After Raising Monsters, I Was Loved by Everyone in the Wasteland – CH74

Chapter 74

The mine was dark and deep, with dim oil lamps casting faint orange light that barely illuminated narrow patches of space.

Countless iron rails were welded to the ground, their wheels grinding against the tracks with harsh screeches. Sparks flew with every jarring motion.

The mining cart sped along the track at an alarming pace.

Icy wind howled from the cavern’s depths, biting at Wen Xin’s face like a thousand tiny blades.

He had to grip the cart’s edge tightly and squint, straining to make out the shadowy path ahead.

After what felt like an eternity, a piercing white light appeared in the distance, growing brighter as the cart hurtled forward.

Whoosh—

The cart shot out of the tunnel.

Instinctively, Wen Xin crouched, wrapping his arms protectively around the two little ones in his care.

Bang!

The cart’s wheels barely aligned with the next section of the track, causing a violent jolt. The ground beneath them rumbled as the cart teetered precariously, threatening to overturn.

The entire world seemed to shake, as though everything might shatter.

Wen Xin held onto the lever but refrained from pulling it. One wrong move and the three of them could be thrown into the air.

Just as he felt his head might spin from the turbulence, the cart finally began to slow, the friction of the wheels against the track easing its momentum.

Clank.

Wen Xin pulled the lever, bringing the cart to a halt.

He gripped the edge of the cart as he stood up, his head spinning from the jerking motion. He swayed slightly before catching his balance.

Before he could fully steady himself, a deafening crash erupted from behind him.

Boom!

Several tons of iron slammed down as the heavy gate shut behind them, the force sending clouds of dust into the air and shaking the edges of the tunnel.

The thunderous noise seemed to rouse others in the carts.

“Ugh…”

Hearing faint groans, Wen Xin turned his gaze toward the cart ahead. His eyes locked on the figure of Tang Qi.

Tang Qi was sprawled half-out of the cart, his upper body hanging precariously over the side. As his consciousness stirred, he slipped a little further downward.

Wen Xin leaped off his cart immediately but paused for a moment before stepping forward. His sharp eyes quickly surveyed the other people around him.

There were about a dozen individuals, all dressed in plain clothes with no other possessions on them.

Wen Xin removed his military backpack and concealed it beneath a pile of nearby ore.

“You two, hide for a bit,” he whispered to the red panda and Ah Lü.

The two bundles exchanged glances, clearly puzzled.

Hide where?

A gust of wind blew overhead, drawing their attention upward to a ventilation hole roughly the size of a volleyball in the stone wall.

It looked just big enough to squeeze through.

Meanwhile, Wen Xin sprinted to Tang Qi just as he was about to fall, catching him in the nick of time.

Looking around, Wen Xin noted that they were now in a different type of tunnel—still artificial, but with notable upgrades.

The oil lamps had been replaced with electric incandescent lights. The ground was concrete, and blue electrical wiring was neatly affixed to the walls and ceiling.

Compared to the previous mining tunnel, the area was much brighter and resembled an underground shelter or safety passage.

At a glance, there was no one else in the room except the people in the carts.

Including his own, there were seven carts in total.

The other six carts each contained two individuals—a man and a woman—seemingly paired together.

If Wen Xin hadn’t intercepted the cart carrying Xu Jiangqin and her brother, there would have been seven men and seven women here.

A sense of foreboding crept over him.

The eerily specific number reminded him of Xu Jiangqin’s earlier mention of the Minotaur.

Seven pairs of boys and girls.

Seven men and seven women.

…Could it really be a coincidence?

One by one, the others began to wake, sitting up in their carts and looking around in confusion.

Tang Qi stirred as well, blinking his eyes open slowly.

Wen Xin, who had been scanning the area, immediately lowered his head to check on him. “You’re awake? How are you feeling? Any discomfort?”

Tang Qi frowned as he struggled to focus on the face above him. “You’re… Wen Xin?”

The delicate features and warm gaze were unmistakable. It could only be his friend Wen Xin.

The recognition jolted Tang Qi upright as though doused in cold water. His expression darkened as he surveyed their surroundings.

