Chapter 341: The Thugs' Banquet (Patreon)

Chapter 341: The Thugs' Banquet

North.

Deep within the desolate ice plains.

A brutal banquet was unfolding in a shelter constructed here.

Thugs driving modified vehicles and armed to the teeth.

They blasted open the shelter's walls with explosives.

Repeating the same process they had carried out countless times elsewhere.

First, they conducted a thorough purge of the shelter.

Indiscriminately slaughtering all ordinary residents deemed worthless, sparing only a few young men and women with delicate features.

Then, after indulging in unrestrained revelry.

A group of the abused young men and women were once again roughly cleaned up.

Their entire bodies were hoisted onto massive charcoal grills.

Amid the scorching heat, they let out desperate screams.

These cries, filled with extreme agony, sounded like the most beautiful music to the thugs' ears.

Providing them with the most thrilling and exhilarating enjoyment.

However, today.

The thugs' banquet was destined not to proceed smoothly.

At a certain moment.

A muffled explosion echoed from outside the shelter.

It was the sound of a grenade detonated by one of the perimeter guards in their dying moments.

The thugs at the banquet alertly grabbed their weapons.

But before they could don the exoskeleton armor piled nearby.

Groups of fist-sized drones emerged from every corner.

As if possessing intelligence, they instantly locked onto their respective targets the moment they appeared.

And crashed straight into them.

Then came violent explosions.

And bursts of orange-red flames that engulfed the thugs entirely.

X-13 Self-Detonating Drones.

The third-generation, self-flying, target-seeking grenades developed under Su Wu's leadership.

In these cramped underground spaces, they demonstrated unbelievably high efficiency.

A total of over forty bandits.

All wiped out by the grenade explosions.

Without even getting a chance to face their attackers.

Moreover, the residual shockwaves from the explosions didn’t even damage the tableware beside the thugs.

"Threat targets eliminated."

"Combat mode deactivated."

Over a dozen spider robots equipped with various heavy weapons.

Followed the grenades, entering the banquet hall one after another.

Taking in the gruesome scene before them.

Half a second later.

One of the spider robots, its camera glowing faintly red, locked onto the sole survivor in the room.

"Brain damage at 17%."

"Estimated time of death: 57 seconds."

Using its rudimentary detection equipment.

The artificial intelligence quickly made its assessment.

Much of the survivor's brain had been charred beyond recognition by the intense heat, rendering any attempt at rescue futile.

The worker remotely controlling the spider robot hesitated for a moment.

Still, they moved closer.

Extinguished the flames below with a mechanical arm, and carefully laid the survivor on the ground.

Then, in a voice only audible to a few colleagues in the remote control center, they softly bid her farewell.

"Rest in peace."

"Such tragedies will never happen again in the future."

Born in a farmhouse compound in Jianghe City.

It had always been.

Through the networks and game currencies it established, along with the hundreds of millions of residents it absorbed.

That post-apocalyptic society was draped in an overly optimistic filter in the eyes of most.

Many people truly believed that life after the apocalypse would simply mean worse food and a more frugal, monotonous existence.

Even in the worst-case scenario, as long as one was willing to work, they could earn enough basic sustenance to survive through in-game labor.

But in reality, this illusion of comfort was like sunlight—warm, yet unable to truly shelter from storms or enforce order.

Once someone crossed the line and acted without restraint, they could instantly plunge those around them into a living hell.

The only recourse for victims was to pray within the game, requesting armed support from the Farmhouse Compound.

But such prayers required exorbitant amounts of in-game currency, and each instance lasted only briefly.

In the apocalypse, with shelters operating in near-isolation, by the time people realized something was wrong and sought help, it was often too late.

All that awaited them was the cruelest face of the apocalypse, stripped of all pretense.

Fortunately, at least for the Eastern Continent, as Su Wu began sweeping across the land with unstoppable momentum, this apocalypse was finally nearing its end.

