126: Chapter 126 The more you want to burn my soul, the more I'll carve my name on it.

Frost clung to the metal edges of the Starlight Tower's northern ventilation shaft. A corner of Night Owl's black trench coat fluttered in the wind, revealing the short blade that had been at his waist for ten years.

As he vaulted over the edge with one hand, his knuckles scraped against the iron plate with a harsh rasp—the kind of wall-climbing posture only an old rogue who had spent twenty years in dark alleys would have.

In the shadows below, Chen Fan gripped the Key Shard, his Adam's apple bobbing.

When the system prompt exploded in his mind, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up: [Non-registrant coordinated action, Crit Rate +2% → Current Crit Rate 25%].

This number was like a lump of red-hot coal, burning so fiercely his heart skipped a beat—the last time his crit rate broke twenty was when he saved three newbies from a pile of rubble in a Bronze Dungeon.

"Go," he growled, his toe crushing half a brick by his foot.

Mute Face led the way, the scent of blood seeping from the cracks in his faceplate swept away by the wind; Needle Granny shuffled along the base of the wall, the hem of her white lab coat stained with wet blood from the stronghold; Little Candle followed beside him, clutching the Anti-Contract Rune. The rune was so hot her wrist flushed red, like a scarlet chain snake coming to life.

The iron door to the seventh-floor archives was slightly ajar.

As Chen Fan pushed the door open, a musty smell mixed with the scent of burning hit him—player ID tags were piled half a man high in the corner, their metal surfaces melted into bizarre lumps, as if someone had crushed them with ruthless force and then ground them into the mud.

Little Candle knelt down, and just as her fingertips touched the top fragment, the Anti-Contract Rune suddenly began to hum.

She gasped as the fragment's edge sliced her fingertip. A bead of blood dripped onto the metal surface, sizzling into green smoke. "They weren't cleared..." Her voice trembled as she flipped the fragment over. Where the player's name should have been carved on the back, there was only a charred void. "They were name-wiped.

The system wants to make people cease to exist entirely."

Chen Fan knelt down, his thumb brushing over the void.

The metal still held residual heat, burning his eyes until they stung.

He remembered the young laborer he had saved in the Gray Alleys three days ago. The boy had gripped his ID tag and said, "My name is Xiao Lin. I need to send money to my mom once the job's done." Now, that tag was mixed in this pile of scrap metal, and even the name was gone.

"Carve the names back," he said, his voice raspy as he pulled the fire of the blue flame from his chest.

The orb of ghostly blue fire pulsed in his palm like a living heart.

Needle Granny suddenly began to cough, pulling a celadon bottle from her robes.

A layer of white mist clung to the bottle, and the liquid inside shimmered with a ghostly blue, like crushed stars soaking in wine. "Memory Dew," she said, unscrewing the cap. A medicinal fragrance mixed with the smell of rust wafted out. "Brewed from remnant soul fluctuations, it can make the deceased's final consciousness manifest for three seconds." She looked up at Little Candle, the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes glistening. "Your rune can draw souls. You lead the way."

Little Candle took a deep breath, the rune searing red marks onto her wrist.

She closed her eyes, her voice as light as a snowflake: "Xiao Lin."

The air suddenly froze.

Chen Fan saw a phantom rise from the shadows in the corner, blurry like a water-damaged painting.

The phantom's lips moved, but no sound came out—it was as if someone were strangling the deceased, trying to steal even their final words.

"I'll say it for you!" Chen Fan roared, slamming the Key Shard hard against his chest.

The system suddenly shrieked, the crit rate numbers jumping wildly: 25% → 28% → 31%!

The blue flame exploded from between his fingers, enveloping the phantom.

The phantom became a bit clearer. He could see the boy's messy hair and the unhealed burn on the back of his left hand—an injury from a mixer while hauling cement.

"...Don't let them... forget my name is Xiao Lin."

The voice came from within the blue flame, carrying the characteristic clarity of a youth, mixed with a slight nasal tone.

Veins bulged on the back of Chen Fan's hand as the blue flame burned even brighter, lifting the phantom higher.

Needle Granny covered her mouth, her tears splashing onto the celadon bottle; moisture seeped from the cracks in Mute Face's faceplate, though whether it was blood or tears was unclear; Black Crow's blind eyes suddenly flew open, the terminal fragments searing red marks into his palm.

"Final Purification Ritual initiated!" Black Crow suddenly growled, the data streams on the terminal fragments beginning to scroll frantically. "The energy in the Silent Corridor is surging! We have three minutes!"

Chen Fan grabbed the ID fragments from the ground, the blue flame surging through his fingers and into the metal.

The fragments instantly glowed red-hot, and the charred surface began to peel away—he saw the name "Ink Trace" emerge from the slag, written in fountain pen with handwriting as neat as a student's homework. On another fragment, the three characters for "Gray Thread Child" were crooked, written with a child's stroke.

"To all who can hear—" He slammed the burning fragments into the cracks in the wall, the blue flame racing up the data cables. "Whether you're dead or alive, fleeing or fighting—today, I'm burning your names into the system!"

The terminal screens across the entire floor suddenly lit up.

The blood-red system code was washed into gold by the blue flame. Hundreds and thousands of names scrolled across the screens: Xiao Lin, Ink Trace, Gray Thread Child, Needle Granny... As each name appeared, tiny fragments of light drifted from the screens like a golden rain.

In the palace at the base of the tower, Red Candle Judge had just inserted the last blood candle into the formation's eye when the monitor suddenly exploded with the crackle of static.

He slammed the table as a string of names scrolled through the screen's snow. Each character was like a small carving knife, slicing bloody gashes into the code layer. "Who is tampering with the data?!" He grabbed a blood candle and hurled it at the screen. Wax splashed onto the monitor, but it couldn't cover those golden names.

In the Silent Corridor, chains suddenly rattled softly.

The remnant soul bound to the stone platform slowly opened its eyes. He had forgotten his name, forgotten where he came from, even forgotten the pain—but at this moment, those scrolling names were like fine needles, piercing through his chaotic consciousness.

His lips moved as he silently uttered a word.

The chains vibrated ever so slightly.

Chen Fan stood in the center of the archives, the blue flame pulsing in his palm in perfect sync with his heartbeat.

Little Candle walked over, her fingertips touching the back of his burning hand. "What's next?"

He looked down, where a thunderous roar echoed—it was the Red Candle Judge smashing the door. "Next," his voice was low but as unbreakable as iron, "I'm going to let those who were used as fuel..." He looked up at the ceiling, where golden names still scrolled across the screens, "...all walk out alive."

The system prompt suddenly became drawn out, like a stretched silver thread: [Mass consciousness resonance detected. Infinite Multiplier Crit Protocol... pre-loading.]

The flames on the seventh floor continued to burn.

The blue flame enveloped the ID fragments, carving names into every data cable; the names on the terminal screens continued to scroll, like a school of fish swimming against the current toward the deepest reaches of the system.