Then he turned back to Wen Xin, his alarmed expression shifting to one of sharp urgency.

“You—weren’t you escorted away by your brother? How are you here?!”

Wen Xin: “…”

Thinking back to the chaotic sequence of events he had endured—from ambushes to amnesia—Wen Xin exhaled slowly. “It’s a long story.”

“And you,” he continued, “weren’t you in City B? How did you end up here?”

Tang Qi didn’t respond immediately.

Instead, his face contorted with despair, his hands covering his face as he muttered to himself.

“This can’t be happening… I tried to avoid it, but this… It’s just as the prophecy said…”

“No matter what changes along the way, it always ends like this. We all die. Everyone dies…”

His voice cracked, repeating the same grim phrases like a broken record.

Wen Xin frowned, puzzled. “What are you talking about?”

Meanwhile, most of the other captives had fully regained consciousness.

Confronted with their eerie and unfamiliar surroundings, they instinctively stood up in their carts, shouting questions laced with panic.

“Where are we? Who brought us here?”

“I was on a supply mission with my caravan—how did I end up here? Who are all of you?”

“I don’t know! I was out scavenging with a friend, then mutants attacked us. The next thing I know, I woke up in this hellhole. What is this place?!”

Eventually, someone noticed the massive iron gate behind them. Clambering out of his cart, he staggered toward it and began banging on the metal.

“Hey! Is anyone out there? Where is this? Let us out!”

But no matter how hard he pounded or how loudly he yelled, no response came from beyond the gate.

A heavy silence fell over the group.

The dozen or so captives exchanged uneasy glances, reflexively checking themselves and their surroundings.

Backpacks, weapons, portable rations—things that had become essential for survival in this apocalyptic world—were conspicuously missing.

“My gear, my money—damn it!”

“This is insane! Did we get mugged or something?”

Curses and grumbles filled the air, but the complaints soon subsided.

These were survivors of the apocalypse. Even the slowest among them began piecing together the gravity of their situation.

Many started to recall the moments leading up to their capture.

Through the scattered clues, the group managed to piece together a rough idea of their predicament.

—It was clear they had been abducted by unknown mutants for reasons yet to be determined.

Their faces were grim.

Were it not for the need to conserve their energy, the air would have been filled with curses.

Judging from the grooves beneath the iron gate, the door was incredibly heavy. Without tools like saws or cutting equipment, it was impossible to return along the tracks.

Reluctantly, they raised their heads to look at the only visible exit before them.

After a moment of silence, a tall man wearing glasses whispered to his companion. The two nodded and began cautiously walking toward the exit.

Following their lead, several others also got up and moved.

Clearly, the harshness of the apocalypse had taught them an important lesson—waiting around wouldn’t bring miracles.

Some chose to venture alone, while others formed small groups.

Gradually, their gazes shifted toward Wen Xin.

It wasn’t for any particular reason except that Wen Xin’s appearance was impossible to ignore.

In a hostile and unfamiliar environment, beauty was usually irrelevant.

But in a post-apocalyptic world, such pristine features were enough to spark curiosity.

How does this young man stay so fair and unblemished? they wondered. Does he have powerful connections, or is there some secret method he’s using?

Unable to resist, one person stepped forward and asked tentatively, “Things seem strange here, and it might be dangerous to go alone. Would you like to come with us?”

Wen Xin turned his head, an apologetic look on his face. “No, thanks. My friend isn’t feeling well. I’ll wait for him.”

Hearing this, the man glanced at Tang Qi, who was sitting on the ground, clutching his head.

Tang Qi’s eyes were bloodshot, and he muttered incomprehensibly under his breath, phrases like, “It’s happening again… it’s the same…”

The man hesitated. “…Uh…”

In the apocalypse, people had grown numb to life and death, their hearts hardened by relentless trials. His first instinct was to urge Wen Xin to abandon Tang Qi.

To him, Tang Qi looked like a liability—someone incapable of surviving on their own.

But before the man could speak, Wen Xin seemed to anticipate his suggestion. He shook his head firmly. “I’ll wait for him. You should go ahead.”

