Apocalypse: I Can Upgrade Everything

Chapter 184: The Cruel Price

Looking down at the crude Heavy Machete in his hands, Chen Ye let out a self-deprecating scoff.

To even compare this mass-produced slab of steel to an Artifact ranked in the top ten was pure absurdity. The world’s top ten Artifacts—whether measured by their mythical origins, their legendary creators, or the sheer, world-bending nature of their existence—were all one-in-a-billion anomalies.

His Heavy Machete, on the other hand, was a cheap byproduct of the industrial age, stamped out of ordinary, low-grade steel. That naive girl, Sun Qianqian, had tried to claim it was a “handmade piece.” That was absolute nonsense. It was a factory-line tool, birthed for the sole purpose of chopping firewood and clearing brush.

Conversely, Sun Qianqian’s sword was her grandfather’s prized heirloom. While she had never explicitly revealed her family’s background, possessing a blade of that caliber meant her grandfather was far from an ordinary man. To be collected by a man of his stature, that sword had to be steeped in history.

Comparing this rugged Heavy Machete to Sun Qianqian’s elegant blade was like comparing a dirt-covered peasant to a pampered royal.

Chen Ye shook the idle thoughts from his head and returned his focus to the system interface, reading the rest of Hatred’s data.

[Price: Holder of Hatred, unimaginable power demands a terrifying toll. If you are willing to pay, Hatred will not disappoint you.]

[Condition: The holder must offer a piece of their own living flesh as a blood sacrifice. High priority targets: Vision, Hearing, Taste, Smell, or the amputation of a limb.]

[Note: Vision is the optimal sacrifice and carries a high probability of actively increasing Hatred’s numerical ranking!]

[Note: Dear holder, the more agonizing the price paid, the more devastating the enhancement Hatred will receive. This sacrifice is a one-time transaction to secure the blade’s eternal loyalty.]

[WARNING: Upon binding Hatred, the holder has exactly three hours to initiate the sacrifice. Failure to do so will trigger catastrophic consequences.]

Chen Ye stared at the glowing blue text in dead silence.

He needed to carve off a piece of his own body and feed it to this blade?

A heavy knot of hesitation formed in his chest. Even though he wasn’t a Sequence Beyonder who relied purely on close-quarters combat, the thought of hacking off his own arm or leg for a weapon was unacceptable. The price was simply too steep. Even for an Artifact ranked 2001, even if it were the strongest weapon in his arsenal, crippling his mobility in a post-apocalyptic wasteland was strategic suicide.

What about hearing? Would he have to slice off his own ear?

Taste? He could technically survive without it. But did that mean severing his tongue? How would he issue commands or communicate in the field?

Smell? Carving off his own nose?

Absolutely not. The price was monstrous.

Yet, the thought of abandoning a Rank 2001 Artifact gnawed at his ambition. A ranking that high meant there were only two thousand items in the entire world stronger than it. He firmly believed that when the Doomsday Pickup eventually evolved into a true Monster Pickup, its ranking would eclipse the Heavy Machete, but that day was still a long way off.

My right eye. The thought struck him with cold clarity. Ever since advancing to Sequence 2, the vision in his right eye had been steadily deteriorating. In the suffocating environment of the fog, it was already half-blind. As the supernatural Blood Eye in his left socket fused deeper into his biology, he could feel its visual acuity skyrocketing, rapidly approaching the absolute ceiling of human perception, leaving his right eye functionally obsolete.

Still, carving his own eye out of his skull was a massive psychological hurdle.

He analyzed the system text again. His analytical mind latched onto a critical detail. The system stated it prioritized the five senses and limbs. It never explicitly mandated them.

Could he substitute another body part?

What about hemorrhoidal tissue? It was, unequivocally, a biological extension of his body. Clinically speaking, the surgical excision of inflamed rectal vascular mass was a standard medical procedure that most adults eventually required. Harvesting the redundant, inflamed tissue now to fulfill a demonic blood pact was simply a matter of medical efficiency and pragmatic timing. Why not expedite the procedure and use the excised mass to appease the blade?

