“Only 40%?” Mu Sichen froze.

If one Apostle only provided 40%, then even adding the Apostle of the Feather would only bring him to 80%. Where was the last 20% supposed to come from? Mu Sichen’s gaze flickered toward Yao Wangping. Was the system expecting him to slaughter everyone present to top off the tank?

But the system hadn’t used the term “Siphon”—it had said “Eliminate.”

Mu Sichen had no qualms about eliminating the Double-Pupil Apostle. It was that man who had orchestrated Ying Mao’s demotion and death sentence. As for the Apostle of the Feather, he was even worse; in their first encounter, he had “purified” four innocent players without a second thought.

But Yao Wangping…

Mu Sichen didn’t like the man, and he fundamentally disagreed with his philosophy. But that didn’t mean Yao Wangping was objectively “wrong.” Mu Sichen was a product of a peaceful era; he loathed sacrifice and detested death. That was natural. But Yao Wangping had been forged by this nightmare world. Without living his life, Mu Sichen could disagree with him, but he couldn’t condemn him to death.

If he couldn’t even condemn the man, how could he “eliminate” him?

He gripped his pickaxe and swung it with a violent burst of strength, intercepting a dozen feathers from the Apostle of the Feather—each sharper than a steel blade. The impact vibrated through the tool, leaving Mu Sichen’s hands numb and his arms heavy. He noticed the light on Yao Wangping’s chest was fading. The Winged Apostle’s relentless barrage was grinding down the Guardian Sword’s defense. If Mu Sichen could deflect some of the hits, the protective light would last a little longer.

Mu Sichen pushed the dilemma of Yao Wangping to the back of his mind. He would use the distraction to take out the Winged Apostle first. Maybe that would be enough. After all, the Double-Pupil Apostle seemed significantly weaker; if he was worth 40%, perhaps the Winged one was worth 60%.

The Apostle of the Feather swept his wings, parrying Yao Wangping’s mechanical tentacles. The eyes on the wing facing Mu Sichen snapped open, narrowing in unison. The Apostle plucked several feathers and tossed them into the air, chanting a single word:

“Truth.“

The feathers formed a ring above Mu Sichen’s head. Before he could dodge, a massive eyeball materialized within the circle, swiveling to lock onto him. As the gaze hit him, the features on Mu Sichen’s face began to disintegrate into fine gray dust that drifted upward. First, the face of He Fei crumbled; then, the likeness of Ying Mao dissolved, revealing Mu Sichen’s true face.

“So it is you,” the Apostle and Yao Wangping said in perfect unison.

Mu Sichen: “…”

It wasn’t that they were geniuses; it was that the pickaxe was a dead giveaway. Anyone swinging that thing, regardless of their face, was Mu Sichen.

Seeing his disguise vanish, Mu Sichen’s first thought was a pang of annoyance at the 300 wasted energy points. If he’d known the face wouldn’t last, he wouldn’t have bothered.

In his moment of distraction, a mechanical tentacle slammed into him. He barely raised the pickaxe in time. BOOM. The impact sent him spinning through the air. He smashed into the cornfield, rolling a dozen times before coming to a stop.

Agony flared through his body. He lay in the dirt, coughing up a mouthful of blood. If the pickaxe hadn’t been indestructible, that blow would have snapped him in half. The fact that the Winged Apostle could tank those hits showed that both he and Yao Wangping were on a level far above the Double-Pupil Apostle.

Mu Sichen crawled to his feet, his hands shaking so violently he could barely hold his weapon. Yao Wangping was ruthless. While Mu Sichen had hesitated out of sentiment, Yao Wangping had ignored the fact that Mu Sichen had just saved him from a lethal blow. To Yao, Mu Sichen was the more dangerous enemy.

The Winged Apostle only wanted to stop Yao from reaching the Pillar. Even if he couldn’t kill the Apostle, Yao could still look for a gap in the defense to strike. But Mu Sichen could claim the Pillar. Once Mu Sichen took it, Yao Wangping would lose his chance forever.

As Mu Sichen coughed, a web of light suddenly appeared before his closed left eye. He could see invisible attacks! He rolled instinctively, narrowly avoiding a volley of light. When he looked back, the corn stalks where he had just been lying had withered into gray husks.

The Winged Apostle’s attack.

