Chapter 262: Malice

The captured member of the Apocalypse Sect gave a slight nod; his body surface was covered in fine cracks, and even this simple nod caused multiple patches of skin to split open.

The middle-aged man stood on the mountain, arms extended forward, fingers spread wide, thumbs and index fingers touching to form a square frame between his hands.

He placed the distant urban district inside the frame and drew in a deep breath.

The breath he inhaled was enormous, swelling his lungs like a balloon, expanding his chest by at least double.

Huh~

The middle-aged man exhaled the air he had drawn in toward the Apocalypse Sect member; the expelled air resembled a gale, nearly lifting every exposed patch of skin.

"I sensed the lingering aura of the terrestrial divine realm—the one who seized it is a novice, lacking in esoteric mastery, and still hasn't turned it into his own after so long."

He looked disdainfully at the half-dead Apocalypse Sect member, pulled out a vial of specialized adrenaline, and injected it into the man's body.

This serum grants immunity to D-rank and lower continuous damage for one hour, while keeping the user conscious.

But there is one minor side effect: it grants immunity to damage, but not to pain—in fact, it amplifies pain tenfold, even a hundredfold.

The amplified pain cannot be neutralized by any other drug; the harm it inflicts on the user often exceeds the damage it blocks.

As a survival drug, it is a failure—but as a tool for interrogation, its effectiveness is simply perfect.

The agony surpasses the ordinary human threshold of endurance; watching the Apocalypse Sect member's face contort from pain, even now he would obediently post his entire browser history to his social circle without deletion.

The middle-aged man asked: "When was your terrestrial divine realm seized?"

"F-fifth of May," the Apocalypse Sect member answered with difficulty.

The middle-aged man's face lit up with satisfaction; he had questioned the man many times before, under every kind of pressure, and the man's story never changed—it must be the truth.

The middle-aged man's name is You Feipeng, a Level 48, Second-Class Wanderer of the Bureau, belonging to the Evolutionist faction.

He was carrying out a routine patrol mission in the real world, ensuring sufficient stability of order and preventing heretical believers or wild transcenders from damaging it.

Normally, the Pillar of the Real World permits passage only up to Level 45; he is unusual, possessing a Blue-Rank title, "The Escaped Fish," which reduces the suppression exerted by system and dimensional rules upon him.

Theoretically, as long as he remains under Level 50, he can freely traverse between the Wasteland Realm and the Rational Realm through the Pillar of the Real World.

Don't be fooled—the Blue title is the lowest rank, but even the lowest rank is still a title.

It is thanks to this title, and his "Innate Patrol Sacred Body," that he has risen ahead of peers at his level to become a Second-Class Wanderer.

Gu Feng, who previously guarded the underground shelter, possessed comparable strength and even earned commendation for his service—yet he only managed a Third-Class Wanderer rank.

You Feipeng's original plan upon returning to the real world was, as usual, to crush a few rats, visit branch offices to bask in the praise of the weak, and late at night tutor ambitious female members on dungeon strategies.

Then pick up some side jobs, make a fortune, and return to the Rational Realm in bliss.

But this time, something different happened—he seemed to have struck great luck.

Wanghai City is territory controlled by the Order Faction; he had little enthusiasm for it and visited neighboring Wanning City first.

Unexpectedly, while casually strolling through Wanning City, he stumbled upon a rat's nest—crushing many small rats and capturing one big one.

The big rat was precisely the Apocalypse Sect member he had tortured to the brink of death; the man was the Wanning City director, said to hold the highest rank in nearby cities, second only to a bishop who never showed his face.

You Feipeng had a habit: he tortured every rat he caught, asking them, "Will you confess?"

He only asked if they would confess—he never stated the question; what they confessed depended entirely on the rat's own initiative.

Regardless of what they revealed, he never stopped the interrogation.

But this time, he encountered an unexpected windfall—the big rat actually confessed a major secret: the Apocalypse Sect had attempted a terrestrial divine realm ritual in Wanghai City over half a month ago, only to have the fruit stolen by a stranger.

