Chapter 75: Ambers of the Long Night (31)
Tang Mobai and Deville came back one after the other, neither saying a word. Yan Wuzhen paid special attention and noticed that Deville kept his head lowered, though his eyes kept flicking subtly toward Tang Mobai. Tang Mobai, however, never looked back at him — as if their relationship had completely fallen apart.
Gluttony asked blankly in his mind: “Why did you have to say it out loud like that…?”
What difference did it make compared to doing it himself?
Jealousy couldn’t explain it either. He also thought his reaction was strange, but since he’d already said it, he couldn’t take it back. He forced himself to reply stiffly: “What, so if I lied, you could’ve kept hiding it?”
Gluttony: “…?”
So how did this suddenly become his fault?
People’s sorrows and joys are never truly shared. Deville was silently heartbroken, while Yan Wuzhen nodded in satisfaction. He didn’t bother adding insult to injury and finally gave up pretending to “help” Seth, which had only made things worse. Instead, he decisively declared that he knew nothing about technological devices and openly turned to Tang Mobai, who was walking over: “So, what’s next?”
“Uh, we should probably figure out how to get back to the surface first.” Tang Mobai came back to himself.
From the brief messages flashing across the barrage, it seemed the world was nearing its end. The upcoming “election ceremony” was likely the final task point.
If the natives held their ground, they’d still face the collapse of the superintelligent AI. If the demons took over, the mission would end immediately, sending them back to Lost Paradise.
No matter how you looked at it — it was a dead end.
Tang Mobai scratched his hair, temporarily shoving aside the matter with Deville. He couldn’t think of any way to break the stalemate, but staying trapped in the Lost City wasn’t an option either.
As for himself, he didn’t really care about Lost Paradise’s mission. The groundwork for Hungry Hell had already taken shape. When he first fell into the Lost City, the barrage’s rescue operations had proven as much. After Red Duke’s failed attack and the immense cost it caused, the Merchant Alliance’s continued targeting of Tang Mobai had lost all strategic value. Unless Tang Mobai died here in this instance, his return to Hungry Hell would ensure those merchants wouldn’t sleep for days.
By all logic, if Tang Mobai didn’t want to get tangled in the mess between the dungeon world and Lost Paradise, quietly staying in the Lost City was actually a decent option — even the barrage agreed.
[Stay put, President Fuguang!]
[Exactly! The chaos aboveground has nothing to do with you! That battlefield’s already a higher-level hell zone. The demons of Crisis Hell are in control — Hungry Hell’s devils have all withdrawn! Don’t go doing something stupid!]
[Yeah! Just stay in the Lost City. We don’t mind if you slack off. You’ve already done great — Reward: 200 points]
[Reward 100 points: Please just stay. You’re exhausted.]
[This stream is really something. Every other demon streamer’s chat keeps egging them on to take risks, but you guys are begging yours not to go.]
[Right? What’s in it for you if he doesn’t go? No drama, no new intel.]
In Lost Paradise, what decided a demon streamer’s popularity boiled down to two things: entertainment and intel.
Entertainment was obvious — providing emotional satisfaction. That might sound ordinary, but for demons who fed on emotion and desire, it was vital. Intel, on the other hand, came from exploration — as streamers ventured through worlds, the audience automatically received world-related information.
That meant most famous demon streamers had to risk their lives exploring and gathering information — no peaceful days at all. The bigger the streamer, the heavier the risk. It was the first time anyone had seen an audience begging their streamer to stay safe and not explore.
[Benefits? Of course there are benefits!]
[Him being alive is the biggest benefit to us!]
[???]
Only the demons of Hungry Hell understood what that meant. No one knew whether there would ever be another successor after Tang Mobai — better not count on the moral integrity of other demon kings. There wouldn’t be another one like him anytime soon.
And so, for the first time, the barrage collectively humbled itself, sincerely pleading with Tang Mobai not to take any more risks — that just staying alive was enough.
But Tang Mobai’s answer was: No way!
“Seth, what’s the situation now? Can we go back?”
“It’s… tricky.” Seth frowned tightly. “The energy left in this device should be enough for one more transfer — but there’s a new problem.”
“What problem?”
“The principle of spatial folding — instantaneously jumping from point A to point B — requires feeding in the planet’s full surface coordinates and geographic data,” Seth explained. “But the problem now is, the Lost City exists in a virtual-world bug zone. Its data is corrupted, and the geographic-assist system won’t start. We’ll have to manually input the data for it to work.”
Tang Mobai blinked. “So…?”
“So we need to find out the exact distance from here to the surface — precisely. If we’re off by too much, we might end up underground… or in midair,” Seth said.
“Great.” Tang Mobai rubbed his temples. “And how do we get that distance data?”
