175: Chapter 172 You surrender! You're the one who should surrender!

(This section was written a while ago, so I'm replacing it entirely. I hope you all like it better. From here on out, the story will continue moving forward. For those who like Ding Yue, you can selectively choose Ding Yue.)

Victoria stepped out of the virtual space, not immediately matching for the next round.

She called up the holographic projection of her life ring, her gaze darting straight to the real-time leaderboard of the Individual Sequence Contest.

[1st Place: Hans Weber (Teuton), Wins: 3386]

[2nd Place: Victoria (Fog City), Wins: 3365]

[3rd Place: Zheng Yuanshan (Yanhuang Civilization), Wins: 3364]

[4th Place: Yang Hang (Yanhuang Civilization), Wins: 3364]

Fourth.

Twenty-one matches away from the top of the leaderboard.

Thirty-two minutes.

Victoria calculated silently in her mind. Given her current matching speed and win rate, winning more than twenty-one matches within thirty-two minutes—it was possible. The prerequisite was not encountering any more Gold Tier opponents that took too much time.

She let out a breath.

Her gaze shifted unconsciously to the real-time leaderboard for the Faction Sequence Battle.

[Faction Sequence Battle · 10v10 · Real-time Win Leaderboard]

[1st Place: Yanhuang Civilization · Absolute Defense, Wins: 276]

[2nd Place: Fog City · Red Dragon Knights, Wins: 193]

Second.

The Fog City Camp's 10v10 ranked first among all foreign civilization camps and second in the entire Magic Sea.

Second only to Yanhuang Civilization.

Her contribution was in there. She participated in both the Faction Sequence Battle and the Individual Sequence Contest, fighting on two fronts, which split her energy. If she only fought the Individual Sequence Contest like Hans Weber—

Victoria shook her head.

No regrets.

Even if she didn't get the top spot in the Individual Sequence Contest in the end, this second-place position in the Faction Sequence Battle was the greatest advantage she had secured for Fog City.

It was enough.

She leaned against the ship's rail, letting the sea breeze blow for a few seconds. Then she opened the Individual Sequence Contest leaderboard again and scrolled down.

Top ten. None.

Top twenty. None.

Top one hundred. None.

She sighed. Habitually, she opened the search on her Fate Platform and entered that name.

[4,230,611th Place: Yang Hang (Yanhuang Civilization), Wins: 1500]

Four million, two hundred thirty thousand, six hundred and eleven.

The same as when she checked during her last two breaks.

One thousand five hundred matches, stuck right there.

Victoria stared at this line of text for a long time.

Why?

She didn't understand.

If Fate Master Yang Hang really didn't care about the Individual Sequence Contest—why did he briefly rush to the top of the leaderboard a few days ago? Six hundred sixty-two matches, one thousand five hundred matches, every time it was with overwhelming efficiency. Someone who didn't care wouldn't do something like that.

But if he did care—why had he been completely motionless for six consecutive days? Talent Breakthrough, treasure chest quality upgrades, life span leaps—these rewards granted by the official Magic Sea could not possibly be without appeal to anyone.

It was contradictory.

Unless—

Victoria's red pupils narrowed slightly.

Unless he had encountered something. Or was dealing with something. Something that made him unable to spare himself.

With Fate Master Yang Hang's control over the Cause and Effect Fate Platform, for something to make him give up rushing the Individual Sequence Contest leaderboard for six consecutive days—it could only be something more important than rushing the leaderboard.

Victoria's gaze fell toward the distant sea surface. The afterglow of the twin suns dyed the horizon a golden red.

"Please don't let anything happen." She said in a low voice.

Then she shook her head, pushing those complicated thoughts down. Her gaze refocused.

She stood up, placed her right hand on the hilt of her sword of the sea, and clicked the match button for the Individual Sequence Contest.

Thirty-two minutes.

Twenty-one matches.

It was enough.

The light indicating a successful match lit up, and Victoria's figure disappeared from the deck.

—At the same moment.

Thirty thousand li away from the sea area where Victoria was.

When Jackson exited the consciousness battle space, a smile still hung on the corners of his mouth.

That wasn't an ordinary smile, but a smile of lingering enjoyment after watching a good show.

He looked down at the wings of freedom at his waist.

Two ferocious silver revolvers were quietly tucked at his waist. The raised edges and bone spurs on the surface of the guns were stained with the virtual blood light remaining from the consciousness space. The pale bone-silver gun bodies were covered with a ghostly blue oil film, and the scale patterns were faintly visible under the light of the twin suns.

The muzzles were split into three petals, like two hungry mouths.

That last match—the opponent was a Silver Grade Survivor from the Indian Camp, whose talent was some kind of soft-bodied evasion ability. The body was flexible, dodging three of his shots.

Three shots.

Jackson felt insulted.

So for the fourth shot, he didn't aim for the head. He aimed for the left wrist.

The ballistic correction function of the wings of freedom became even more precise after the Gold Tier Breakthrough. The bullet traced a ghostly blue arc, slipped through the gap in the opponent's raised defensive posture, and pierced the left wrist joint.

The palm, along with half of the forearm, flew off.

The opponent retreated, screaming. The pain in the consciousness space was real, it just wouldn't cause actual damage—but that feeling of nerves being torn apart was exactly the same.

Jackson didn't pursue.

He stood where he was, turning the output of the wings of freedom to the lowest setting.

The fifth shot. Right ankle.

The opponent fell onto the virtual sea surface, splashing up pale white spray.

The sixth shot. Left knee.

The sound of bones shattering echoed in the empty battle space.

