“The name’s Mo Huairen! You can call me Captain Mo, or just Old Man Mo, it’s all the same to me!”

The barefoot old man stood on the scorching sand, clutching a long smoking pipe between his yellowed teeth. His face crinkled into a smile that resembled a dried chrysanthemum—wrinkled, deep, and impossible to read. He extended a calloused hand toward Captain Chu.

His thick, boisterous Northwestern drawl felt jarringly out of place, shattering the tense silence of the wasteland.

Chu Che met the smile with one of his own, grasping the old man’s hand firmly. “Chu Che, Captain of the Fairness Convoy! Welcome, Captain Mo!”

The two teams had finally met.

Eyes darted back and forth. Both sides were sizing each other up, muscles coiled, hands hovering near weapons.

Chen Ye quietly took a half-step back, sliding into the shadow of Iron Lion’s massive frame. He made himself small, unthreatening, and invisible.

This tactical maneuver—”Retreat Behind the Meat Shield”—channeled the true essence of Old Devil Han, the legendary cautious protagonist of cultivation lore. Never be the first target.

As the camel train drew closer, the first thing that grabbed Chen Ye’s attention wasn’t the animals, but the people trailing behind them.

The “survivors” of the camel train.

Dressed in rags that barely qualified as clothing, they looked less like refugees and more like walking corpses. Every single one of them was skeletal, their skin clinging tight to their bones. Their eyes were dull voids, devoid of hope or spirit.

They looked exactly like the slaves in historical dramas.

Worse, their hands and feet were bound with rough hemp ropes, tethering them together in a long, stumbling line.

Even as they looked at Chen Ye and the well-fed members of the Fairness Convoy, their expressions didn’t flicker. There was no envy, no pleading. Just emptiness.

They were treated worse than the livestock.

In comparison, the survivors in Chu Che’s convoy might be thin and malnourished, but they were still people. They still had light in their eyes. They whispered among themselves as they watched the “beggars,” casting fearful glances at the smiling old man leading the caravan.

Old Man Mo pretended not to notice. He just kept chatting happily with Captain Chu.

A pungent stench wafted from the herd, making Chen Ye want to cover his nose.

The caravan was larger than he had estimated. There were easily thirty camels, laden with supplies.

But the real threat wasn’t the smell. It was the pack.

Five massive beasts padded silently alongside the camels.

They were far larger than Captain Chu’s two black dogs—easily twice the size, with rippling muscles and thick fur.

No, Chen Ye realized, his heart skipping a beat. Those aren’t dogs.

They’re wolves.

Five grey wolves. Their eyes were cold, predatory, and intelligent. As the two groups merged, the wolves silently fanned out, forming a loose encirclement around the Fairness Convoy.

They weren’t looking at them like guests. They were looking at them like prey.

Chen Ye’s pupils contracted.

“Awooo~”

A strange, low trill cut through the air.

At the sound, the five wolves immediately lowered their bodies and slunk toward a man in the caravan, their aggression replaced by submissiveness.

Chen Ye followed their movement.

The man was young, maybe thirty years old. He was making strange, clicking sounds with his tongue, communicating with the beasts. The wolves circled him, rubbing against his legs like house cats.

He controls them, Chen Ye noted. A Beast Tamer Sequence.

“Captain Chu, let me introduce you,” Mo Huairen said, gesturing to the man playing with the alpha predator. “This is Zhan Lei, one of our key members. Hahaha…”

Mo Huairen didn’t mention his Sequence, but he didn’t have to. The threat was obvious.

“And this is Ding Dong. Also a pillar of our team.”

The old man pointed to a woman standing nearby. She had her arms crossed, her posture rigid. Her face was plain, unremarkable, but her expression was cold enough to freeze water.

What stood out were her hands. They were wrapped tightly in bandages—specifically, the kind of hand wraps boxers used.

She nodded once at the introduction, saying nothing. Her Sequence clearly lay in those fists.

“And that over there is Liu Yang. Just a kid, hasn’t even grown up yet. Don’t mind him if he acts out!”

The final introduction was for a teenager standing at the very back of the group.

The boy was completely shrouded in a hooded robe, using a camel as a shield against the sun.

Chen Ye noticed something disturbing. The “slave” survivors seemed terrified of everyone in the caravan, but they were petrified of this boy. Even his own teammates seemed to give him a wide berth.

As Chen Ye looked at him, the boy lifted his head. Under the hood, a pale face grinned, revealing too many teeth.

He raised a hand and slowly drew his thumb across his throat.

A provocation?

No. Chen Ye followed the boy’s gaze.

The gesture wasn’t aimed at him. It was aimed at the biggest target: Iron Lion.

Sure enough, the giant man’s face flushed red with rage, his breathing hitching as he struggled to control his temper.

Chu Che stepped in, mimicking Mo Huairen’s casual tone. He pointed to his own elites. “Iron Lion. Sun Qianqian. Chen Ye.”

Short and sweet.

You give me nothing, I give you nothing.

You don’t get to know our abilities.

Chen Ye did the mental math.

Four Beyonders on the enemy side (The Old Man, The Beast Tamer, The Boxer, The Psycho Kid). Plus five giant wolves.

His side also had four Beyonders.

But Iron Lion was still recovering from the poison. His combat effectiveness was compromised.

Chen Ye himself had only awakened a few days ago. He was still green.

We are outgunned, Chen Ye concluded grimly. Slightly, but definitely.

If he could just stall until he got the cultivation method from the System… if he could boost his strength… he might feel a little safer.

But right now? Those wolves alone were a problem. Each one stood as tall as a man on its hind legs.

Chen Ye’s eyes darted around the terrain, mapping out escape routes.

He had always idolized Old Devil Han.

He had mastered the arts of “Retreating Behind the Crowd” and “Escape First as a Sign of Respect.”

There was no shame in running.

If you can win, loot them. If you can’t win, leg it.

It was a survival rule simple enough for a child to understand.

Chen Ye was already running simulations of the inevitable conflict in his head. They had only met five minutes ago, and he was already planning his exit strategy.

Both groups decided to set up camp behind a large dune to escape the wind.

The Fairness Convoy circled their vehicles to form a perimeter.

The camel train arranged their beasts to form a wall.

It was immediately apparent that the camel train was far wealthier. They rolled out high-quality tents, carpets, and supplies that made Chen Ye’s group look like paupers. Their camp occupied three times the space.

The ragged slaves, men and women alike, scurried around under the crack of a whip held by a burly overseer. They unloaded heavy crates, setting up luxury accommodations for their masters while they themselves slept in the sand.

“Captain Chu, you run a lean operation,” Mo Huairen commented, puffing on his pipe. His beady eyes gleamed as they swept over the survivors of the Fairness Convoy.

Every survivor caught in that gaze turned pale, instinctively sensing the predator looking at meat.

In this world, ordinary people had no rights. The slaves in the camel train were proof of that.

“Captain Mo,” Chu Che replied smoothly. “In the apocalypse, fewer mouths to feed is a blessing.”

“True, true. But your convoy is impressive! You have actual vehicles! Tsk tsk… getting fuel must be a headache though, eh?”

“Hahaha… Captain Mo, you hit the nail on the head. You have no idea…”

One old, one young. Both barefoot in the sand, chatting like long-lost brothers.

To an outsider, it looked heartwarming.

In reality, they were Each with Their Own Hidden Agenda.

Don’t let the old man’s senile act fool you; he was a fox with a thousand schemes, using every sentence to probe for weaknesses.

Captain Chu was no slouch either. His defense was impenetrable—water-tight—while he subtly fished for intel on the strange, slave-driving caravan.