Left with no choice, the man sighed and backed off.

He gave Wen Xin a regretful look and muttered, “Good luck.”

From his perspective, a young man burdened with such baggage was doomed.

“Thanks. Good luck to you, too,” Wen Xin replied, his tone sincere.

The man hesitated for a moment, then scratched his nose awkwardly before turning to the others. “Let’s go.”

The group departed, and soon the room was silent once more.

The two bundles, sensing the others had left, leaped down from the ventilation shaft. Dust and dirt clung to their fur, and they began slapping it off.

Ah Lü, treating the red panda as just another A-grade mutant, slapped it with enough force to knock bricks loose.

The red panda staggered back, barely avoiding a faceplant. “Be gentle!”

Though Tang Qi seemed deeply lost in his turmoil, his awareness of his surroundings wasn’t entirely gone.

Hearing the red panda’s distinctly non-human voice, he lifted his bloodshot eyes in stunned disbelief.

A talking mutant?

Why are there mutants here?

Wen Xin had been keeping an eye on Tang Qi’s condition. Seeing his friend momentarily snap out of his daze, Wen Xin’s brows furrowed with concern.

“What’s going on with you?” he asked urgently. “I’ve been calling your name, but you didn’t respond.”

As Tang Qi met Wen Xin’s gaze, his eyes filled with tears, his lips trembling. “I…”

Just as he seemed on the verge of spiraling again, Wen Xin sighed.

Raising his fist, he slammed it against the metal side of the cart.

Bang!

The sharp, resonant sound echoed like a tolling bell.

Tang Qi jolted upright, startled out of his stupor.

Before he could regress into panic, Wen Xin seized him by the collar and held him steady.

Then he raised his free hand, palm open. His skin was pale, but his grip was calloused from handling firearms, and his fingers were long and well-defined.

“Are you clear-headed now?” Wen Xin asked, his voice tinged with menace. “If not, I’ll knock some sense into you.”

Tang Qi’s gaze flickered to the dented metal, then back to Wen Xin’s shadowed expression.

He shuddered. “N-No need! I’m calm—I’m perfectly calm!”

Wen Xin squinted at him skeptically. “You sure?”

“Absolutely!” Tang Qi hurriedly assured him. “I swear I’m fine now.”

Seeing Tang Qi regain his composure, Wen Xin finally relaxed and let out a breath.

Tang Qi climbed out of the cart in a flustered hurry. As he did, he overheard Wen Xin muttering under his breath, “If I’d known this would work, I should’ve punched you earlier.”

Tang Qi: “…”

Wen Xin couldn’t hold back a chuckle, covering his mouth with a fist as he laughed softly.

Tang Qi, catching on, glared at him with mock indignation. “When did you get so wicked? Threatening people with force and cracking jokes—you’re nothing like the quiet, serious Wen Xin I remember.”

His voice trailed off as his expression shifted, a mixture of confusion and bewilderment crossing his face.

Wen Xin didn’t miss the subtle change. He shrugged, his tone matter-of-fact.

“A lot has happened recently. If I stayed the same, I doubt I’d still be alive.”

Tang Qi seemed moved by Wen Xin’s words and lifted his gaze.

Ah Lü, perched on Wen Xin’s shoulder, clearly disapproved of his casual mention of life and death. “With me around, no one’s going to bully you anymore,” it declared with a huff.

The red panda burrowed into Wen Xin’s arms, murmuring weakly, “I’ll protect you too, as much as I can.”

Though Wen Xin was usually the one caring for it, the red panda hadn’t evolved yet. But it could strive to grow stronger.

Wen Xin patted both cubs on their heads.

Seeing them, Tang Qi’s expression turned even more peculiar. “Those two…”

Without missing a beat, Wen Xin replied, “One is the cat I used to raise. The other is a red panda I encountered along the way.”

Tang Qi stared incredulously at the green-scaled Ah Lü. “You raised that as a cat? They’re obviously mutants!”

“Yes,” Wen Xin admitted. “We were separated, and they became infected. That’s how they turned into mutants.”

