Chapter 72
Minotaur.
According to legend, it was a monster born of the union between a king’s wife and a bull gifted by the gods.
The creature, possessing the body of a man and the head of a bull, was naturally violent and immensely strong. It could easily cause disasters and had a particular fondness for devouring tender human children.
To imprison this ferocious beast, the talented craftsman Daedalus built an extraordinarily complex labyrinth, known later as the famous Cretan Labyrinth.
When the Athenians were defeated in war, they were forced to send seven pairs of boys and girls as a tribute every nine years.
King Minos would imprison these children in the labyrinth to feed the savage and fearsome creature, the Minotaur.
This horror persisted without respite, and the Athenians, compelled to sacrifice their offspring, lived in anguish.
It was not until Theseus, the illegitimate son of the Athenian king, returned from his travels and learned of this ghastly situation. Deeply pained by the situation, he decided to act.
Using a ball of thread, he navigated the labyrinth and, with the help of a sword gifted by a princess, slew the Minotaur, thus ending the calamity.
Wen Xin had watched an animated adaptation of this myth when he was a child.
But back then, he was too young and had forgotten some of the finer details.
He wasn’t sure how much resemblance this labyrinth bore to the mythical Cretan Labyrinth the girl had mentioned.
Wen Xin examined the invitation.
The texture felt smooth, almost like silk, but it was unusually resilient, hinting at some special material.
On its lacquered red surface, gilded characters read, “Invitation.” Beside it, a smaller line of text stated:
“The Minotaur welcomes all esteemed guests.”
Beyond that, there was no date, no location, nor any identifying details.
No wonder the girl had handed it to him without hesitation.
Wen Xin had heard rumors about a mysterious organization in the western region that had built a beast-fighting arena.
Anyone confident in their strength, be they human or mutant, could register to participate and win substantial rewards.
In a time where mutants and humans were hostile toward one another, the existence of a place where both could “coexist harmoniously” seemed almost miraculous.
Wen Xin accepted the invitation out of curiosity, but he had no interest in participating in such a beastly spectacle.
After skimming through it, he handed it back to the girl. “Thanks, but I don’t really need this.”
Unexpectedly, the girl shook her head. “You may not want to watch beast fights or bloody duels, but this invitation isn’t just a ticket—it’s also a credential that ensures smooth passage.”
“You haven’t been to the western region yet, have you? Trust me, the chaos there isn’t just hearsay.”
She gave a pale, sorrowful smile. “The mutants who retain their sanity have all gone east. The west is teeming with monsters that despise humans and are bloodthirsty.”
“Without some form of protection, ordinary people like us wouldn’t survive a single step.”
Wen Xin looked at her face in silence for a while before asking, “If the western region is so dangerous for humans, why are you heading there?”
The girl’s response was flawless: “Just as you now know how dangerous the western region is but haven’t thought of retreating, we also have reasons that compel us to go.”
Hearing this, Wen Xin chose not to probe further.
After all, who would willingly travel in such harsh, snowy weather unless they had no other choice?
But he caught the emphasis in her words:
The invitation was more than a mere entry pass; it was akin to a life-saving charm.
For her to give something so vital to him without hesitation, it seemed there was more to her offer—something unspoken.
The girl didn’t mince words: “I do have a request. I hope that in the coming journey, you can protect me and my younger brother.”
The younger boy, upon hearing this, seemed to sense her intent to reveal more and tugged on her sleeve. “…Sister, do we really need to tell him?”
She patted his head reassuringly but kept her eyes locked on Wen Xin’s, her tone earnest as she continued: “My name is Xu Jiangqin, and this is Xu Hailin. We are the grandchildren of Colonel Xu Cheng from the southern region. If you agree to our request, once we return successfully, we will reward you generously.”
Having said her piece, Xu Jiangqin focused intently on Wen Xin’s face, her palms damp with cold sweat as she scrutinized every nuance of his reaction.
She knew revealing her identity carried risks. Moreover, their appearance—a shabby and underprepared duo—was hardly convincing.
What kind of colonel would send his grandchildren out in such a pitiful state? No armed escort, not even a single gun?
The man standing before them, who could casually pull out a sniper rifle, appeared far better equipped than the two of them.
