33: Chapter 33 Higher Dimensional Perspective
"To be honest," a middle-aged man claiming to be a veteran sent a text message, "I've fought in wars for over a decade, and I've never witnessed a scene like this. One compass, 1.4 billion people, one life. Before last night, I thought the top of the leaderboard was just some kid with good luck, but after last night, I'm convinced. Not convinced by luck, but by ability. This kind of thing isn't something you can achieve with just luck."
"So, who exactly is the Fate Master?" someone asked.
"It's the top of the leaderboard! You, yeah, you, apologize sincerely to the great top-ranked master, the mysterious Lord of the Fate Altar, right now, immediately!"
"I don't know. But he's on our side."
"Just for that, I'll be his fan for life."
"What do you think the Fate Master is doing right now? What kind of ship is he on? Is he being besieged by sea beasts?"
"Come on, he's the Fate Master, can he be the same as us? I bet he's on some luxury Houseboat right now, drinking iced lemonade and watching us spam the chat."
"Hahahaha, I can picture it now."
"But seriously, no matter what he's doing, I just want to say one thing—thank you."
"Thanks +1"
"Hey, hey, has no one considered, what if the top-ranked person isn't the Lord of the Fate Altar?"
"Get lost, get lost, heretic! Those who disrupt the formation shall be banished for ten thousand miles and stripped of their humanity!"
"Shut up!"
"..."
After the disruptive comments were suppressed, messages of thanks continued to flood the screen.
"Thanks +1"
"Thanks +1"
"..."
"Thanks + ID number"
"I dug out my mom's photo, took a look, and then kowtowed three times toward the sea. Not to my mom, but to the great Yang Hang. My mom once said, the grace of saving a life is greater than heaven."
"Brother, don't say any more, my eyes are already red."
"I almost died last night too, it was the compass that showed me the way. I posted a message to the great 'Yang Hang', I don't know if he'll see it. I said, great Yang Hang, if you ever need anyone, just shout, and I'll be the first to arrive."
"I sent one too."
"I sent three posts in a row."
"I sent ten, even though I know it's impossible for him to reply, I just wanted to send them."
The messages on the Fate Platform were still scrolling, but the pace had slowed down. It wasn't that no one was talking; it was that everyone was enveloped in an indescribable emotion. That emotion wasn't gratitude, nor was it worship; it was something very primal, engraved in their bones—someone had lit a lamp for you in the darkness; you didn't know who they were, you didn't know where they were, but you knew they were there.
"Alright, alright, stop being so sentimental." A survivor with the ID "Leziren" popped up, "Us staying alive is the best thanks. Instead of wasting time spamming the screen, we should be repairing ships, fishing, and grinding for merit. Next beast tide, we can kill a few more ourselves and cause less trouble for the Fate Master."
"Well said!"
"Going to repair the ship!"
"Going to fish!"
"Going to grind merit!"
"Great Yang Hang, next beast tide, I'll help you kill them!"
"Count me in!"
"+1!"
"+10086!"
Names surged on the Fate Platform like a tide, but this time, it wasn't spamming thanks; it was shouting. 1.4 billion people, separated by thousands of nautical miles, by broken Houseboats and boundless seawater, were shouting at a name that didn't know where it was.
Yang Hang took off his sunglasses and leaned back into his chair.
The morning light pierced through the clouds and spilled onto the deck, stretching his shadow long.
But he wasn't carried away by joy.
Instead, his consciousness entered the Karmic Void Realm, mobilized the Power of Causality, entered a high-dimensional perspective, and began to observe silently.
He looked from the extreme north of the Magic Sea to the extreme south, and from the extreme east to the extreme west.
Wherever his perspective reached, it was devastated, especially outside the Yanhuang Camp; everywhere were broken rotten-wood-grade Houseboats, severed limbs and wreckage, floating blood, and Yang Hang even saw survivors with half their bodies missing, gasping for breath in the sea.
Even those survivors from other civilizations who were lucky enough to open bronze, silver, or even gold-grade treasure chests in the past few days were still mostly in a wretched state.
Even those guys ranked high on the personal leaderboard were no exception.
Because the intensity of the beast tide was determined by merit points.
When his perspective entered the location of the Yanhuang Camp, he could see at a glance that it was more than a step better than the other camps.
But it was undeniable that the wounded, the broken, the wretched, those with shattered Houseboats, and those still in shock still occupied the vast majority of the scene.
The entire sea area seemed to have turned into the ruins of some ancient battlefield overnight.
However, the biggest difference between the Yanhuang Camp and other camps that comforted him was that, under the serial positioning of the Cause and Effect Fate Platform and the magic sea compass, countless people were spontaneously helping and rescuing others to the best of their ability.
On the side of the Little Life Society.
They had specially used a few bronze-grade Houseboats to build a temporary treatment center.
President Shen Qing's hands were shaking.
Not because of fear, but because of exhaustion.
She was squatting on a floating board spliced together, her right hand pressing on a middle-aged man whose chest had been torn open by a crab claw. Pale golden light seeped from her palm; that light was at least half as dim as it had been three hours ago.
Ribs reset, lungs stopped bleeding, the panel slowly healed. The middle-aged man coughed up a mouthful of blood, and his breathing was restored.
"Next!" the volunteer next to her shouted.