Not only did the stranger steal the fruit, he also reported it to the Wanghai City branch, directly exposing the Apocalypse Sect's hideout in Wanghai City.

The branches of nearby cities launched a joint operation and nearly captured the mysterious bishop.

This news instantly brightened You Feipeng's eyes and revived his spirit.

A terrestrial divine realm is a valuable asset; with his esoteric knowledge, even slight modifications could summon a designated deity.

Coincidentally, You Feipeng held another identity besides his Bureau role.

Peripheral member of the Light Society.

The Light Society's recruitment standards were harsh; by his qualifications, he couldn't even become an ordinary full member, let alone a core one—this peripheral status was granted only because he frequently returned to the real world and helped them with side jobs.

But with a terrestrial divine realm, everything changes: constructing one in the real world is extremely difficult—it requires an ideal location at a weak point in the dimensional barrier, avoiding the Bureau's notice, and vast amounts of believer-generated faith energy.

If he presented the modified terrestrial divine realm, this achievement would surely secure his promotion to full membership.

Unlike the Four Major Organizations, which are bound to ordinary society and cling to conservative, outdated ideals, the Light Society represents evolution, represents the future.

Players in the Third Layer of the Abyss have already abandoned the real world; dwelling in higher realms, they no longer care for the ants of reality.

The Second Layer of the Abyss is on the verge of transformation—only those who join the Light Society know how powerful it truly is.

Before the power-worshipping Light Society, the Four Major Organizations and heretical believers alike are nothing but clay chickens and broken dogs; if he joins the Light Society, a radiant future awaits him.

Thinking of this, You Feipeng grew excited. He yanked the big rat upright, plunged his hand into the man's abdominal wound, savoring the slick, slippery texture of the internal organs, and whispered in a pathological tone:

"I see a bright future—and this brightness, you have brought me. Thank you, truly, thank you so much—I must share my excitement and joy with you!"

The Apocalypse Sect's regional director felt as if ten thousand steel blades were slicing through his internal organs; the agony threatened to boil his brain, yet he dared not scream or show pain—only forced a smile of congratulations, obeying You Feipeng's will.

If he defied You Feipeng, he would suffer even more cruel torment—the corpses of his dead Apocalypse Sect comrades had demonstrated this many times before.

He suddenly recalled the words of Bishop Yu Na: "Do not yearn for the Second Layer of the Abyss—it is not a safe paradise."

If one cannot preserve their true heart and enters the Second Layer, their soul will be corroded and twisted into a monster retaining only a human shape.

Now he saw that Bishop Yu Na was right—this Bureau member's methods were more cruel and unrestrained than even the followers of the Quietist Sect.

He was beyond saving, but even in death, he would drag this demon down with him—he would never let Bishop Yu Na fall into his hands.

Bishop Yu Na had said: "There is a monster in Wanghai City—do not attempt to reclaim the underground divine realm."

If so, he would lure this demon to clash with the monster; no matter the outcome, the demon would have no energy left to pursue Bishop Yu Na.

Having received the regional director's congratulations, You Feipeng was thoroughly satisfied. He praised the man's cooperation, withdrew his bloody hand, poured a small vial of blood into him to ensure he wouldn't die, then took him toward Wanghai No. 1 High School.

Such a fine terrestrial divine realm—wasted on Wasteland Realm trash. Better to give it to me.

On the other side of Wanghai City, Wu Chang had just stepped out of the elevator into the pitch-black island.

The Corruption Dungeon only covered the Bureau's underground, yet its actual space was vast—large enough to contain a complete island and boundless seas.

They were compressed in a cramped space; if the dungeon failed, and the dungeon further eroded reality, this sea and the massive lone island would appear in Wanghai City's urban district.

He dared not imagine how great a disaster they would bring.

He clenched his fists, squinting his eyes.

His urgency to descend underground and enter the erosion space stemmed not only from accelerating dungeon completion, but also from hoping he might intercept the Painter inside the dungeon.