But they had no choice. Their grandfather had collapsed from a sudden severe illness after learning of their father’s failed mission to eliminate mutants and his subsequent disappearance from the battlefield.
In his absence, their uncle and aunt took over the military command, confining Xu Jiangqin and her brother to their home. They were forbidden to leave or even communicate with the servants.
After countless struggles, they finally managed to escape.
The invitation and the scant supplies they carried were the result of their utmost efforts.
If they failed to find their father on this journey, then…
Xu Jiangqin clenched her fingers tightly, a pang of guilt tugging at her heart as she realized she was effectively offering Wen Xin an empty promise. But she had no other options.
She glanced upward, locking eyes with the young man.
His gaze was calm and collected, releasing no form of emotion. His eyes were clear, like a mirror reflecting the world.
Under such scrutiny, it felt as though all her hidden fears and motives were laid bare.
Xu Jiangqin instinctively held her breath, tension flooding her body.
But the next moment, Wen Xin averted his gaze, as if the piercing look had been a mere illusion.
Wen Xin waved the gilded invitation in his hand. “If I refuse your request, would you still give me this invitation?”
Xu Jiangqin hesitated for a moment before replying, “Of course. You saved Xiao Lin’s life.”
No sooner had she spoken than she regretted it.
The invitation was one of only three they had—why had she been so quick to promise it away?
Unexpectedly, Wen Xin smiled at her response. “In that case, I’ll accept your request.”
He slipped the invitation into his pocket and glanced at the injured man lying on the ground.
“I still have half a bottle of unused coagulant spray. I’ll go fetch it for you.”
Wen Xin understood the importance of not flaunting his resources, but his earlier actions—drawing a gun—had already exposed part of his hand.
That display served as both a deterrent and a temptation.
To prevent the deterrent from fully morphing into temptation, he refrained from revealing just how much he truly had.
Xu Jiangqin shook her head. “No need to trouble yourself. We have a medical kit with leftover spray and bandages.”
She glanced at the wounded man, who was still gasping for air. “But we do need to find a place to settle Old Li soon.”
Wen Xin nodded and looked out of the car.
Seeing nothing unusual nearby, he prepared to disembark.
Before he left, Xu Jiangqin called out to him. “May I ask for your name?”
Wen Xin paused slightly. “My surname is Wen.”
Perhaps Wen Xin’s reputation preceded him, but his calm response didn’t immediately trigger any connection in their minds.
They never considered that such a legendary figure would appear in such a desolate, godforsaken place.
After leaving the car, Wen Xin didn’t return to his vehicle. Instead, he joined the group working to clear the fallen tree.
With his participation, the group’s morale visibly surged, and their shouts of encouragement grew louder.
Behind him, Xu Hailin watched the young man laboring and couldn’t help but marvel. “Sister, they were right—Brother Wen is a good man.”
He hadn’t exchanged more than a few sentences with Wen Xin, but he was already addressing him so familiarly.
Xu Jiangqin instinctively wanted to scold her brother, reminding him not to judge people solely by appearances.
But for some reason, when she thought of Wen Xin’s clear and bright eyes, the reprimand caught in her throat.
“Perhaps he really is…”
After half an hour of hard work, the tree trunk was finally cleared away.
The group cheered victoriously, brimming with excitement as they prepared to resume their journey.
Wen Xin climbed back into the vehicle.
The two little ones, having witnessed his earlier effort, leaned over from the back seat and asked eagerly, “Wen Xin, are we going to travel with them?”
“Barring any surprises, it seems we’ll be traveling together for the next stretch,” he replied.
Pulling out a map, he pointed to a marked spot. “To reach City Rose, we’ll have to pass through the Minotaur Beast Arena. That girl, Xu Jiangqin, seems to know a lot about its workings. She’ll make for a valuable guide.”
The red panda tilted its head, seeming to understand only part of the conversation.
Meanwhile, the green scaled viper, Ah Lü, eyed Wen Xin with suspicion. “Are you really just helping out because it’s hard for those two human kids to travel?”
Wen Xin calmly started the car, casually handing the invitation over to them as a distraction. “How could that be? I got something out of this too—this invitation.”
Ah Lü snorted twice, appearing to accept his answer for now.