“That’s the current problem.” Seth sighed. “If the people on the surface could somehow coordinate with us, it might work. I’ve flown in Emmanuel’s ship before, so I roughly know its cruising range. But the question is — how do we even notify the people up there?”
Everyone fell silent. Good question.
In the Lost City, all communications with the surface were severed. Chip networks didn’t work either.
“If we can’t use comms, I guess that leaves physical methods,” Tang Mobai said.
Yan Wuzhen raised a brow. “What kind of physical method can cross several kilometers of rock and reach the surface?”
Tang Mobai racked his brain. “Flashlights? Smoke? Banners? Paint?”
Yan Wuzhen laughed. “The Lost City’s backlit. From the surface, it’s pitch black — forget banners or paint.”
Seth thought for a moment. “If we use light, the distance from the surface to here is way too long. With our remaining energy and points, we couldn’t illuminate even a fraction. And even if we could, how would we make sure they understood the signal?”
“There should be some common codes, right? Universal knowledge — like Morse code or something…” Tang Mobai’s voice trailed off when he noticed Yan Wuzhen and Seth staring at him blankly.
Seth: “Morse code? What’s that?”
Yan Wuzhen: “Each world has different cultures — how can you assume ‘common codes’ are the same? Or did you agree on this beforehand?”
The three exchanged looks — realizing none of them had thought that far ahead.
Even if Lost Paradise provided automatic language translation, that didn’t extend to ciphers or symbolic codes.
So how could they send a message across worlds, cultures, and systems with such primitive means?
Just then, in the real world, one of the experts suddenly had an idea.
“If that’s the case… then maybe there’s a way…”
Meanwhile, on the surface, the election ceremony drew near. This time, however, there was no live broadcast, and even the list of candidates wasn’t publicized.
Most citizens understood why. Everyone knew the recent wave of political assassinations wasn’t random. Some demanded the election be delayed, but the decisions made by the superintelligent AI were irreversible.
Pressure now rested on the upper government. The public demanded answers and the capture of the culprits — or else, it was dereliction of duty.
Nahem was exhausted, his hair now streaked with white. Even with constant surveillance over Ge Guang’s group, there was no sign of outside contact — and no way to stop the continued assassinations of high-ranking officials.
In fact, after Ge Guang’s group was detained by the Inspection Bureau, the killings only escalated, as if in deliberate provocation.
The demons’ movements were impossible to track. They seemed to have the ability to lock onto targets and teleport. No matter how well-protected or remote their victims were — mountains, forests, or bunkers — the demons always found them, broke through security with bizarre abilities, killed their targets, and vanished on the spot.
Tang Mobai and Deville came back one after the other, neither saying a word. Yan Wuzhen paid special attention and noticed that Deville kept his head lowered, though his eyes kept flicking subtly toward Tang Mobai. Tang Mobai, however, never looked back at him — as if their relationship had completely fallen apart.
Gluttony asked blankly in his mind: “Why did you have to say it out loud like that…?”
What difference did it make compared to doing it himself?
Jealousy couldn’t explain it either. He also thought his reaction was strange, but since he’d already said it, he couldn’t take it back. He forced himself to reply stiffly: “What, so if I lied, you could’ve kept hiding it?”
Gluttony: “…?”
So how did this suddenly become his fault?
People’s sorrows and joys are never truly shared. Deville was silently heartbroken, while Yan Wuzhen nodded in satisfaction. He didn’t bother adding insult to injury and finally gave up pretending to “help” Seth, which had only made things worse. Instead, he decisively declared that he knew nothing about technological devices and openly turned to Tang Mobai, who was walking over: “So, what’s next?”
“Uh, we should probably figure out how to get back to the surface first.” Tang Mobai came back to himself.
From the brief messages flashing across the barrage, it seemed the world was nearing its end. The upcoming “election ceremony” was likely the final task point.
If the natives held their ground, they’d still face the collapse of the superintelligent AI. If the demons took over, the mission would end immediately, sending them back to Lost Paradise.
No matter how you looked at it — it was a dead end.
Tang Mobai scratched his hair, temporarily shoving aside the matter with Deville. He couldn’t think of any way to break the stalemate, but staying trapped in the Lost City wasn’t an option either.
As for himself, he didn’t really care about Lost Paradise’s mission. The groundwork for Hungry Hell had already taken shape. When he first fell into the Lost City, the barrage’s rescue operations had proven as much. After Red Duke’s failed attack and the immense cost it caused, the Merchant Alliance’s continued targeting of Tang Mobai had lost all strategic value. Unless Tang Mobai died here in this instance, his return to Hungry Hell would ensure those merchants wouldn’t sleep for days.