The “enemy of my enemy” alliance he had imagined was a fantasy. The moment he appeared, both combatants had prioritized him. He had played the fisherman once before at the Sanitarium; they weren’t going to let him do it again.

Just as he felt he was hitting his limit, Yao Wangping used his remaining mechanical limb to vault himself high into the air, reaching the Apostle’s height. The Winged Apostle, focused on Mu Sichen, couldn’t react in time. Yao Wangping bit down savagely on the left wing and retracted his mechanical arm with a brutal jerk.

With a sickening tear, Yao Wangping ripped the entire left wing from the Apostle’s body. The Winged Apostle shrieked, spiraling toward the earth.

It wasn’t a two-on-one. It was a three-way free-for-all. One second of weakness was all it took to be finished.

As Yao and the Apostle fell, Mu Sichen felt a sudden surge of adrenaline. He lunged toward the severed mechanical limb Yao had lost earlier. It was still twitching in the dirt. With a flick of his pickaxe, the “Siphon” skill activated. Since it was detached from its host, it only cost 500 energy to claim.

The five-meter-long limb coiled around him like a pet. Mu Sichen commanded it to slam into the ground, acting like a catapult to launch him toward the fallen wing Yao had torn off.

In mid-air, the Winged Apostle spread his remaining wing, focusing every eye on the falling Yao Wangping. The Guardian Sword’s light shattered. Red rays enveloped Yao, and his skin began to dissolve into particles—the process of “Purification.”

But Yao was no novice. As the Apostle committed to his attack, Yao whipped his left hand—now a mechanical claw—straight through the Apostle’s chest.

Mu Sichen landed near the severed wing. He tapped it with his pickaxe. Siphon. Another 500 energy points. The wing was his.

A sharp pain shot through his leg upon landing—either a bad sprain or a fracture—but he ignored it, limping toward the two dying combatants. Yao Wangping was at death’s door, his body half-dissolved. The Winged Apostle was coughing blood, yet he refused to stop. His eyes remained wide, pouring destructive light into Yao.

But before the light could finish Yao, his own severed wing—now under Mu Sichen’s control—swung up to act as a shield. Simultaneously, Mu Sichen’s mechanical tentacle bound Yao Wangping, pinning him down.

Mu Sichen raised his pickaxe and brought it down with everything he had. [Indignant Strike]!

The Apostle of the Feather—the monster who had terrified Mu Sichen at the plaza, who had murdered the players and blocked Ying Mao’s path—finally died beneath the pickaxe.

[Congratulations! Pillar-grade Self-Sticker: 90% Charged.]

Mu Sichen leaned on his pickaxe, gasping for air. Every inch of him hurt, and most of that pain came from Yao Wangping. He had helped the man, only to be met with lethal force. He shouldn’t have been merciful.

And yet…

He ripped off his backpack and pulled out the octopus plushie. The little thing clung to his arm, its big eyes blinking in confusion. Mu Sichen limped to Yao Wangping and placed the plushie on the man’s chest.

Yao struggled weakly, but the mechanical tentacle held him fast. Ironically, if Yao hadn’t attacked Mu Sichen, Mu Sichen wouldn’t have had the “stolen” limb to restrain him now.

Mu Sichen reached out with his left hand. Sleight of Hand. He plucked the Guardian Sword from Yao’s chest. Because the skill “hides” the theft from the victim, Yao’s body didn’t realize the sword was gone. The wound didn’t bleed. He had a slim chance to live.

“He’s your follower. He gave up everything for you,” Mu Sichen whispered to the octopus. “Whether he lives or dies is up to you.”

Mu Sichen couldn’t kill the man, but he needed that last 10% for the Pillar. He turned his gaze to the Guardian Sword—the true object of his pickaxe’s hatred.

[Indignant Strike]!

The sword snapped in two.

[Congratulations! Pillar-grade Self-Sticker: 200% Charged. You have obtained one Super-Powered Self-Sticker.]

[The Indestructible Pickaxe has defeated its rival! Level 20. It is now the strongest Pillar-grade weapon.]

Mu Sichen: “…”

Apparently, two Apostles were worth less than one divine sword.

He stumbled toward the Pillar, but as he tried to enter, an invisible barrier pushed him back. Only “Low-Level Staff” could enter.

He looked at the Ying Mao sticker on his hand. He reached out, and this time, the barrier melted away. Mu Sichen stepped into the center of the totem. With Ying Mao’s soul guiding his hand, he slammed the pickaxe into the heart of the “Sky Eye.”