Then, as if it had caught a whiff of something unusual, it grabbed the invitation.
The red panda, curious as ever, leaned in to sniff it as well but instantly recoiled, pawing furiously at its nose. Its fluffy little face scrunched up in distress. “What is this smell? It’s awful!”
Wen Xin turned at the noise, his brow furrowing in confusion. “What’s wrong?”
Ah Lü was still carefully discerning the scent from the invitation. After a long moment, it hissed a single word: “Spider…”
“Spider?” Wen Xin echoed.
Ah Lü hesitated, instinctively wanting to explain but realizing Wen Xin wasn’t aware of certain secrets about the base. It swallowed its words and improvised instead.
“Cough… It just reminded me of something. Xiao Hei once encountered a mutant spider that was close to evolving from Grade A to Grade S.”
“But its evolution was interrupted by humans, forcing it to stop. Since then, it’s harbored an intense hatred for humans, torturing and killing them mercilessly.”
Ah Lü held up the invitation with its tail. “This invitation is made of spider silk. That’s why I thought of it.”
Wen Xin froze mid-action.
He had just stumbled upon an alarming piece of information.
Ah Lü, however, remained oblivious.
Despite Wen Xin’s cunningness, repeatedly demonstrated in various crises, Ah Lü still let its guard down around him, trusting him almost reflexively.
At times, the viper would second-guess itself, wondering if Wen Xin was truly as naive as he seemed—or if its own loose lips would eventually give something away.
For now, though, Wen Xin was caught in a whirlwind of thought.
The revelation that the organization behind the beast arena might truly be mutants—and that their supposed equal treatment of humans and mutants was likely a facade—shocked him to his core.
Before he could process it further, Ah Lü’s voice interrupted from behind.
“Wen Xin, if someday humans tried to wipe us out… would you protect us?”
The question, though posed casually, carried an undercurrent of vulnerability, as if it had been cautiously tested out.
Wen Xin felt his chest tighten, as if his heart had been struck.
He turned abruptly, meeting Ah Lü’s gleaming eyes.
A viper’s gaze rarely exuded warmth. Their predatory instincts seemed etched into their genes, making prolonged eye contact unsettling—like being stared down by a demon.
Yet, looking into Ah Lü’s eyes, Wen Xin saw something soft, rippling like a gentle breeze over a calm lake.
His response was immediate.
He flicked Ah Lü’s forehead with his fingers, feigning irritation. “You little shit. Have I not treated you well enough for you to doubt the answer to that?”
Instead of causing pain, the flick rebounded, leaving Wen Xin wincing as his own finger throbbed from the recoil.
Ah Lü, startled, immediately noticed the redness in his finger and darted over to check it, mumbling, “I was just asking…”
But Wen Xin’s calm, steady voice suddenly broke the moment.
“I’d give everything to protect you, even my life.”
Ah Lü, curled close to him, felt the warmth of his breath brushing over it like a soft, misty cloud. It trembled slightly, as if the heat had seeped into its heart.
Wen Xin heard someone calling out to him from the group outside. He raised a hand, signaling, “Coming!”
Ah Lü snapped out of its daze.
As a flashlight beam swept over the car, it yanked the red panda back into the rear seat to avoid the light.
Once settled, Ah Lü’s head lifted slightly, its gaze lingering on the back of Wen Xin’s head.
That’s enough, the viper thought, utterly content.
Even if Wen Xin didn’t know who sought their destruction, how powerful the First Base was, or the growing human clamor for their annihilation…
This assurance was more than enough.
The attackers from earlier still lurked in the shadows, their purpose unclear.
Thus, the group remained on high alert as they continued their journey.
Wen Xin expected more obstacles but hadn’t imagined the next one would come so soon.
Ahead, the snow-covered road was blocked by fallen tree trunks scattered like dominoes.
The man in the windbreaker was visibly distressed, his face pale with worry.
“Could we burn the trees with gasoline and a flamethrower?”
“Yeah, if you want to create an outdoor skating rink,” his companion retorted dryly. “And where are we going to find that much gasoline?”
The snow on the trunks would make burning them impossible without dousing them in fuel.
“What about chopping down the trees beside the road? Could we carve out a path?”
