Hearing the pink-haired girl’s exclamation, Chu Che moved with terrifying speed.

He blurred, appearing almost instantly by her side, faster even than Chen Ye could react.

Chen Ye’s gaze landed on the object that had caused the girl to cry out.

It was a complete, flayed face. Soft, pliable skin with hollow voids where the eyes and mouth should have been.

A wave of visceral discomfort washed over Chen Ye.

It was the human face of the scorpion.

He hadn’t expected the second piece of Artifact material to be something so grotesque.

Memories of the battle surfaced—the uncanny way the face had twisted and mocked them. Chen Ye’s expression darkened.

But his expression was pleasant compared to the pink-haired girl’s.

During the fight, that face had morphed into a woman who looked disturbingly like her. That psychological attack had been the very thing that broke her combat focus.

Now, staring at the limp skin of her own doppelgänger, she looked ready to vomit.

Captain Chu Che, on the other hand, was ecstatic.

He snatched the skin from the sand, fondling it like a lover.

Chen Ye quietly activated his system.

Minus 90 Slaughter Points.

The appraisal window popped up, detailing the item in Chu Che’s hands.

[Item Name: Human-Faced Scorpion’s Face Skin] [Type: Artifact Material] [Origin: Dropped by a Human-Faced Scorpion, killed by the combined efforts of three Sequence Beyonders.] [Comment: The facial dermis of a Human-Faced Scorpion. It possesses powerful transformation and self-repair capabilities. If not for the sunlight weakening it, the creature would have been nearly immortal. A rare Artifact material worthy of careful collection.]

“Struck gold,” Chu Che muttered, his eyes shining as he stroked the leathery texture. “We really struck gold.”

Nana made a sound of pure disgust, turning on her heel and stomping away.

Chen Ye, however, watched with keen interest.

The appraisal fee was 90 Slaughter Points. While high, it was still less than the 100 points he had paid to appraise the Skin-Peeler Ghost’s Scalp.

Chen Ye struggled to keep his face neutral as he looked at Chu Che’s ecstatic expression.

The Captain was practically drooling over this Face Skin, oblivious to the fact that the scalp he had traded to Chen Ye earlier was likely far more valuable.

According to the System, the Scalp could be crafted into a top-tier Artifact—one of the “First 2000” series. The Face Skin had no such high-ranking evaluation.

It was good, certainly, but it wasn’t that good.

“What? You want this, too?”

Catching Chen Ye’s intense stare, Captain Chu’s expression shifted, revealing a hint of fox-like cunning.

“The skin I gave you before… I didn’t know exactly what it was, but I guessed it was valuable,” Chu Che said, his tone measuring. “I got it by chance, so trading it away didn’t hurt too much. Besides, you’re part of the team. If you get stronger, the convoy gets stronger.”

He paused, patting the gruesome face skin in his hand. “But this thing… hehe…”

“To kill this Scorpion, we needed Nana’s sword, Iron Lion’s tanking, your smoke, and my dog’s blood,” Chu Che stated firmly. “Without any one of us, we would have failed.”

“Therefore, both this Face Skin and the Carapace belong to the team. All four of us have a share. You have no objections, right?”

Chen Ye remained silent for a moment.

Chu Che was right. It was a fair assessment. Without the team, there would be no loot.

“No objections,” Chen Ye said.

“Good. So, if you want either of these materials, you’ll have to trade for them. Fairness is the most important rule of the apocalypse.”

Chen Ye nodded.

He was interested, sure, but he had nothing of equal value to trade right now. The sandstorm had likely cost him a significant chunk of his own Supplies.

“I’ll hold onto these for now,” Chu Che said, patting Chen Ye’s shoulder with a warm, diplomatic smile. “When you have enough assets to trade, come find me. I’ll mediate the deal with Nana and Iron Lion.”

The sun began to dip toward the western horizon, bathing the undulating sand dunes in a dreamlike orange-red glow.

Looking at the serene landscape, it was hard to believe a deadly sandstorm had just ravaged the area.

Iron Lion, the big lug, was still passed out on a dune, snoring loudly.