The opponent was already screaming. Not a roar of battle, but a scream purely crushed by fear and pain. He tried desperately to crawl, with only one intact right hand supporting him on the slippery virtual sea surface, his fingernails scratching white marks on the water surface.

Jackson tilted his head.

The seventh shot. Right elbow.

The last movable limb was also ruined. The opponent lay on the water surface, like a fish with its fins cut off, able only to twist in place by the wriggling of its torso. The sound coming from his mouth no longer sounded human.

Jackson walked over slowly.

His boots stepped on the virtual sea surface, splashing water with every step.

He squatted down and pressed the muzzle against the opponent's crotch.

"Don't be afraid." He said in English, his tone as relaxed as if he were greeting a neighbor, "After this shot, there's only one last shot left."

The opponent's pupils shrank suddenly.

Bang.

The screaming turned into wailing.

Jackson stood up, looking down at the opponent curled up like a shrimp at his feet, and aimed the muzzle at the back of his head.

"Good game."

The eighth shot.

Battle over.

System judgment: Jackson wins.

—Jackson exited the battle space, sat on the deck of his Silver Grade warship, and called up the real-time leaderboard for the Individual Sequence Contest.

His gaze skipped the top ten directly.

He scrolled down.

Top fifty. None.

Top one hundred. None.

He entered that name.

[4,230,607th Place: Yang Hang (Yanhuang Civilization), Wins: 1500]

Jackson stared at the screen for three seconds.

Then he laughed.

The laughter welled up from the bottom of his throat, growing louder and more wanton, finally turning into a roar of laughter toward the sky.

"Ha—hahahahaha!!!"

He slapped the ship's rail, and the wooden plank emitted a cracking sound under the impact of his Gold Tier Qi and blood.

"The number one powerhouse of Yanhuang Civilization? A god-like Survivor? Lord Fate Master?"

He bit heavily on the four words "Lord Fate Master," dragging out the tail end with deliberate mockery.

"Fake. It's all fake."

Jackson drew the wings of freedom in his right hand, pointing the muzzle at the sky. The three split petals opened, and a ghostly blue cold light seeped out from deep within the gun barrel.

"A coward. A coward hiding behind the System, not daring to show his face."

His blue pupils reflected the light of the twin suns, but there was not a trace of warmth.

"What a pity. In my life, I've fought over two thousand Sequence Battles, killed over a thousand Survivors—yet I just haven't met you."

The muzzle slowly moved down, aiming at some non-existent head in the void beneath his feet.

"I really want to use the same method—one shot by one shot—"

He made a gesture of pulling the trigger.

"First break your hands. Then break your feet. Then that mouth that makes 1.4 billion people grovel. Finally—"

The muzzle stopped in the void, and the corners of Jackson's mouth pulled into an arc.

"Forget it. You're lucky. What's the point of slaughtering you in this crappy Sequence Battle?"

He holstered his gun at his waist.

"Wait until I get first place on the Individual Sequence leaderboard."

The wings of freedom hummed at his waist, and the dark red veins on the surface of the gun body pulsed, as if sensing its master's emotions.

"The Magic Sea's reward—Talent Breakthrough. The wings of freedom will achieve a Breakthrough of Gold Tier."

Jackson's breathing became heavy.

He had always had a judgment. The same judgment as Victoria.

The Cause and Effect Fate Platform could not possibly be a Gold Tier product. The things opened from Fate Master Yang Hang's initial treasure chest absolutely exceeded the scope of Gold Tier. Above the Magic Sea, there must exist a level higher than Gold Tier.

And the reward for first place in the Individual Sequence Battle—Talent Breakthrough.

If the wings of freedom could break through that ceiling—

"By then, it won't be in the crappy virtual space of the Sequence Battle." Jackson clenched his fist, his knuckles embedding into the reverse thorns on the grip of the wings of freedom, blood seeping out and dripping onto the deck. "It will be on the real Magic Sea. I will find you. Make you kneel before me. Let 1.4 billion Yanhuang people watch their 'god'—"

He didn't finish.

Because the match prompt sounded.

Jackson took a deep breath and pressed confirm.

Consciousness was dragged into the battle space.

The white light dissipated.

He saw the person opposite him.

Jackson's smile disappeared.

A man stood opposite him. He was tall, over 1.9 meters, his skin pale to the point of being almost transparent, as if it had never been exposed to sunlight. Short gray hair clung to his scalp, and gray-blue eyes looked at him calmly.

No weapons.

Empty-handed.

But spreading from his whole body was a chill that made the air tremble. The virtual sea surface froze into ice beneath his feet, and the ice layer spread in all directions at a speed visible to the naked eye, with white mist rising from the ice surface.

Igor.

Polar Bear Camp.

Talent: Cold Adaptation (Gold Tier).

"It's you again." Jackson placed his hands on the wings of freedom at his waist, his tone turning cold.

"It's you again." Igor's voice was low, carrying a heavy Slavic accent.

The two looked at each other.

The third time.

The previous two encounters, each won one match. The first time Jackson won; the explosive power of the wings of freedom suppressed Igor's icy defense. The second time Igor won; he used extreme cold energy to freeze Jackson's gun barrel during close-quarters combat, then shattered Jackson's ribs with a punch.

Both matches lasted over ten minutes.

Ten minutes.

Jackson did a quick calculation in his mind. Now the top of the leaderboard, Hans Weber's match count was going above 2,800; if he tangled with Igor for ten minutes, he would be pulled away by at least three to four matches.

Igor was obviously also calculating the same account.

The two were fifty meters apart on the virtual sea surface, and neither moved first.

"Surrender." Jackson spoke first, his tone direct, "Save your time, and save mine."

Igor's gray-blue eyes narrowed slightly. "That's what I should be saying to you."