“Only if you dig out the roots too. Otherwise, the bus’s undercarriage will get wrecked. Oh, and by the way—we don’t have a chainsaw.”
“Damn it.”
With no way around, the group considered taking a narrow forest trail to scout for other possible routes.
The path led toward a distant, snow-covered mountain.
But amidst these deliberate roadblocks, a conveniently placed trail seemed suspicious.
Even the tire tracks left by previous vehicles offered little reassurance.
“What now?” someone asked, their gaze drifting to the injured Old Li, barely clinging to life in the back of the bus.
An unspoken complexity flickered in the group’s eyes.
It was hard to tell if the stares were filled with blame or a sense that Old Li was now a burden.
Still, many of the group, led by Xu Jiangqin, were reluctant to abandon him. They awaited her decision.
Xu Jiangqin closed her eyes heavily, bearing the weight of their expectations.
Wen Xin could tell she was cornered.
Even if they chose to abandon Old Li and clear the fallen trees, lacking proper tools meant it would take at least a day and a half. By then, the heavy snowfall would have buried the road again, rendering it impassable.
They could turn back, but the snow already blocked their retreat.
In truth, every path was cut off.
The only option was the one their attackers had likely prepared—a trap.
After a long silence, Xu Jiangqin exhaled deeply and said in resignation, “We’ll head up the mountain.”
Her decision drew frowns and protests. “Miss—!”
Xu Jiangqin snapped, her voice cold and sharp: “What else can we do? Stay here and wait to die? Can any of you guarantee the snow will stop tonight?”
“There are no gas stations nearby, and our fuel is almost out. The temperature is dropping to below freezing. Once we run out of gas, we won’t survive without heat. Do I need to spell this out for you?”
Her cutting remarks silenced the group.
Xu Jiangqin’s commanding personality, despite her youth, seemed to quell their doubts.
Wen Xin prepared to board his vehicle, but Xu Jiangqin hesitated, glancing at him as if she wanted to say something. Her lips moved, but she ultimately said nothing, ushering Xu Hailin back into the bus instead.
Traveling at night was ill-advised, so they waited until dawn.
By morning, as Xu Jiangqin predicted, the snowfall showed no sign of stopping. If anything, it had grown heavier. Snow now buried most of the tires, requiring them to dig the vehicles out.
The doubters were finally silenced, now busy regretting not bringing more fuel.
Yet the regret was hollow. Even if they had brought enough fuel to fill the bus, it wouldn’t have been enough to outlast this relentless blizzard.
Wen Xin joined the snow-clearing efforts.
Around him, a few people, red-faced from the cold, muttered complaints under their breath.
“Why are we so unlucky?”
“Who thought traveling now was a good idea?”
“With no weather forecast, what can we do? And we had to hit this kind of storm…”
Discontent simmered, but they pressed on.
After some effort, the bus climbed a makeshift wooden ramp and made it back onto the snow. The tires sank slightly but held firm.
They were ready to move.
Wen Xin started his off-road vehicle and followed the convoy into the dense forest.
Before long, they reached the foot of the mountain and discovered something unexpected.
The road split in two—one path leading up the mountain, the other heading down.
The snow-covered upper path revealed a faint outline of a wooden cabin halfway up the slope. Meanwhile, the lower path led to a construction site.
Several excavators were parked in an open yard, alongside stacks of neatly cut logs arranged in triangular piles.
Earlier, their view had been obstructed by dense trees, so they hadn’t noticed the site. Seeing it now filled them with relief.
With logging and transportation equipment available, clearing the fallen trees blocking the road would no longer be an issue!
Without waiting for Xu Jiangqin’s instructions, the bus driver stepped on the gas and headed downhill.
His reasoning was simple: the mountain path was narrow, leaving no room to retreat if trouble arose. The downhill road, however, opened into a broad clearing, making escape easier.
Wen Xin instinctively prepared to follow.
But something nagged at him, and he hesitated.
A construction site… wasn’t that where the zombie-like attackers had come from? Weren’t they wearing the same white vests issued to workers at such sites?
His moment of hesitation proved crucial.
He didn’t follow the bus, and seconds later, shouting erupted from inside it.
“Stop! I told you—stop the bus!”