A massive “Self” totem erupted, far larger than the one at the Sanitarium, blanketing the entire factory. The light bathed Mu Sichen, dulling the edge of his pain.

He had broken another Pillar.

The Big Eye had lost its grip. Qin Zhou’s true form could now pierce the domain. Mu Sichen looked at the octopus; it had lost another half-tentacle, which was now plugged into Yao Wangping’s chest wound, keeping him stable.

“I kept my end of the bargain, didn’t I?” Mu Sichen whispered, patting the plushie’s head. “I guess you won’t be coming back to the real world with me this time.”

He felt a twinge of sadness, but also relief. Everything would go back to normal. He would distribute the food, teach the townspeople self-sufficiency, and then…

Wait.

Mu Sichen froze. The system hadn’t chimed. No “Mission Complete.” No “Safe House” notification. He checked the interface—the “Exit Game” button was still missing.

“Don’t bother looking. I’ll tell you why.”

A familiar voice came from behind him. Mu Sichen started to turn, but a primal, screaming instinct roared in his mind: DON’T LOOK BACK. DON’T LOOK BACK.

“Why won’t you turn around?” A hand rested gently on Mu Sichen’s shoulder. “I went to quite a lot of trouble to get into the Breeding Grounds. I was worried you couldn’t handle two Apostles, but you did better than I imagined.”

Mu Sichen lost control of his body. He couldn’t move. He squeezed his eyes shut. In the darkness of his mind, his left eye projected a vision of what was behind him.

There was no man. Only a cold, brilliant moon.

The moonlight was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, yet it was slowly bleeding into his “Self” totem, turning the images of sky and sea into a repeating pattern of a full moon.

Shen Jiyue. The Moon. The Master of Nightlight.

It clicked. Except for their first meeting, Shen Jiyue had never called Qin Zhou “General Qin.” He had used terms like “Humanity’s Guardian” or “Absolute Rationalist” with a casual, almost mocking tone. He wasn’t a follower; he was a peer.

Yao Wangping’s power came from Qin Zhou’s totem. But none of Qin Zhou’s abilities involved mirrors or capturing light. Light belonged to the Moon.

“You… you’re…” Mu Sichen’s voice trembled. “How can you be inside another God’s domain?”

“Because of the light. Because of the mirrors,” Shen Jiyue whispered in his ear. “Remember, Sichen? I didn’t first meet you at the Sanitarium.”

Mu Sichen’s mind raced back to the very beginning. The apartment. The moment between Day and Night when he had looked at the Big Eye. There had been a mirror on the wall. The previous tenant, the madman who wrote the diary, had vanished without a trace.

“My followers placed mirrors that transmit moonlight into random rooms. I chose a suitable host,” Shen Jiyue said. “But the moment I took him, I regretted it. I saw a much better body for a ‘Divine Descent’.”

“You… you want to take my body?”

“I’ve changed my mind,” Shen Jiyue purred. “You’re brilliant. Your talent for breaking Pillars is unmatched. I’ve decided to be patient. I gave you just enough intel to help me seize this town’s Pillars for myself.”

At the Sanitarium, Shen Jiyue hadn’t been self-sacrificing. He had been distracting Mu Sichen so he could take the Pillar alone. But Mu Sichen’s unexpected competence had piqued his interest. The interest of a god in an ant.

“Become my Apostle,” Shen Jiyue tempted. “I will give you power. You will break the worlds for me.”

Mu Sichen opened his mouth to say “No,” but the world suddenly tilted.

The ground shook with a violence that transcended the physical. A roar of pure, divine fury echoed from the sky. Something was waking up.

The Big Eye.

Losing two Pillars had forced it to wake up early, even in the middle of the “Night.”

Shen Jiyue released Mu Sichen’s shoulder. “I have to deal with the big fellow first. I’ll give you some time to think.”

Mu Sichen “saw” a brilliant moon rise from his shoulder, soaring past the totem to hang in the sky. Infinite moonlight cascaded down, trapping the Great Eye in a cage of silver radiance.

The pressure vanished. Mu Sichen regained control of his limbs.

Run! He gripped his pickaxe, desperate to flee. But after one step, he stopped.

Where could he go? The mission wasn’t over. He couldn’t exit. Under the gaze of the Moon and the Eye, there was nowhere left to hide.