President Shen Qing stood up, her legs went weak, and her knee hit the edge of the floating board. She didn't make a sound, holding onto the rope beside her to steady herself.
On her personal panel, her Energy value had dropped from full to 2.
Blood Qi value 4.
Divine Sense value 3.
All three items were red.
A warning flashed in the bottom right corner of the panel: [Severe exhaustion, it is recommended to immediately stop casting skills, otherwise irreversible damage will be caused.]
She swiped the warning away.
The temporary gathering point of over three thousand people around her had expanded to five thousand. Stray survivors fleeing from nearby sea areas during the beast tide were gathering more and more, and there were three times as many wounded as she had expected.
Amputated limbs, burns, half a face corroded by sea beast venom.
She was one person, with one pair of hands.
The Minor Life Technique could indeed bring the dead back to life and grow flesh on bones, but there was a prerequisite—it consumed the caster's own energy.
"Sister Shen, take a break." A young man wrapped in bandages ran over, "Let others handle what they can first; if you keep going like this, you'll collapse yourself."
President Shen Qing wiped the cold sweat from her forehead. "How many more critical cases?"
"Seventeen. Five of them won't last two hours without treatment."
She closed her eyes, calculated the remaining logistics supplies for recovering energy, spirit, and Qi, and made a judgment.
"Bring those five over. For the rest, stabilize them with conventional medicine."
"The medicine is almost gone too."
President Shen Qing didn't answer.
She knew.
Among these five thousand people, fewer than two hundred had abilities, fewer than fifty had weapons, and fewer than ten had medical supplies. And she was the only healer.
Not enough manpower, not enough supplies, not enough of anything.
She had seen the help-seeking posts on the Fate Platform; there were hundreds of isolated wounded people within a radius of twenty nautical miles sending coordinates, but she couldn't even take care of her own side.
The sea breeze blew in, she hunched her shoulders, but still persisted.
---
Three hundred nautical miles away.
The post-war order of the Fuxing Hong Base was barely maintaining rotation like a rusty gear.
The one hundred thousand volunteer guards assembled before the beast tide, plus the thirty-seven thousand non-combatants urgently teleported during the beast tide, plus the hundreds of thousands of stray survivors who had gathered one after another after the beast tide ended—the base was stuffed with nearly three hundred thousand people.
And it was still growing.
Zheng Yuanshan stood in the command cabin. The fixed-point array map in front of him was densely packed with distress light points, so many that they had merged into a murky orange mass.
"How long can the inventory last?"
"Fresh water, six hours. Rations, four hours. Medicine—" the Chief of Staff paused, "is already gone."
Zheng Yuanshan didn't speak. He walked to the cabin door and pushed it open.
On the deck.
There were people everywhere.
Some were shivering, wrapped in soaked cloth strips; some were holding children and leaning against the ship's railing, feeding them water; some were lying motionless on temporarily laid canvas—it was hard to tell if they were asleep or had passed out.
A young volunteer guard wearing a camouflage band ran over and saluted: "Chief, someone in Zone C started fighting over fresh water. People have been sent to handle it, but—"
"But what?"
"The one who hit someone killed three Iron-Clad Crabs last night and saved seven people nearby."
Zheng Yuanshan was silent for three seconds.
"Separate them first, don't punish him. Go and make up his share of water."
"Yes."
The young man ran off.
Zheng Yuanshan turned and returned to the command cabin, staring at the fixed-point array map.
He could barely feed three hundred thousand people, and there were still hundreds of thousands of light points on the map waiting for rescue.
On the Fate Platform, he had released an official establishment announcement half an hour ago in the name of the "Fuxing Hong People's Association," calling on all Yanhuang Civilization survivors to spontaneously carry out mutual aid and rescue.
The post was very popular.
Many people responded.
But the reality problem always existed—not enough medical drugs. Not enough food. Not enough rescue personnel.
The mutual aid area was simply too vast...
Everything, everything was something he had to handle, even if it meant dying on the battlefield, on the premise of preserving this little spark of hope that was the Fuxing Hong People's Association born ahead of time.
This was his duty!
---
There were also sporadic scenes of self-rescue scattered across the entire Magic Sea.
In a certain sea area to the west, a middle-aged woman who had opened a "Basic Herbalism" skill crushed her last three hemostatic herbs and shared them with two strange young people on a raft next to her. The wound on her own arm was still bleeding.
To the north, a seven-person team used bronze fish spears to hunt a dead whale that had run aground during the beast tide; the whale meat they cut off was enough to eat for three days. But there were more than forty hungry stray survivors nearby approaching them, with pleading, but also dangerous, looks in their eyes.
To the east, an unknown survivor sent a message in the regional echo: "I am a surgeon. Anyone who has a wound that needs suturing can send me a picture via private chat, and I will teach you how to handle it online."
The first reply below was: "Big brother, can you teach me how to suture my own stomach through the screen?"
The second reply was a photo, with half a leg's flesh turned out, bone exposed.
The sender only typed two words: "Help me."
The discussion area was silent for three seconds.
Then the doctor replied with a voice message, teaching him how to use a cloth strip to tie the base of his thigh to stop the bleeding first.
Seeing this, something flashed through Yang Hang's mind, and then he continued to look at other places.