It was Xu Jiangqin’s voice, filled with panic and rage.
Wen Xin’s heart sank.
It wasn’t Xu Jiangqin who had ordered the bus to head downhill—the driver had acted on his own.
And his choice had triggered disaster.
Wen Xin’s gaze snapped upward, just in time to see several grotesque black mandibles extend from crevices in the mountain wall.
The mandibles wedged into cracks and pried them apart. A jagged fissure quickly expanded, unleashing a cascade of falling rocks.
Crack! Crack! Crack!
The sound of debris tumbling down struck terror in the driver. He glanced up, saw the falling stones, and paled.
Ignoring Xu Jiangqin’s desperate screams to stop, he floored the accelerator, hoping to outrun the danger.
As the bus descended halfway down the slope, disaster struck.
Boom!
A thunderous crack echoed as the ground gave way. The road collapsed.
The bus carrying Xu Jiangqin and her brother plunged straight into the gaping chasm.
The second bus, following too closely, couldn’t stop in time as well. As the falling rocks struck, its driver panicked and accelerated, sending it careening into the abyss like a stone tossed into a well.
Wen Xin, the only one spared by his intuition, showed no trace of relief or joy.
His fists clenched, and in a single motion, he grabbed the sniper rifle from the passenger seat. He propped it on the window frame and took aim at the mutated ants on the mountain wall.
The first shot rang out like a piercing wind, hitting one ant directly in its compound eye and blasting a spray of dark blood into the snow.
The mutant ants let out sharp cries before retreating en masse.
Wen Xin raised his rifle to aim again, but a sudden flurry of snow obscured his line of sight.
Within seconds, the ants vanished from the mountainside.
Unable to find a target, Wen Xin’s lips pressed into a cold, hard line. He returned the sniper rifle to its place and, unable to suppress his frustration, slammed a fist against the car window.
The wind and snow grew fiercer.
Snow swirled in the air above, but there was no echo from the depths of the pit. Its bottom was indiscernible.
Wen Xin found several broken branches near the edge of the pit and examined the opening. The sides bore signs of freshly applied cement.
He rubbed his aching forehead.
Judging by the varying age of the cement patches, it was clear that many travelers had been lured here by their attackers, only to be sent plummeting into the pit.
“Wen Xin…”
The timid voices of his two companions broke his thoughts.
As if knowing what they wanted to say, Wen Xin picked up the little ones in each hand and carried them back to the off-road vehicle. There, he wrapped them snugly in a thick blanket.
Looking into their worried eyes, Wen Xin said firmly, “I’m the one who promised to protect them—not you. You have no reason to feel guilty for not being able to act.”
The relationship between mutants and humans was a tangled web of animosity.
During his time with Ah Lü, the green scaled viper, Wen Xin had sensed its deep-seated resentment and disgust toward humans.
This aversion hadn’t lessened, not even in the presence of Wen Xin’s close friend, Tang Qi.
Wen Xin wasn’t a paragon of virtue. If forced to choose between the safety of Xu Jiangqin’s group and the little ones, he wouldn’t hesitate to prioritize his babies.
But a promise was a promise.
Wen Xin stretched out his porcelain-white fingers and scratched under babies’ chins, soothing them. Once they had calmed, he bent down and kissed their foreheads lightly.
“Wait for me. I won’t be gone long.”
He then packed food and tools into a large military backpack, securing it firmly to his back. From the trunk, he pulled out a climbing rope, fastening one end to a rock and the other to his waist. After expertly tying the harness, he coiled the extra rope around his arm and palm, testing its strength with a few tugs.
Prepared to descend, Wen Xin took a deep breath.
But before he could jump, the two cubs launched themselves from the vehicle like rockets.
“Wen Xin!”
At the sight of the incoming projectiles, Wen Xin instinctively tried to do them, only for his reflex to lose out to his ingrained habit of catching them.
He stretched out his hands, but instead of landing in his arms, one of the little ones smacked straight into his face.
“Hiss…”
Rubbing his nose, which almost started bleeding, Wen Xin picked them up by the scruffs of their necks, half amused, half exasperated. “What are you doing?”
“Coming with you,” Ah Lü said dryly, clutching his shoulder. “I don’t want to be separated again.”
