Chapter 91: The Perverted Madman

Seeing Iron Lion alive and breathing, the sliver of guilt Chen Ye had felt evaporated instantly. For a man like him, even that microscopic flicker of remorse was a rare anomaly.

The Titan Sequence lived up to its reputation. As long as a spark of life remained, they could regenerate.

I need to remember this, Chen Ye thought, his eyes narrowing. If I fight a Titan user again, I can’t show mercy. I have to burn them to ash—eradicate them root and stem.

A sudden thought struck him. What about the Demon Sequence?

Chu Che had praised that class highly. Was it possible that the kid, Liu Yang, wasn’t actually dead?

The more he considered it, the more likely it seemed.

Chen Ye strode over to the mangled remains of Mo Huairen and Liu Yang. The corpses were already in a sorry state. The “slaves” from the camel caravan had vented their rage on them earlier—kicking, punching, and even tearing off chunks of raw flesh with their teeth. It was a visceral testament to how much hatred they harbored for their former masters.

Chen Ye stared down at the bodies and exhaled a stream of smoke.

The gray haze drifted over the young man’s corpse, coiling around it to form a translucent coffin.

Clench.

Chen Ye made a fist. The smoke coffin imploded, solidifying into thousands of needle-thin spikes that pierced the corpse, shredding it from the inside out.

The survivors witnessing this froze, their faces pale with horror.

It wasn’t enough for this man to kill? He had to butcher the dead, too?

He was a perverted lunatic!

“Ahhh—!”

A shrill, venomous shriek erupted from the shredded meat.

A wisp of black smoke leaked from the gore, coalescing into a hateful skull that glared at Chen Ye. However, it only held its form for two seconds before dissipating into the dry desert air.

Chen Ye’s heart skipped a beat. Chu Che wasn’t lying. The Demon Sequence really is tenacious.

He immediately gave the old man, Mo Huairen, the same treatment.

This time, nothing happened. The beheaded corpse was just dead meat. The Pathfinder Sequence clearly didn’t possess such freakish vitality.

By now, a ten-meter void had formed around Chen Ye. No one dared approach the psycho.

“Alright, move it! Everyone, load the Supplies onto the vehicles immediately!”

Uncle Bao’s voice rang out across the camp, cutting through the tension.

“The camels are for riding. We leave in 30 minutes! Speed it up!”

The camel caravan’s hoard had officially become the motorcade’s property.

Chen Ye summoned a giant hand of smoke to grab his priority loot: the Bone of the Man-Eating Two-Headed Cow. He carefully lowered the massive skeletal frame into the bed of his Doomsday Pickup.

Creak.

The vehicle groaned under the weight. Chen Ye’s face flushed red with effort as he guided it down. The bones were shockingly heavy—far denser than they looked.

The Doomsday Pickup was already showing its scars. The sandstorm had taken its toll, and the chassis was groaning in protest. When he had designed the vehicle, he had prioritized saving Slaughter Points, aiming for “barely usable.” He hadn’t built it to withstand natural disasters, let alone a sandstorm immediately after an upgrade.

Chen Ye crawled under the truck to inspect the frame. The steel was twisted in places.

System Evaluation: Functional, but compromised. requires maintenance and careful driving.

“Still usable,” Chen Ye muttered. “System-made goods are surprisingly durable.”

But now, staring at the Two-Headed Cow’s bones, the urge to upgrade the Doomsday Pickup into an Artifact was impossible to suppress. He just had to wait for the deduction to finish.

He reached out and stroked the white bone. It didn’t feel like calcium. It felt cold, metallic, and sinister. A strange vibration hummed against his palm, as if the skeleton still held some incomprehensible energy.

If he used this to upgrade the truck… it would definitely be a pleasant surprise.

Around him, the camp was a hive of activity. Even the former “slaves” were moving with purpose, now officially members of the motorcade.

Uncle Bao was running around with his head scorching from the stress.

The new recruits were efficient—they knew the rules of the road. Some, upon hearing the rules of the “School Bus,” immediately joined Iron Lion’s team. Others preferred autonomy.

For the independent ones, Uncle Bao assigned a batch of camels. No one wanted to leave. In the apocalypse, only a fool would wander the wilds alone.