With a solemn expression, Wen Xin stroked Ah Lü affectionately and gave the red panda a reassuring pat. “I won’t leave them behind again.”

Tang Qi watched this apparently heartwarming scene unfold in silence. “….”

Wen Xin, noticing his skepticism, added, “Don’t worry. They won’t harm me.”

Then, he shifted the focus. “Now tell me—what happened to you just now?”

This wasn’t the first time Wen Xin had asked the question; he had posed it to Tang Qi countless times before.

Tang Qi wasn’t oblivious to the genuine concern in his friend’s voice, but he didn’t know where to begin.

Wen Xin studied him carefully.

Tang Qi’s hair was disheveled, his chin unshaven, and dark circles underscored his weary eyes. He looked like a man who had been through hell.

When Wen Xin asked the question, Tang Qi opened his mouth as if ready to speak, only to falter, his hesitation betraying inner conflict.

Normally, Wen Xin might have refrained from pressing further, but the circumstances were different now. He couldn’t let his friend continue to spiral into madness.

After a moment of deliberation, Wen Xin decided to broach the subject directly. “Why did you join the Reality Sect?”

Tang Qi visibly flinched, his eyes widening in surprise. “How do you know about that?”

Wen Xin replied calmly, “Remember the last time I came to visit you? I ran into three shady people you claimed were your friends. You told me you were having dinner together. They’re the ones who let it slip.”

Tang Qi muttered a curse under his breath, scratching his head. “Those idiots again.”

Wen Xin met his friend’s agitated gaze. “Tang Qi, can I still trust you?”

The question struck Tang Qi like a blow. His heart skipped a beat, and he felt an ache at the tremor of doubt in Wen Xin’s voice.

Anyone who had seen Wen Xin’s stoicism and resilience would understand how deeply his patience and vulnerability now cut.

After a long pause, Tang Qi let out a defeated sigh and lowered his hands.

“It’s a long story,” he said softly. “But I’ll tell you.”

What followed was indeed a long tale, though its essence was straightforward.

One day, while walking down the street, Tang Qi suddenly experienced vivid memories that didn’t belong to his current life.

In those memories, his world had undergone catastrophic changes.

First, his parents had died.

A zombie virus outbreak in City B had spiraled out of control overnight, unleashing tens of thousands of zombies.

The mayor, realizing the situation was beyond saving, fled with his family, taking great care to leave no trace of his involvement. No emergency evacuation orders were issued.

Countless people perished in the chaos, including Tang Qi’s parents.

Tang Qi had raced to the city in his car, pushing the gas pedal as hard as he could, but he was too late.

He took a deep, shuddering breath as he recounted the memory.

The recollection felt like a forest of thorny vines. Every word was an effort to swallow the pain that came with it.

“I thought I was just overworked, that maybe I’d pushed my mind too far and started hallucinating. So I took a day off to rest.”

The rest didn’t help.

When he woke up, the memories were even more vivid, seared into his mind.

In his dream, Tang Qi had fought desperately to find his parents, only to discover that they had turned into zombies.

The tragic scene was etched into his brain like a brand, haunting him whenever he opened or closed his eyes.

He was tormented by these nightmares and teetered on the edge of a mental breakdown.

The accumulated mental strain and sleepless nights led to repeated mistakes at work.

Left with no choice, Tang Qi took another leave of absence and sought help from a psychologist.

But there were no psychologists in City B—or rather, there was no need for them.

Under Xiao Qi’s influence as leader of the Idealism Sect, almost no one suffered from mental health issues.

Tang Qi’s case was unprecedented.

Without access to brain imaging or diagnostic tools, doctors couldn’t pinpoint the cause of his sudden delusions. Their only advice was for Tang Qi to get more rest.

His condition persisted.

In time, his dreams grew darker. He saw his cat Huan Huan die, his colleagues die, countless others die…

Eventually, Tang Qi couldn’t distinguish whether the horrors in his memories were real or if the peaceful reality he lived in was the illusion.

Or perhaps this idyllic world was nothing more than a dream he had created to escape the true nightmare.