All humans on the Eastern Continent would gradually be unified under a single Shelter, protected by basic order and guaranteed a baseline standard of living.

True peace was on the horizon.

Southern Eastern Continent,

Chu Lake Province,

Inside a large Shelter.

The once-bustling residential area was shrouded in an eerie silence, broken only by occasional footsteps and knocks echoing through the corridors—proof that this was no abandoned wasteland.

"Unit 203, it's your turn to pay the Blood Tax today. According to regulations, your family of three must contribute 2.5 liters of blood."

Five cultists in black robes embroidered with grotesque patterns stood coldly outside an apartment, guns in hand, announcing the decree of the Shelter's new rulers to the unlucky household drawn by lottery.

The man of the house cautiously cracked the door open, peering out. The sight of five armed figures gave him a sinking feeling. Though 2.5 liters seemed unbearable, he dared not argue.

"Please wait a moment. I'll prepare it right away," he said, bowing respectfully.

But his compliance earned no mercy. The lead cultist yanked the door halfway open and stated flatly, "No need. By the Bishop's decree, to prevent cheating, we'll draw the blood ourselves—0.9 liters per male, 0.8 per female."

The man nearly collapsed at this news. Gritting his teeth, he pleaded, trembling, "Sir, our child is only five. That amount would kill her. Please take her share from us adults."

The cultist tilted his head slightly. The madness and indifference in his eyes chilled the man to the bone.

Then came the words that sealed his despair:

"If she'll die, then we'll take the whole person."

"Perfect material for a live sacrifice."

The master of the house clenched his teeth tightly, recalling all the atrocities these cultists had committed since their arrival.

Realizing there was no room for negotiation,

he steeled his heart and lunged to seize the weapon from the cultist before him.

This was his only chance of survival.

But the moment he revealed his intention,

several other cultists who had been watching immediately raised their guns and fired without hesitation,

riddling his body with bullets.

Judging from the cultists' practiced and decisive movements,

it was clear they had come this time

with the sole purpose of harvesting the lives of the man's entire family.

They had never intended to give them any other choice.

Kicking aside the lifeless body of the master of the house at the doorway,

the lead cultist stepped inside.

In the corner of the room, he found a mother and daughter clinging to each other, trembling in fear.

Over an hour later,

on the first floor of the Shelter,

a vast square forcibly cleared by demolishing surrounding buildings

was gradually filled with hundreds of cultists herding young women and children into its perimeter.

Within the square,

three Mechanical Mills connected to the central Blood Pool

stood silently in a triangular formation at the edges,

exuding a thick, metallic scent of blood.

The blackened stains coating the machines made it obvious

they had been used many times before.

In the three days since the cultists had seized this Shelter,

over two thousand people

had been thrown alive into these machines each day.

Their pulverized flesh would then spill through the outlet pipes,

filling the Blood Pool at the center of the square

as offerings for their rituals.

As the Mechanical Mills roared to life once more,

signaling the start of another bloody ceremony,

a sudden tremor erupted from the depths of the Shelter.

With a sharp snap,

all power and lights were cut off,

plunging the entire square into darkness.

An armed force from the outside had launched an assault on this unnamed large-scale Shelter—

Chu Lake Province.

Chu Lake City.

Billions of tons of concrete had been poured to level a canyon here,

creating a massive Shelter seamlessly integrated into the surrounding mountains.

The megacity of Chu Lake,

home to 33 million people

and stocked with over 50 million tons of food,

was the Eastern Continent's most well-provisioned Super Shelter—second only to the Eastern Continent's capital.

Yet despite being built

atop what was essentially a granary,

its residents

were universally malnourished.

Over half the population couldn’t secure even the most basic rations,

their vital signs teetering between extreme exhaustion and sudden death.

Hunger and poverty, in turn, bred violence and chaos,

leaving the city’s fragile lower-class order

on the brink of large-scale collapse.