Wen Xin’s expression softened, and he let out a resigned sigh, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Fine, but hold on tight.”
The little ones nodded eagerly, each grabbing one of his shoulders.
Gripping the rope, Wen Xin glanced down into the dark, bottomless pit. With a deep breath, he stepped off the edge and began his descent.
Thanks to his tactical gloves, the friction from the rope didn’t hurt his palms. Using his feet to push off the walls, he carefully controlled his descent like a mantis bouncing along a vertical surface.
His method was slow but deliberate, ensuring safety.
It also meant that if someone above decided to cut the rope, he wouldn’t lose his grip and plunge uncontrollably.
After what felt like an eternity, he tossed a stone downward and finally heard an echo.
Wen Xin didn’t land immediately. Instead, he waited cautiously before descending further.
When his feet touched down, the surface was surprisingly soft and bouncy.
Switching on his flashlight, he wasn’t surprised to find layers of stacked cushioning pads lining the bottom of the pit.
Both buses had landed on the pads. While parts of their frames were damaged, the vehicles remained intact.
But their passengers were nowhere to be found.
Wen Xin stepped onto the pads, carefully inspecting the area. He spotted countless footprints, densely packed like ink blots, leading toward a dark cave. The cave’s entrance bore distinct marks where mandibles had carved into the stone.
He turned to the little ones. “Can you sense what’s inside?”
The red panda’s sensory ability wasn’t very precise. It merely tilted its head and said, “There’s a lot of tasty stuff in there.”
Wen Xin: “…”
He had nearly forgotten that his mutants, accustomed to eating human food with him, still had a mutant’s dietary preferences. Their menu included weaker mutants.
Turning to Ah Lü, Wen Xin raised a brow. The viper gave a small nod.
“There’s a big one deeper in, and it smells decent.”
Ah Lü’s disdain for the mutant ants was evident, its tone casual. “The others smell like rotten food. If it’s the big one, I could maybe choke it down as a snack.”
Wen Xin: “……”
Clearly, his worry about them being scared was misplaced.
Switching off his flashlight to avoid being spotted, Wen Xin donned his night-vision goggles and entered the cave.
The network of tunnels within was vast, riddled with forks and chambers that made it resemble a sieve. Each path appeared indistinguishable from the others.
Thankfully, Ah Lü used its sense of smell to track faint lingering scents in the air, guiding him through the labyrinth.
The red panda, not to be outdone, released a small amount of its own aura.
The pressure of an A-grade mutant was enough to scatter nearby ants without alarming their leader.
Wen Xin and his companions advanced steadily through the cave, encountering almost no obstacles.
After winding through numerous twists and turns, the path ahead gradually opened into a vast, well-lit artificial mine.
Wen Xin was just beginning to wonder why he hadn’t experienced oxygen deprivation when the expansive mine suddenly came into view.
Large veins of ore jutted from the stone walls, glowing faintly green under the flickering firelight.
Judging by the scale of the mine, it had likely been in operation for at least five years.
Suppressing the shock in his heart, Wen Xin approached the edge of the opening.
Looking down, he saw Xu Jiangqin and her group being loaded onto a mining cart by mutant ants. The cart seemed intended to transport them to another tunnel.
His fingers twitched, instinctively moving toward the firearm holstered at his waist. As his gaze shifted slightly to the side, he froze.
What he saw made his brow furrow deeply.
There wasn’t just one mining cart carrying Xu Jiangqin’s group.
Nearby, at the intersections of other tunnels, were more carts.
Each was laden with unconscious humans—men and women, the elderly and children alike.
The network of tunnels resembled a factory assembly line, shuttling these unfortunate souls deeper into a bottomless cavern.
A heavy weight settled in Wen Xin’s chest.
This snowy mountain was not the only site where people had been abducted.
How many had fallen victim to this grim operation?
Taking a silent, steadying breath, Wen Xin forced himself to remain calm. The graver the situation, the more composed he needed to be.
While scanning his surroundings for a potential point of intervention, his eyes landed on one of the unconscious faces.
His breath hitched, and his eyes widened.
Tang Qi?
How could Tang Qi be here?
i live in fear of rhe battle royal future becoming a reality ???