It wasn't for some grand cause like city safety—purely personal preference.

During this time, wild transcenders in Wanghai City had run rampant, constantly sparking chaos; if earlier there had been uncertainty about the mastermind, the instant the erosion dungeon appeared beneath the Bureau's basement, the answer became crystal clear.

The Painter.

If the mastermind was the Painter, then during this time, he had been hiding within Wanghai City, spying on everything.

Wu Chang wasn't sure how much the Painter had seen—whether he had glimpsed the Divine Realm aboveground, or uncovered Wu Chang's identity.

He was deeply annoyed. Was there no privacy left?

Beyond that, he had plenty to say about the Painter's actions. Of all things, he loathed most those self-important bastards who, because of their status or power, believed they had the right to manipulate others' fates for their own gain.

For such people, Wu Chang had many words—stored in his elbow.

If he caught the Painter, he'd make that kid suffer terribly.

As for whether he could beat him or not—what a joke? He'd already crushed Huanxi; how could he fail to take down a single Painter?

If strength alone granted certain privileges, then he, Wu Chang, should now have some privileges too.

For instance, seeing someone he disliked, he could just elbow them.

He shook his head, set aside his desire to elbow the Painter, and turned his attention back to the dungeon before him.

He crossed his arms, rubbing his sleeves.

His first reaction to this place was cold.

Though everything around was pitch black, his enhanced senses, strengthened by Source Power, clearly perceived every detail.

Around him lay an icy world—deep snow buried him past his knees; the warm breath from his mouth turned instantly into fine ice shards; conservatively estimated, the temperature was at least minus forty to fifty degrees.

In the real world, it was late May; Wu Chang had already switched to short sleeves. Standing in this frozen wasteland wearing short sleeves, had he not channeled energy to ward off the chill, he'd have frozen solid the moment he landed.

!

A gust of icy wind, carrying shards of snow, swept past, making him shudder.

Even more eager to elbow the Painter.

Aside from the freezing environment, the island's atmosphere was deeply unsettling.

In the darkness, something seemed to lurk—filled with malice, luring him to look.

But the malice was too fragile; as he focused on locating its source, the malice hastily fled, refusing to reveal itself.

The malice was extremely timid—even if he didn't actively resist with his will, even if he opened his spiritual perception, it didn't dare approach him again.

Weak and yet still playing around.

Wu Chang shook his head, too lazy to bother with them, and walked toward the ruins at the island's center.

Halfway there, his spiritual sense reacted—he spotted a mound of snow beside a boulder on the cliffside, with a corner of clothing protruding.

Someone was buried in the snow.

He pulled the person out by the clothing—a man's corpse, lifeless, frozen solid into a human-shaped ice sculpture.

The man wore a thick down jacket, fully equipped with gear, carrying a large travel pack—clearly not a Bureau member, but a native of the dungeon dimension.

Through the shattered goggles, he could see the man's face—thin, frail features, wearing thin black metal-framed glasses; from his face and frame alone, he was clearly an intellectual.

But his face now held no trace of scholarship—only terror. His eyes bulged wide, pupils protruding grotesquely, his lower face a bloody mess, as if he'd fallen from the cliff above.

Judging by his attire, he had come to the island for surveying or exploration, and died in some unknown corner.

As a dungeon native, his death was meaningless—but to Wu Chang, his death held great value.

For on his body, Wu Chang spotted a faint thread of resentment.

Wu Chang fixed his gaze on the resentment—suddenly, the resentment transformed into a blizzard-laced gale, rushing toward him.

The blizzard raged continuously—no, he had entered the resentment itself, now inhabiting the dead man's perspective, trudging slowly against the blizzard.

The man hadn't come alone—he was part of a full team of eight.

As they traversed the pitch-black island, through the man's eyes, Wu Chang heard whispers and low growls echoing from the darkness all around.

Those cowardly malices, when facing ordinary people, were suddenly so active.

Each team member carried an oil lamp, burning golden fat that emitted warm light at night, keeping the darkness's malices at bay.