Old Li had organized the survivors to set up a makeshift canopy to shield the wounded man from the dying sun’s heat.

Iron Lion’s wounds were closing, but the edges of the punctures were black—evidence of the Scorpion’s poison. Black blood oozed sluggishly from the holes.

A young girl had been assigned to tend to him. Every time the black blood seeped out, she would wipe it away with a towel.

When she saw Chen Ye approaching, she flinched, shrinking back in obvious fear.

Chen Ye ignored her and went to check on his vehicle.

Most of the convoy was buried. The two sedan cars were half-submerged in the shifting sands.

Digging them out was grueling work. The sand left behind by the storm was soft and treacherous, doubling the effort required.

Distinctions between men and women had vanished. Every survivor, regardless of gender, was on their hands and knees, using boards, hubcaps, or their bare hands to shovel sand. In the wasteland, a vehicle was life.

Chen Ye reached his Doomsday Pickup.

The damage was extensive.

All the windows—driver’s side, passenger’s side, and the front windshield—had been blown out.

The rear canopy, which covered the truck bed, had been torn off completely, blown to god-knows-where. The bed was now bare, exposing the metal to the elements.

The Supplies he had strapped to the roof rack were gone.

However, the core was intact.

His vehicle, affectionately nicknamed the ‘Chili Fish Head’ because of its boxy, Micro-Car origins, still had its cabin structure. Though it was a modified two-door pickup, it retained a small back seat area behind the driver.

Chen Ye had stashed his food reserves there.

The sandstorm had stripped the exterior, but the cabin held. The frame was slightly deformed from the pressure, but a System check confirmed the vehicle was functionally sound.

Chen Ye let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

At least it runs.

The car looked even more “apocalyptic” now—battered, windowless, and stripped of paint. He consoled himself with the thought that the missing windows would provide better ventilation in the desert heat.

It took until midnight for the survivors to dig out the entire convoy.

As they gathered, the reduced numbers were starkly apparent.

“Sigh… When we left Longevity Village, there were over forty of us,” Uncle Abao murmured, his face etched with deep wrinkles. “Now, there are fewer than thirty.”

“How many lost?” Chen Ye asked, a fresh cigarette dangling from his lips, his eyes hidden behind sunglasses.

“The two guys on the motorcycles… gone. And A-Cai… he wandered off and never came back…”

Uncle Abao rambled on, listing names. He was only in his forties, but the stress had aged him into a man of fifty.

He managed the convoy’s logistics and knew everyone personally. The loss weighed heavily on him.

“It’s good that we are still alive,” Chen Ye said, his voice flat. “In this situation, we can barely take care of ourselves.”

He wasn’t close to these people. They were nodding acquaintances at best. Even when Zhou Lan had disappeared, he hadn’t felt much.

Seeing the indifference in Chen Ye’s eyes, Uncle Abao sighed inwardly.

This man is truly hard-hearted.

Perhaps only powerful Beyonders like Chu Che, Nana, and Iron Lion were “real people” in Chen Ye’s eyes. Everyone else was just background noise, waiting to die.

But Abao couldn’t blame him. They had seen too much death escaping Jiang City. To survive, you had to armor your heart.

“Chen Ye,” Abao said, shifting the topic. “Since there are so few of us left, A-Che suggested we combine our meals from now on.”

“It saves fuel and resources. Of course, you still provide your own ingredients.”

Chen Ye thought for a moment and nodded. “Agreed.”

He was sick of his own cooking anyway. Aside from instant noodles, his culinary skills were mediocre at best.

The new arrangement would split the convoy into two mess groups: the four Beyonders—Chen Ye, Chu Che, Nana, and Iron Lion—would eat together, while the ordinary survivors formed the second group.

Participation wasn’t forced, but Chen Ye saw the logic in it.

After Uncle Abao left to organize the fire, Chen Ye sat on the bumper of his battered pickup.

Before dinner, there was one last thing to check.

He opened the System interface to view his total Slaughter Points.

His heart skipped a beat.

The number glowing on the screen was staggering.

[Slaughter Points: 30,000+]

It was the largest haul he had ever possessed.