it inside our newest humanoid robot.

Your appearance will be indistinguishable from a human’s, and since your brain is constantly bathed in gene-suppressing agents, your human lifespan will extend from one month to six. This option costs 30,000 Killing Ground currency—roughly 300 million RMB.”

The exchange rate between Killing Ground currency and RMB is roughly 1:10,000; during high demand, it rises further.

“The second option is cheaper—only 40 million. We extract your brain and place it in a nutrient tank, connected to the internet via cables. Lifespan remains six months, but you can’t live normally in human society.”

“The third option: we give you money.”

August rubbed his hands together, earnestly saying, “Prometheus Laboratories is highly interested in advanced Lord of Insects infection cases. If you’re willing, you can join our research project—or sell your mutated corpse to us after death. We’ll pay 60 million.”

Discussing the price of your own corpse while still alive felt utterly surreal from any angle.

Li Cheng paused, then asked calmly: “What will you do with the mutated corpse?”

August answered honestly: “Turn it into a defense unit—similar to the Tyrant from Resident Evil.”

“Is that legal?”

“As long as you sign the donation consent form.”

August said, “Prometheus is a research company. Using corpses for scientific study doesn’t violate any laws.”

The man’s sincere tone made Li Cheng unexpectedly recall an online job ad he’d seen recently—work location: Sweden, five hours daily, 60,000 RMB monthly salary, five insurances and one fund, free housing, even matchmaking assistance.

The only catch: before flying to Sweden, you had to transit through Mianbei.

Are you trying to harvest my kidneys?

(End of Chapter)