By all logic, if Tang Mobai didn’t want to get tangled in the mess between the dungeon world and Lost Paradise, quietly staying in the Lost City was actually a decent option — even the barrage agreed.
[Stay put, President Fuguang!]
[Exactly! The chaos aboveground has nothing to do with you! That battlefield’s already a higher-level hell zone. The demons of Crisis Hell are in control — Hungry Hell’s devils have all withdrawn! Don’t go doing something stupid!]
[Yeah! Just stay in the Lost City. We don’t mind if you slack off. You’ve already done great — Reward: 200 points]
[Reward 100 points: Please just stay. You’re exhausted.]
[This stream is really something. Every other demon streamer’s chat keeps egging them on to take risks, but you guys are begging yours not to go.]
[Right? What’s in it for you if he doesn’t go? No drama, no new intel.]
In Lost Paradise, what decided a demon streamer’s popularity boiled down to two things: entertainment and intel.
Entertainment was obvious — providing emotional satisfaction. That might sound ordinary, but for demons who fed on emotion and desire, it was vital. Intel, on the other hand, came from exploration — as streamers ventured through worlds, the audience automatically received world-related information.
That meant most famous demon streamers had to risk their lives exploring and gathering information — no peaceful days at all. The bigger the streamer, the heavier the risk. It was the first time anyone had seen an audience begging their streamer to stay safe and not explore.
[Benefits? Of course there are benefits!]
[Him being alive is the biggest benefit to us!]
[???]
Only the demons of Hungry Hell understood what that meant. No one knew whether there would ever be another successor after Tang Mobai — better not count on the moral integrity of other demon kings. There wouldn’t be another one like him anytime soon.
And so, for the first time, the barrage collectively humbled itself, sincerely pleading with Tang Mobai not to take any more risks — that just staying alive was enough.
But Tang Mobai’s answer was: No way!
“Seth, what’s the situation now? Can we go back?”
“It’s… tricky.” Seth frowned tightly. “The energy left in this device should be enough for one more transfer — but there’s a new problem.”
“What problem?”
“The principle of spatial folding — instantaneously jumping from point A to point B — requires feeding in the planet’s full surface coordinates and geographic data,” Seth explained. “But the problem now is, the Lost City exists in a virtual-world bug zone. Its data is corrupted, and the geographic-assist system won’t start. We’ll have to manually input the data for it to work.”
Tang Mobai blinked. “So…?”
“So we need to find out the exact distance from here to the surface — precisely. If we’re off by too much, we might end up underground… or in midair,” Seth said.
“Great.” Tang Mobai rubbed his temples. “And how do we get that distance data?”
“That’s the current problem.” Seth sighed. “If the people on the surface could somehow coordinate with us, it might work. I’ve flown in Emmanuel’s ship before, so I roughly know its cruising range. But the question is — how do we even notify the people up there?”
Everyone fell silent. Good question.
In the Lost City, all communications with the surface were severed. Chip networks didn’t work either.
“If we can’t use comms, I guess that leaves physical methods,” Tang Mobai said.
Yan Wuzhen raised a brow. “What kind of physical method can cross several kilometers of rock and reach the surface?”
Tang Mobai racked his brain. “Flashlights? Smoke? Banners? Paint?”
Yan Wuzhen laughed. “The Lost City’s backlit. From the surface, it’s pitch black — forget banners or paint.”
Seth thought for a moment. “If we use light, the distance from the surface to here is way too long. With our remaining energy and points, we couldn’t illuminate even a fraction. And even if we could, how would we make sure they understood the signal?”
“There should be some common codes, right? Universal knowledge — like Morse code or something…” Tang Mobai’s voice trailed off when he noticed Yan Wuzhen and Seth staring at him blankly.
Seth: “Morse code? What’s that?”
Yan Wuzhen: “Each world has different cultures — how can you assume ‘common codes’ are the same? Or did you agree on this beforehand?”
The three exchanged looks — realizing none of them had thought that far ahead.
Even if Lost Paradise provided automatic language translation, that didn’t extend to ciphers or symbolic codes.
So how could they send a message across worlds, cultures, and systems with such primitive means?
Just then, in the real world, one of the experts suddenly had an idea.
“If that’s the case… then maybe there’s a way…”
Meanwhile, on the surface, the election ceremony drew near. This time, however, there was no live broadcast, and even the list of candidates wasn’t publicized.
Most citizens understood why. Everyone knew the recent wave of political assassinations wasn’t random. Some demanded the election be delayed, but the decisions made by the superintelligent AI were irreversible.
Pressure now rested on the upper government. The public demanded answers and the capture of the culprits — or else, it was dereliction of duty.
