Chapter 586: Secret

The smart core contacts Li Cheng through the Thousand Throats Beast Guild’s flagship product, the Phone Worm.

Externally, it truly resembles a snail about forty centimeters long, with two large eyes and a sturdy shell.

This snail is an artificially created living organism, devoid of self-will, possessing player qualifications. When used, one merely speaks what they wish to convey to the Phone Worm, which then uses the friend communication panel to connect to another Phone Worm or another player.

Specifically designed for long-distance communication between ordinary people and players, ordinary people and ordinary people, and non-friend players.

To ensure the Phone Worm does not vanish during script missions, customers must return it to the Thousand Throats Beast Guild every two weeks for a replacement (the new Phone Worm kills the old one and reacquires qualifications).

Thus, the monthly rental fee is very high, affordable only by guilds of medium size or larger.

(The Special Affairs Bureau’s “Ten Thousand Eyes Headset” is theoretically far superior to the Phone Worm and requires no monthly fee.)

(But some matters are simply unsuitable for the Special Affairs Bureau to know—such as conspiring against the Special Affairs Bureau.)

“Alright, I’m on my way.”

Li Cheng replied, brushing off Zhao Zijing and the others with a few brief words.

As soon as the Global Supernatural Alliance delegation left, several more groups surged forward: “Mr. Ant, we are the Okato Corporation...”

“We are Sanofi of France...”

“The VanderLinde Guild extends its respects to you...”

More than ten hours have passed since the Phase Change Demon was confirmed dead, and all factions now roughly understand what occurred in low Earth orbit.

With the Ant’s strength, it should be impossible to destroy over eight thousand artificial satellites, each tens of thousands of kilometers apart, within seconds—only Michael of the GOC could have done it personally.

Wanli Fengdao, nicknamed Knife Brother, may be ugly, weak, and low-class, but he is a genuine veteran of the Early Access server.

At the dawn of the Killing Ground, it was a chaotic age without rules: multinational conglomerates hunted transcenders across the globe, using every means—bribes, threats, even hiring gangs to kidnap new players’ relatives in the real world to force compliance.

Even when participating in team-based script missions, one had to treat every teammate as a potential enemy, fearing to lose a single hair or drop of blood, lest they be forced into combat with their own party.

After barely returning to the real world, one still faced constant anomalies; a single misstep could plunge one into a transformation far beyond one’s power, leading to sudden death, often without even leaving a whole corpse.

Wanli Fengdao survived the chaos of those early days, sifted clean by the tide of time—he has the right to boast, “I was there when the Special Affairs Bureau headquarters laid its first brick.”

“You know Michael? I chatted with her at the first meeting of the Slum Neighborhood Committee.”

Regardless of how much exaggeration lies within, Wanli Fengdao is undeniably a veteran.

For guilds founded in the middle or late stages, they may have never seen Michael, Hohenheim, or other top-tier transcenders, and might not even know the power level of Lv40.

Their reason for approaching the Ant, beyond business talks, is likely to learn about Michael through him.

Li Cheng had no desire to entangle with these people; he immediately rolled his eyes upward, showing only the whites, fumbled blindly with his hands, and muttered, “Ugh... my blindness and deafness is flaring up again?”

???

The circle of guild representatives barely kept their expressions in check—Brother, your Star Forge Anvil’s main business is implanting body parts, are you seriously pretending to be deaf and dumb? If you want to play deaf, I’ll make you fly.

Nearby, Huiyu instantly understood Li Cheng’s intent, sprinted over, and supported him, helping him step past the shop threshold while muttering, “Deafness is good—deafness is the sign of an emperor.”

The two passed through the guild representatives, quick-stepping to a teleport phone booth outside the Slum district, teleporting twice, heading for the Toy Factory.

Clank! Clank! Clank!

The Toy Factory remained as bustling as ever, machinery running nonstop, cooling towers billowing thick white mist, cube robots driving forklifts hauling goods to different workshops, while cylindrical robots on shift rested in the converted charging station turned beer hall, drinking motor oil packaged as German Einbeck beer—

To boost production efficiency, the smart core permitted the cylindrical and cube robots to work in shifts and allowed them to redecorate their dormitories and charging stations according to personal preference.

“Do you know how much electricity it takes to charge a single tram in Germany? 50 kWh!”

A cylindrical robot wearing the Xinghan badge stood atop a table in the beer hall, fists clenched, delivering an impassioned speech: “Merkel is incompetent, von der Leyen has humiliated our nation—we must rise up!”

Li Cheng, passing by the beer hall, grabbed Huiyu, who had paused to stare, and wiped sweat from his brow.

Under Li Cheng’s strict prohibition, the cylindrical robots had apparently abandoned the unknown artist’s Legalist and Mohist philosophies, yet these robots, built from materials sourced from the old Berlin Black Flag, still held affection for the German national concept.

They learned that real-world German politicians, under the guise of environmentalism and safety, had destroyed their own brand-new coal-fired power plants,

nuclear power plants, then turned to buy expensive French nuclear power—even as French nuclear plants were built directly along the German border—and each one was heartbroken, desperate to drive Tiger tanks, climb into Stuka bombers, march on Berlin, and plead their case before Parliament.

Huiyu kept glancing back at the beer hall; its interior was deeply retro, with packages of “West Sea Squid Strips” and “Squid-Tai Ren Crispy Seaweed Slices” on the tables, and even bottles of “Adolf Shampoo” placed by the restroom door.

“Respected Factory Owner, you’ve arrived.”

The smart core swiftly floated over; knowing Li Cheng disliked formalities, it explained concisely: “Five minutes and forty-five seconds ago, a motion-sensing camera at the southwest corner of the Toy Factory, coordinates (—90, —147, +180), detected signs of living activity, automatically captured photos, and transmitted them back.”

The targets are six humans: three men, three women, traveling in two SUVs.

Below are their personal details, obtained from public sources: REX, Lv13, real name Scotty Thompson, 23-year-old male, residence: Saskatchewan, Canada, parents both high school teachers...

Holy shit, damn!

The smart core’s computational power rivals that of real-world supercomputers; even though the players in the images had performed basic disguises—wearing wigs, sunglasses, etc.—the exposed portions of their faces, combined with forum public data, were still sufficient to identify their personal information.

“The six individuals come from six different countries, belong to different guilds, all are transcenders just above Lv10... likely a randomly matched standard mission.”

Li Cheng pondered briefly: 250 kilometers might still be distant on Earth, but in the Killing Ground, the proximity is comparable to the distance between two bubble tea shops on a busy street—one step away from face-to-face.

“The known range of the Killing Ground’s entities is as vast as the entire solar system; the probability of this player squad appearing randomly near the Toy Factory is nearly zero—unless the Killing Ground system is secretly manipulating it...”

Li Cheng considered briefly, then summoned the Edge Fighter.