Wen Xin listened in silence.

Tang Qi’s words brought to mind a discussion they had once shared—whether someone’s identity remained intact after their memories were altered.

When they’d discussed the topic before, Tang Qi’s rationality had already been on the verge of collapse.

Wen Xin murmured hoarsely, “I should’ve realized sooner.”

Tang Qi, now in an extremely unstable emotional state, found no comfort in those words. Instead, he reacted like a cornered animal, his voice sharpening. “You don’t believe me either, do you?”

“Either?” Wen Xin immediately caught the implication—Tang Qi had shared his experiences before, only to be met with disbelief.

Tang Qi let out a deranged laugh, retreating further into the passage behind him. “Hahaha… Of course you don’t believe me. How could anyone who hasn’t experienced it possibly believe me?”

“Only the Reality Sect, with their foresight and prophecy, could understand me!”

“Tang Qi, calm down.” Wen Xin strode forward and grabbed his arm, keeping his tone steady. “Listen to me. It’s not that I don’t believe you—it’s that I’ve encountered the Reality Sect before.”

“They use a hallucinogenic mist that distorts perception and induces illusions. I’ve been affected by it myself!”

“It’s not the same!” Tang Qi shouted, his voice breaking. “What I’ve seen isn’t like what you’re describing!”

Wen Xin fixed his eyes on him, unwavering. “The Tang Qi I know doesn’t lose his head so easily.”

He raised his hands, pressing them firmly against Tang Qi’s temples to force eye contact. “When you saw your parents alive, and Huan Huan still with you, I’m certain you took steps to verify the truth. Didn’t you compare what you saw with the memories in your mind?”

“Tell me—everything you witnessed with your own eyes and the stories in your visions. Were they the same, or were they completely different?”

Wen Xin’s gaze was calm and resolute, as steadfast as a rock amidst a storm, radiating strength.

Under such a piercing stare, Tang Qi gradually began to recover his composure.

He trembled as he replied, “They… were different. I collected evidence. They weren’t the same…”

“But I still can’t tell them apart.”

Tang Qi’s voice cracked. “That day, when you came to see me, you suspected something had happened to my parents. I took you to visit them. After you left, my mom cried and begged me to stop looking at her like she was a stranger.”

“…She’s my mom. She’s the one who always smiled and listened to me ramble about school, even when she was tired from work. She’s the mom who hated getting her clothes greasy but still cooked for me so I’d grow up healthy…”

Tang Qi’s voice quivered with pain. “That night, I thought it couldn’t go on like this. I decided I would leave the Reality Sect, stop making my parents worry, and ensure Huan Huan wouldn’t lose her owner.”

But plans rarely survive the chaos of reality.

Tang Qi hadn’t anticipated that very night, Zhao Shouqiang and the other two sect members would be captured by followers of the Idealism Sect—and that they’d expose him as well.

Wen Xin’s expression stiffened.

Recalling how he’d personally handed Zhao Shouqiang’s group over to the patrol unit, he fell silent.

Tang Qi, oblivious to Wen Xin’s reaction, continued bitterly. “To avoid implicating my parents, I prepared to surrender. I figured since I hadn’t done much beyond wallowing in despair, I might receive leniency.”

“But before I could turn myself in, everything went black. It was like my mind was hijacked—my body refused to listen to me.”

“After that, I was forced, like a puppet on strings, to join other mind-controlled Reality Sect members in confronting the military unit trying to take you away.”

At this point, Tang Qi paused, his voice trembling. “Do you have any idea what it felt like to realize that Wen Jinfeng, your brother, was the officer leading them?”

He continued, his tone raw. “I was on the battlefield, completely paralyzed, surrounded by hordes of ordinary zombies, a giant one the size of a hill, and countless Reality Sect members with empty, dead eyes.”

“The fact that I didn’t faint on the spot or lose my mind was a miracle. I somehow broke free from the mental control and managed to escape.”

Though Tang Qi hadn’t yet resolved the divide between reality and hallucination, he no longer dwelled on it. Compared to death, mental instability was tolerable—he could survive it, he could recover.