Uncle Bao distributed basic Supplies to them, but everything else was pooled into the communal stock, to be distributed only among the Sequence Beyonders once they reached safety.

“What are your plans?” Chu Che asked the plain-looking woman standing before him.

She was clearly a Sequence Beyonder, and Captain Chu was always eager to recruit more firepower.

The woman extended a hand. “Let me reintroduce myself. Ding Dong. Sequence 1: Iron Fist, of the Boxer Sequence.”

“I can’t exactly leave in this situation. I want to join the motorcade.”

Chu Che smiled. “No problem. Welcome aboard.”

He was pleased, though he had expected this outcome.

“I don’t want to get involved in the daily management,” Ding Dong added. “I’ll just ride on Iron Lion’s school bus.”

The subtext was clear: she didn’t want to leverage her past status in the camel caravan to lord over the new survivors. She wanted to avoid any accusations of “improper connections” or office politics. She just wanted to be a grunt.

Chu Che had no reason to refuse.

Ding Dong then produced a tattered piece of paper. “This belonged to Mo Huairen.”

Chu Che took it. It was a crude, hand-drawn map consisting of just a few lines and a small circle in the center.

“The caravan was searching for water,” she explained. “That circle is the source. If we find that spot, we find water.”

“Uncle Bao! Uncle Bao, please! I was wrong! I’ll never do it again!”

Behind a distant sand dune, away from the prying eyes of the main group, a grim scene was unfolding.

Uncle Bao had handed over the logistics to his assistant, Little Wang, and had two men drag Xu Jiaojiao out into the wastes.

Since the death of her patrons, Mo Huairen and Liu Yang, Xu Jiaojiao had been in a state of panic. She had tried to blend into the crowd, hoping to become invisible. She swore that if she survived this, she would be a model citizen.

Unfortunately, betrayal was the one thing Captain Chu Che could not forgive.

The usually pacifistic Captain had murderous intent in his eyes today. He knew that if he showed mercy now, he would only breed more traitors later.

When the men grabbed Xu Jiaojiao, not a single survivor pleaded for her. Most looked at her with disgust. Only Little Fu, the naive university student, looked conflicted.

“Little Fu,” someone had whispered. “I know you’re kind. But think about it—if Chen Ye and A-Che had died, we’d all be slaves right now.”

That truth silenced the boy.

Now, behind the dune, Xu Jiaojiao knelt in the sand, snot and tears streaming down her face as she kowtowed to Uncle Bao.

“Uncle Bao, I really messed up! I’ll be obedient! I’ll do whatever you want! I don’t want to die!”

“Please! Spare me and I’ll do anything!”

Uncle Bao’s face was the color of iron. He looked away, staring at the endless horizon. There was a flicker of hesitation in his eyes.

He had never done this before.

When he gave the order, he thought it would be easy. It’s just killing someone, he had told himself. Chen Ye chops off heads like he’s cutting vegetables.

But when the moment came, Uncle Bao froze. His hands shook.

Even the two men he brought—burly, fierce-looking guys—had never actually taken a human life. When the apocalypse hit, they had been too busy running to fight.

Uncle Bao gritted his teeth and signaled the men.

They hesitated. Finally, one of them clenched his jaw and raised a heavy automotive wrench.

Thud!

A scream tore through the air.

Xu Jiaojiao collapsed, scrambling in the sand, trying to crawl away.

Thud! Thud!

Blood soaked into the dry sand. The second man joined in, swinging blindly until the woman stopped moving.

Uncle Bao swallowed the bile rising in his throat. He waved his hand sharply, leading the men back to the motorcade without looking back.

By the time they returned, the camp was packed up.

The bed of Chen Ye’s Doomsday Pickup was stuffed to the brim. He had used rope to secure the overflow, and even the passenger seat was piled high with Supplies.

The camel caravan’s stockpile had exceeded his wildest expectations. calling it a “great harvest” was an understatement.

Chu Che had mentioned there was an Artifact in the loot pile, but there was no time to sort through it now. That would have to wait until they were safe.

Chen Ye noticed Uncle Bao returning from the dunes but didn’t give it a second thought. The execution of a traitor wasn’t worth his attention.

His focus was entirely internal. The system deduction for his “Fried Rice” proficiency training method was almost complete. That was what mattered.

Just then, a figure walked straight toward him.