The man Wu Chang possessed was the weakest—simply walking through snow past his knees left him drenched in sweat, and he soon neared falling behind.

"Wells, keep up! If you fall behind, don't expect us to turn back and save you!" came a stern voice over the radio—by tone, it sounded like a soldier.

"Colonel Johnson, I—I can't breathe," Wells gasped.

The radio crackled again with a shout: "This is just the beginning, Wells! If you can't even handle this, you damn well belong in a warm lab, sipping coffee and slowly deciphering those damn ancient texts—not dragging the team down!"

"I'm telling you, in two hours, the island will enter midnight. If you can't reach the shelter on time, before the darkness swallows me, I'll shoot your brain out first!"

Wells glanced at his watch—the dial was custom-made, with twenty-four hours marked, divided at 0 and 12; the half from 0 to 12 glowed with starlight, the other half was utter darkness.

The entire island had no daytime—only midnight and shallow night.

The current time displayed: 10 o'clock—about to enter midnight.

Wells knew he was in the wrong. He said nothing, only pushed himself harder to keep up.

Colonel Johnson was right—his physical condition belonged in a warm research room, sipping coffee, slowly interpreting texts sent from the front.

But he didn't want that. From past deciphered texts, he had glimpsed a colossal secret—a mad revelation capable of overturning the world.

As one of the few scholars on Earth who could decipher that ancient script, he believed himself chosen by the gods—his mission: to expose that secret.

So he insisted on joining the team—to be the first to see that secret!

Just as his strength began to fail, the teammate ahead stopped, turned, and helped him forward.

"Thank you, Tian Hongzhi."

Tian Hongzhi, a folklorist and explorer, had visited many ruins that existed only in myth, and also had some research into ancient scripts.

But he was far inferior to him.

Colonel Johnson valued Tian Hongzhi's rich experience, so he invited him into the team; the several documents he had received earlier had all been provided by Tian Hongzhi.

His insistence on entering the front line of the expedition was, to a certain extent, also in order to see what the documents mentioned before Tian Hongzhi did.

The secrets of the world should belong to civilization; damn yellow-skinned monkeys, don't even think of seeing the world's secrets before him.

Wells mouthed the words of racial discrimination over and over in his heart, but at the moment he still had use for Tian Hongzhi, so he thanked him humbly out loud:

"Tian Hongzhi, we are both scholars; only you, like me, revere knowledge and know how to respect researchers."

Tian Hongzhi said with a smile: "Professor Wells, I have always been your admirer; being able to work alongside you is truly the luck of three lifetimes."

Wells felt pleased inside and said: "I am also very glad to work with you."

As an explorer, Tian Hongzhi's physical condition was far beyond that of an ordinary person; carrying Wells, he could still easily catch up with the main force's pace. Wells was almost being dragged forward by Tian Hongzhi, hardly expending any stamina of his own, his breathing had steadied, and his speech had become fluent again.

The two chatted as they walked, the atmosphere unusually warm, and they soon became well acquainted.

Tian Hongzhi was very eager to learn, asking Wells quite a bit about the direction of ancient script interpretation, and even found time to have him identify several photographs.

Wells loved to play the teacher, and answered all of Tian Hongzhi's questions with great generosity.

However, as time went on, the questions Tian Hongzhi asked grew increasingly difficult; some of the ancient scripts required him to combine context, half-interpret and half-guess, before he could offer a vague meaning.

Later on, the photographs Tian Hongzhi produced made Wells wary, because the script in the photos shared the same origin as the ancient script previously discovered, clearly recorded in the same place.

But the photographs Tian Hongzhi produced, he had never seen before.

He had just been about to refuse to answer when he discovered the radio had already lost connection; he and Tian Hongzhi had, without realizing it, already drifted apart from the main force.

"Professor Wells, this is my last question; please tell me what it means."

After Wells gave his final answer, Tian Hongzhi bowed to him, then extinguished the oil lamp in Wells's hand.

"Professor Wells, I am the divine messenger chosen by the gods."

(End of this chapter)