The more Chen Ye analyzed it, the more logically sound the loophole became. If a vascular excision was insufficient, what about axillary hair follicles? Armpit hair was still grown from his own flesh.

Hatred instantly registered the profound, clinical disrespect of the thought.

The Heavy Machete convulsed violently in his grip. A furious, overwhelming wave of malice and raw refusal spiked directly into Chen Ye’s cerebral cortex. The fleshy red scabbard writhed, and countless wet, hair-like blood-threads violently erupted from the seams, lashing out into the air in a frantic, visceral protest.

Chen Ye blinked, genuinely stunned.

Holy shit. The weapon is throwing a tantrum?

If Hatred possessed a human mouth, it would undoubtedly be screaming obscenities at him. The living blade made it abundantly clear: if Chen Ye tried to feed it medical waste, it would completely sabotage him on the battlefield.

“Alright, alright. I won’t do it,” Chen Ye muttered, the Huazi Cigarette bobbing between his lips as he reached down to stroke the squirming, blood-red scabbard.

The Heavy Machete continued to twitch erratically in his hands, clearly entirely distrustful of his promise, sulking like a stubborn, sobbing child.

Chen Ye pushed the annoyance aside and read the final line of data on the system interface.

[Hatred’s Final Words: “That bastard sword! Because of you, I lost my 2000! I refuse to accept this! Just you wait, I’m etching this grudge into my steel!”]

Chen Ye raised an eyebrow. Was this a direct translation of the blade’s inner consciousness?

Artifacts were essentially supernatural pets; each possessed a distinct personality. Some were silent, lethal predators like a stalking cat. This Heavy Machete, however, possessed the loud, erratic, and deeply vindictive energy of a feral husky.

“That bastard sword…” It seemed another blade had managed to break into the top 2000 right at the final second of the upgrade, physically shunting Hatred down to rank 2001. In response, his machete had developed an all-consuming vendetta against the unknown weapon.

It certainly lived up to its new name.

The final system note remained unchanged: the absolute taboo of drawing the blade in the presence of blood relatives. Doing so would still result in the blade instantly slaughtering the holder’s family.

Suddenly, a frantic, restless pressure spiked from the hilt into Chen Ye’s palm. The living weapon was losing its patience, aggressively urging him to initiate the blood sacrifice. The three-hour timer was bleeding away.

Chen Ye stared down at the crude steel edge. He raised his free hand, pressing his fingertips against his failing right eye.

By the time he broke through to Sequence 3, the eye would almost certainly be dead anyway. With the Blood Eye compensating for the loss, he didn’t truly need it.

The Huazi Cigarette at the corner of his mouth burned down to the filter. Chen Ye ground it out, his jaw locking with icy resolve.

He turned to the forty-year-old woman hovering nervously near the fire. “Go get Doctor Luo.”

Zhang Yanping jumped, her body trembling. “Y-yes! Right away, Mr. Chen!”

“And remember,” Chen Ye’s voice dropped to a glacial, emotionless deadpan. “Tell Doctor Luo to bring his wife with him.”

Zhang Yanping froze, another violent shudder racking her spine. She nodded frantically and scurried off into the darkness, her mind racing with terrified assumptions. Doctor Luo’s wife was extremely plain—far less attractive than herself. Did Mr. Chen possess the infamous, deviant appetites of the ancient warlord Cao Cao, harboring a dark fetish for married women?

A moment ago, he had been stroking that horrifying, fleshy machete while his facial expressions rapidly cycled through manic calculation and cold intensity. He looked like an absolute psychopath. The sheer terror of the situation nearly made the middle-aged woman lose control of her bladder.

Across the camp, Doctor Luo was miserably picking at his meager dinner when he heard the summons. His face instantly drained of color.

But when he heard that Chen Ye demanded he bring his wife along, a wave of sickening, traumatic memories crashed over him.

That bastard! Doctor Luo screamed internally, his hands shaking with helpless despair. He’s going to exploit my labor and use my wife to threaten me again! Why won’t the heavens just strike this demon down with a bolt of lightning?!