But fate had dealt him another blow. While returning to City B, Tang Qi had been ambushed by mutant ants.

When he awoke, he found himself here, staring at a face he thought could never be in this place—Wen Xin’s.

“The things I dreamt about before—I could dismiss them as delusions.”

Tang Qi’s red-rimmed eyes bore into Wen Xin’s. “But how do I explain knowing in advance that you and I would end up trapped in this colosseum? Was that just another hallucination?”

Wen Xin’s brow furrowed as the peculiar nature of the situation dawned on him.

If Tang Qi’s visions of City B’s fall and the zombie horde in City G could be attributed to trauma and an unstable mind constructing a narrative, then how could he have foreseen this moment, here in this tunnel?

“Wait.” Wen Xin’s tone sharpened. “You said this place is a colosseum?”

Tang Qi let out a mirthless laugh. “That’s right—this is the infamous Minotaur Beast Arena!”

Wen Xin was about to respond when Tang Qi suddenly pressed a finger to his lips, his expression tense and unhinged.

“Shh.”

“Listen.”

It was almost prophetic.

Three seconds later, a bone-chilling roar echoed from the passage ahead, reverberating through the tunnels like a predator announcing its presence.

The roar was followed by screams, the sound of frantic running, and the eerie scratching of spiked legs dragging against metal as arthropods scuttled through the tunnels.

All these noises fused together, creating an otherworldly and nightmarish tableau.

Tang Qi locked eyes with Wen Xin, his laughter carrying a note of despair. “No one dies on the first day because those mutants want to enjoy watching humans break in desperation.”

“They’ll keep chasing, hissing, and roaring—terrifying us, like cats toying with mice. They don’t eat right away; they just play until we’re completely exhausted.”

“On the second day, someone inevitably asks for water. It’s only natural—we haven’t eaten or drunk anything since we got here.”

“But that’s when we discover the truth: there’s nothing here.”

“No water, no food, no escape.”

“Even then, no one looks at their companions with hunger yet. Instead, we set our sights on two mutant ants fighting each other. We waited for hours until one crawled away, leaving the other behind—it became our lunch for the day.”

From Tang Qi’s bitter smile, Wen Xin could already guess what happened next.

“The mutant ant’s blood and flesh were poisonous, weren’t they?”

Tang Qi spat two words: “Highly toxic.”

Each stroke of those two words carried silent anguish.

“Fourteen participants in the colosseum—three died instantly. One drank the blood, another ate the meat, and the third… the ant wasn’t fully dead. It bit him in half while being moved.”

“Then came the third day, Wen Xin.” Tang Qi’s face twisted into something uglier than a sob. “I don’t know how we even made it to the third day.”

“We had no other choice but to explore deeper. That’s when we encountered the labyrinth master—a spider with a human head.”

“One person was decapitated instantly. Another was impaled through the chest by its legs. Their screams echoed so loudly, it felt like the entire colosseum could hear them.”

“You grabbed me, and we ran. We ran so hard we could barely breathe. But before we could catch our breath, five zombies were released right in front of us.”

“You grabbed me again, and we kept running. Run, run, run—running like our lives depended on it…”

In the end, dream Tang Qi couldn’t take it anymore.

He had already lost his beloved parents and his cat Huan Huan. In a shattered world with no place to call home, he found no reason to keep going.

He chose to be a coward, surrendering to death.

Tang Qi didn’t tell the real Wen Xin, but in the dream, he had resolved to end his life. Using the small safe key that hadn’t been confiscated, he slit his wrist, offering his blood to hydrate the fainting Wen Xin.

Tang Qi’s eyes turned red and wet. He reached out to touch Wen Xin’s cheek as though trying to console the weeping friend from his dream.

His voice quivered with a hint of a sob.

“Wen Xin, I died, but you survived. I didn’t get to see what happened after. Tell me… did you make it? Did you keep going?”

While Tang Qi was immersed in his grief and memories, Wen Xin cut in dryly, “Had enough of touching me yet?”

Slap.