Nahem was exhausted, his hair now streaked with white. Even with constant surveillance over Ge Guang’s group, there was no sign of outside contact — and no way to stop the continued assassinations of high-ranking officials.
In fact, after Ge Guang’s group was detained by the Inspection Bureau, the killings only escalated, as if in deliberate provocation.
The demons’ movements were impossible to track. They seemed to have the ability to lock onto targets and teleport. No matter how well-protected or remote their victims were — mountains, forests, or bunkers — the demons always found them, broke through security with bizarre abilities, killed their targets, and vanished on the spot.
It could be said that in direct combat, the demons were no match for the world’s military forces. But when it came to solo operations — hidden within cities, striking from the shadows — then the advantage shifted entirely. The demons, with their diverse power systems and bizarre, unpredictable abilities and tools, were the ones who truly dominated.
This kind of political assassination — destabilizing a world’s social order — was a game they had played across countless worlds. They were long since familiar with it. When the demons of Crisis Hell descended and took over command, the guild’s efficiency, organization, and logistical strength were fully displayed.
Current number of active players in the instance: 523.
The ability to lock onto targets came from a member of the Firestorm Guild led by You Le. Combined with a tracking artifact from Li Guang’s guild, they could pinpoint the locations of other candidates. The ghost-like teleportation was achieved through the guild’s emergency deployment of stealth-type items — magical and fantasy-tech hybrids. After assassinating their targets, the operatives vanished instantly using escape spells purchased with guild-provided points — rewards meant for immediate extraction after mission completion.
Such rapid coordination and unity came from Ge Guang’s realization that the world’s NPCs weren’t easy opponents. Thus, the guilds temporarily allied to eliminate potential candidate NPCs in advance.
That was why the guild demons were so arrogant — because they had reason to be. Once the Merchant Alliance identified a target, it became a well-oiled war machine. Their speed and precision were something lone demons could never match.
This kind of swift, alien efficiency finally gave the jaded viewers of the livestream a renewed sense of demonic superiority.
[Guilds are still the strongest. Look at that level of mobilization and resource distribution — that’s what real warfare looks like. In the end, it’s the guilds who conquer these instance worlds. Lone wolves can only do so much.]
[Exactly. People who were mocking the guilds earlier over a few small setbacks — do they even understand where a guild’s real strength lies?]
[Now this is satisfying. Love seeing Lost Paradise dominate! Seriously though, who’s still supporting that biased streamer on the NPCs’ side? You people are insane. We’re enemies with this world’s natives. Helping them is just laughable.]
[So? You think Tang Mobai can do this? Can Fuguang pull this off? Think about it — if the guild clears this world, everyone benefits. New goods from this world will enter Lost Paradise’s trade system. That’s a win for all demons.]
[??? You talk like they’re actually going to share the profits with us. What’s that got to do with us anyway? Is dinner going to cost me five points less next time? Prices never change.]
[Prices aren’t high, you’re just broke. Maybe look at yourself — has your income gone up? Done any better in your missions these years?]
[Heh, you’re the funny one. Do you think this level of operation is the guilds’ standard procedure? Get real. Each teleportation spell like that costs thousands of points. A single instance doesn’t bring in enough rewards to cover it. They’ve already used over a dozen teleports, not even counting item and personnel costs. If every guild project ran like this, they’d have gone bankrupt long ago!]
[True. This must be a rare opportunity — or maybe the superintelligent AI is just too valuable. Probably the Crisis Hell demons struck a deal with the higher-ups for this joint operation.]
[Yeah, it’s been ages since we’ve seen so many guilds working together. Even in the entire history of Hungry Hell, this kind of large-scale collaboration is rare — even among the higher hells.]
[Last time was the assassination attempt on Tang Mobai (dog-head emoji).]
[And it failed…]
[Yeah, that was rough…]
[If Tang Mobai ruins this operation too, things will get very interesting.]
[You kidding? The guy’s still trapped up there — he can’t even get down.]
[Right. If he tries to come down now, that’s suicide. Even the King of Greed couldn’t save him, I’m telling you.]
[Then how about we open a betting pool? I’ve seen enough — Tang Mobai’s really not afraid of death, and his luck is unreal. He’s like the guilds’ natural nemesis. You can just feel he’s going to stir up trouble again.]
[I’m in!]
[Same here!]
[Open the bets!]
And so the deadly game continued — demons killing, natives defending. The cat-and-mouse chase went back and forth for over a dozen rounds. The list of government candidates grew shorter and shorter. Each blacked-out name represented a life lost… and the government’s helplessness laid bare.
Finally, on the third night — under a deep and heavy darkness — the election ceremony began.
Thank you for reading 🙂 I hope you all liked my translations. If you enjoyed my work, please consider buying me a Ko-Fi 😉
