Apocalypse Gachapon - Chapter 1808: Vengeful Mist rainforest (1)
These warriors weren’t particularly formidable in terms of strength—at least in Ye Zhongming’s estimation, they appeared to be around level nine in evolutionary terms, and even then, fairly average ones.
But with the aid of their mechanical armor and disciplined battle formations, the troublesome mutant lifeforms and parasites were swiftly slaughtered without any chance to fight back.
Soon, order was restored in the novice camp, and all the corpses were hauled away.
The recorder embedded in their eyes displayed a number: 30,143. A few seconds later, the number shifted before settling at 30,098.
It quickly became clear—this was the count of remaining novices.
Meaning, in that brief period of chaos, forty-five novices had died.
Ye Zhongming surveyed the wreckage of the camp, a pang of melancholy striking him.
These warriors had likely been the elites of their respective planets—or at least, carefully nurtured by their factions to compete for quotas. If nothing else, they must have held some status and strength. Yet, they had perished before the main event even began.
Was this their tragedy? Or the universe’s?
Zizikaba, who had vanished earlier, reappeared above the camp once the gates were sealed.
“Your recorders will display rewards for this surprise attack. Official shops are now open—exchange points for goods, or trade materials and magic crystals.”
With that, he left, his earlier domineering aura completely absent.
The novices turned their attention to the camp’s most “luxurious” structure—a tall building where, mere seconds later, some began rushing inside.
These were the ones who had earned points from the skirmish.
“Should we take a look?” Jie Kui asked, itching with curiosity but also sighing inwardly.
He had fully supported Ye Zhongming’s earlier approach, believing it the wisest choice.
But now? The rewards had been distributed retroactively. He didn’t know how much had been given out, but the thought gnawed at him. At the very least, they had gathered materials—low-value, yes, but in bulk. Maybe selling them could get them something?
Ye Zhongming suspected the materials wouldn’t fetch much. Aslan had warned—the shops were exorbitant, designed to fleece them.
Still, browsing wouldn’t hurt. It would give them an idea of what was available.
The two waited where they were—the shop was still packed, impossible to enter.
One of those dragon-like creatures even tried shoving its massive head inside, prompting yells of protest from those already crammed within.
Of course, they also had no desire to return to the Star-Eye Clan’s rest area. That place was barely fit for living—and now, even their tent had collapsed.
After waiting over an hour, the crowd thinned enough for Ye Zhongming and Jie Kui to enter.
The interior was spacious, divided into two floors separated by an energy barrier. The upper floor was accessible only via a teleportation gate—their recorders indicated a 300-point minimum was required to ascend.
The first floor felt oddly empty, lined with ten machines. Each had a physical screen on the left and a low platform on the right, its center sealed by a fan-blade-shaped metal door. The former was likely the interface, the latter a retrieval port.
Though the crowd had lessened, all ten machines were still occupied. Ye Zhongming and Jie Kui had no choice but to wait.
Coincidentally, before a machine freed up, the Nangmao Clan entered.
Tension spiked instantly.
Private combat was forbidden here, but that didn’t stop the Nangmao from hurling insults at Ye Zhongming’s group.
They had been watching earlier—mocking them for cowardice, for fleeing instead of fighting.
Ye Zhongming remained unfazed, utterly ignoring them. Jie Kui, however, proved even more impressive—firing back without fear, his mastery of Shadowtongue’s most creative insults leaving Ye Zhongming in awe. How had he mastered so many profane combinations involving female relatives and verbs in such a short time?
Eventually, the Nangmao warriors retreated, reduced to empty threats of vengeance outside the camp. Too furious to even browse the shop, they stormed out.
Jie Kui, rather than basking in victory, wore a bitter smile. “Did I just mess up?”
Ye Zhongming shrugged. “My people have a saying: ‘Indulge now, die later.’”
Jie Kui: “…”
Finally, a machine was freed up. The two approached—operation was simple, with items clearly categorized: food, clothing, weapons, equipment, and miscellaneous goods.
But as Aslan had warned—everything was outrageously expensive.
Ye Zhongming sighed inwardly. The Novice Battlefield might seem fair, but the major factions held insurmountable advantages. Their warriors arrived decked in top-tier gear, their spatial storage packed with unrestricted supplies. High-grade potions, scarce even among spacefaring races, were likely stockpiled in their inventories.
Meanwhile, the Star-Eye Clan’s best efforts still paled in comparison.
If he had participated as a warrior of the Taros Red Dwarves, he’d have been armed to the teeth—not stuck with outdated equipment from cosmic eras past.
Jie Kui focused on finished gear, while Ye Zhongming scoured materials and unfamiliar items. Then they checked the material exchange list.
The haul from earlier? Worth one point—enough for the cheapest rations.
Disheartened, they left. Jie Kui was certain—he’d never see the second floor in twenty-one days.
Back at camp, Shi Kangbo and Bu Lanuo were absent. The two propped up their tattered tent, tidied up as best they could, and settled in for rest.
They could go days without sleep, but fatigue would only hasten their deaths.
The next morning, the camp gates opened on schedule. Novices streamed out, faced with thirty teleportation platforms leading to different zones—all detailed in their recorders, complete with brief introductions.
One by one, factions departed for their chosen destinations.
Jie Kui turned to Ye Zhongming, a hint of despair in his voice as he asked one last time:
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.”
With that, Ye Zhongming stepped onto the 27th platform.