It was like a needle popping a soap bubble. Tang Qi snapped out of his chaotic thoughts.

Had his friend not been so visibly distraught, looking at him with such tragic resolve, Wen Xin wouldn’t have tolerated the pulling and tugging on his face.

This wasn’t grief—it was borderline insanity.

Tang Qi met Wen Xin’s exasperated glare, and the icy look sent a shiver down his spine. He quickly withdrew his hand in alarm.

“Don’t misunderstand! I’m straight—super straight! I plan to marry a gorgeous wife someday!”

Wen Xin: “…”

Unable to hold back, he muttered, “Misunderstand what? If anything, I’d…”

Find someone else? The thought, so unfamiliar, left him momentarily speechless.

The more he considered it, the stranger it felt. He brushed the topic aside with irritation.

“Feel better now that you’ve said all that?”

Realizing Wen Xin had listened patiently just to help him vent, Tang Qi’s brief smile faded into guilt. “You still don’t believe me…”

“I believe you. Hallucinations don’t usually include accurate predictions of the future.”

Wen Xin walked to his cart, retrieved his military backpack from its hiding spot in the pile of ore, and dusted it off.

“Catch.”

Tang Qi blinked in confusion as something flew toward him. Instinctively, he reached out.

A heavy, ice-cold object landed in his palm: a bottle of mineral water.

Water—precious, unattainable water in the Minotaur Beast Arena.

Tang Qi stared at it, dumbfounded, before slowly lifting his gaze to Wen Xin.

“If you’ve suddenly gained some clairvoyant ability,” Wen Xin said with a faint smile, “who’s to say the future is set in stone?”

In the distance, the roars of the beast had ceased.

But the faint skittering of arthropods crawling through the tunnels continued, frantic and hurried—not like hunters but prey in a desperate retreat.

It was only then that Tang Qi noticed Wen Xin’s shoulders were empty. He opened his mouth hesitantly. “…Where are your two mutant companions?”

“They went ahead to clear the way for us,” Wen Xin replied calmly as he loaded his gun. Without warning, he aimed the muzzle directly at Tang Qi.

Bang.

Before Tang Qi could react, a pained screech echoed from behind him.

Whipping around, he saw a mutant ant that had been preparing to ambush them. The bullet had pierced its compound eye, forcing it to rear back in agony.

Wen Xin didn’t give it a chance to escape. His sharp gaze locked onto the target like a blade, and he pulled the trigger again.

Bang, bang, bang.

Three consecutive shots landed precisely in the same wound, black blood blooming like a macabre flower.

The mutant ant collapsed, lifeless.

Wen Xin remained composed.

He had long observed that these mutants, essentially fodder, could be killed with standard bullets.

Tang Qi, however, felt his worldview shatter once more. He wondered if he had drifted into another hallucination. Even knowing that Wen Xin had changed drastically, it was hard to reconcile this sharp-shooting youth with the exhausted figure from his dream, the one who couldn’t run more than a thousand meters without collapsing.

Wen Xin approached him.

Seeing Tang Qi staring blankly with his mouth agape, Wen Xin let out a helpless sigh, a glimmer of amusement softening his expression.

“What are you standing there for?”

The young man extended a hand to his friend, his bright smile radiating confidence.

“Let’s go. We’re going to change the future.”

At the Minotaur Beast Arena, the live broadcast continued.

The Spider Queen and the Canary were locked in combat.

The former was a mutant that had once been on the cusp of evolving into S-grade, while the latter was a fully evolved S-grade mutant.

The disparity in their abilities made the outcome inevitable.

Backed into a corner, the Spider Queen shrieked in fury, realizing that the Canary had come with deadly intent.

“I took some humans, so what?!” she screamed.

“These humans are innocent—what about me? What about my children? Are we not innocent?!”

Her cries grew more anguished.

“When those damned humans experimented on me—forcing me to combine with their kind to test if humans could inherit mutant genes—they disrupted my evolution with their vile injections! They deserve to die! They all deserve to die!”

“I never stopped you from seeking revenge, Spider Queen,” the Canary replied.

Though his claws were poised for the kill, he deliberately held back, raking a shallow gash across her head instead.

His golden eyes bore into hers as he continued, his tone low and steady.

“I told you, when the time is right, I will lead an attack on the First Base. You can join me in City Rose to plan it, or you can wait.”

“Join? Wait?” The Spider Queen spat venomously. “You’re no better than a traitor, like Number Seven and the others! You’ve been tamed by humans and forgotten your hatred, your humiliation. What right do you have to demand my patience or my allegiance?!”

The Canary fell silent for a moment.

Realizing reasoning wouldn’t work, his eyes turned cold. “I have the right because I’m stronger than you.”

The Spider Queen’s fury caught in her throat like a thorn, rendering her speechless.

“Among mutants, strength determines everything,” the Canary said, his words deliberate and final.

“You don’t need to concern yourself with whether I’ll strike back at the First Base or whether I’ve been tamed by humans.”

“You only need to know this: preying on innocent humans and mutants alike is a direct defiance of my will.”

With that, the Canary’s claws flashed like lightning, embedding themselves into the Spider Queen’s forehead.

He applied pressure, and blood seeped from where his claws pierced her flesh.

For the first time, the Spider Queen felt the unmistakable weight of impending death. Trembling in fear, she curled her body into a tight ball.

“If you still don’t understand,” the Canary said, lowering his head to glare at her, “let me make it clearer: follow my rules, or I’ll end you.”

After an agonizingly long silence, the Spider Queen let out a fractured, rasping cry.

She had surrendered.

The Canary withdrew his claws without further comment. “Tell the Ant Queen to release the humans and the mutants you used as entertainment props. Send them all out.”

“Turn the broadcast back on. I want to watch them return to the surface myself.”

Seething with resentment, the Spider Queen begrudgingly complied.

To keep its location secret, the Minotaur Beast Arena had been constructed miles away in an abandoned mining district. It would take half an hour to relay the message to the Ant Queen. In the meantime, the Spider Queen begrudgingly restarted the broadcast.

The delay meant they had missed the prime moment to observe the humans waking and panicking, but no one in the audience dared voice their discontent.

The Canary’s released S-grade aura had reduced the spectators to huddled, trembling heaps.

The man returned to his seat.

Despite the ferocity of the fight, which left the Spider Queen battered and bleeding, the Canary’s clothing remained pristine. His posture as he sat down was commanding, exuding unshakable confidence.

The Canary instinctively crossed his legs.

When he glanced up, his sharp golden eyes met a cold, expressionless face.

Wen Xin.

The Canary froze.

“!!”

In one swift motion, he shot to his feet.

Wen Xin stood behind a surveillance screen, his impassive gaze directed at the feed as if it wasn’t a coincidence but a calculated move—he had already discovered the arena’s voyeurs.

“Owner of the Minotaur Beast Arena,” Wen Xin said, his voice icy, “it’s unfortunate that we meet this way.”

He stepped aside, revealing the scene to the onlookers.

Beneath his feet lay a pale, writhing mass—a defeated and trampled creature.

The creature beneath Wen Xin’s foot wriggled and squirmed, letting out pitiful screeches of desperation.

A wave of horrified gasps rippled through the audience.

Every mutant in the arena wore an expression of disbelief.

It was the Ant Queen, an A-grade mutant on the verge of evolving into S-grade!

And yet, here it was, crushed under the foot of a human. How could this be possible?

Wen Xin’s tone was calm as he spoke. “This is my first visit to your esteemed venue. I didn’t expect such an enthusiastic reception. I’m truly overwhelmed. Naturally, I felt compelled to meet the owner of the arena.”

“I’ll wait for twenty minutes.”

“If, after twenty minutes, the owner of this colosseum doesn’t show up, I’ll finish off this ant. I trust you won’t disappoint either of us.”

His words lingered for only a moment before Wen Xin raised his hand and, without hesitation, fired a shot that shattered the surveillance camera.

Bang.

The screen went black.

The Canary: “……”

Want more chapters that are downloadable as EPUB or PDF? Click Here~