108: Chapter 108 Gray List

That breath inhaled new life, but what it exhaled was an ancient deathly aura, as if it had been held for a century.

The player lying on the ground slowly sat up. He looked around and saw more people like him, being awakened by the first ray of morning light in this new world from that out-of-body state of absent-mindedness.

Alive.

In his past gaming career, this word had been so cheap it could be squandered at will, but at this moment, it weighed more than a thousand tons.

It pressed down on the heart of every survivor—not as joy, but as a heavy, dazed responsibility.

"We... we survived," a dry voice rasped.

No one responded.

Because immediately following that, a more cruel question hovered in everyone's mind like a ghost:

"How many... survived?"

One action was almost entirely born from the deepest muscle memory of all first-generation players.

After experiencing countless battles, large and small, regardless of victory or defeat, the first thing they did upon conclusion was always that process engraved deep within their souls—open the system panel, check the battle report, contact teammates, share the joy, or... lick each other's wounds.

*Click.*

With a soft sound, the all-too-familiar semi-transparent light screen popped up in front of Outlaw Zhang San.

The interface of the light screen still maintained its simple yet high-tech style.

Only, those jumping values of the past were now all frozen.

His gaze did not go to his status bar, nor did it look at that still-empty experience bar.

His vision, like iron filings attracted by a magnet, was fixed tightly and involuntarily onto the tab named [Friends].

His fingertips trembled slightly.

In his entire life, he had never felt such hesitation.

Whether facing the Demon Sovereign's army at the gates or the [scales of law] of the Holy Land's Inquisitors, he had never wavered for even a single moment.

Because he always believed that within the rules, there was always a solution.

But now, he was afraid to touch that tab.

Because he knew that what lay inside was an eternal coldness that existed outside of the rules.

Ultimately, he still clicked it.

The list expanded.

There were no multicolored names, no flickering or jumping avatars.

Only a deathly, suffocating grey.

From top to bottom, row by row, perfectly neat.

Grey, grey, grey... like endless tombstones leading to hell.

Zhang San's pupils constricted suddenly.

His gaze, as if pierced by countless needles simultaneously, was nailed firmly to the top of that list.

[The Romance of the Science Guy].

Grey.

He could almost still see that eternally calm man who, after publishing that "thesis" titled "Feasibility Report on Sacrificing 'Extraterrestrial Data Link' to Achieve Maximum Energy Conversion Rate," calmly pushed up his non-existent glasses and said to him: "Zhang San, this is the optimal logical solution, and it is my choice. Leave the rest to you all."

His gaze shifted down.

[Charge to the End].

Grey.

The Commander-in-Chief of the Divine Wind Battalion, that madman who always charged at the very front, shouting "Brothers, follow me to our deaths!"

His final image was of him piloting a craft packed with Faith Bombs, crashing into the Evil God's sky-blotting body with a face full of fanatical smiles.

[Holy Light Hunk].

Grey.

The leader of the "Purifiers" alliance, that iron-blooded tough guy who once fought tooth and nail with the "Symbiosis Faction." In the final moment, he and his arch-rival "Plague Knight - Zero" shared a smile and charged side-by-side, turning into two distinct yet equally brilliant streaks of light.

[Immovable as a Mountain].

Grey.

The Legion Commander of the "Pot Lid Army," that man who was always as steady as a mountain, using the flesh and blood of himself and his brothers to forge the most solid defensive line for the rear.

His final command was for everyone to link arms and use their bodies to block the Evil God's light spears, buying the last second for the Ancestor's ascension.

Zhang San's breathing hitched.

He saw row after row of familiar names: [Liver Emperor V87], [War God Number One], [Infrastructure Maniac], [Keyboard Warrior Governing the Nation]... Behind every grey name was a vivid face and a series of absurd yet hot-blooded pasts.

They had once been chased into a chaotic mess by wild boars outside the Novice Village, and they had also scurried for cover together under the Flying Swords and fireballs of the Qingxi Chen Family.

They had cursed each other's ancestors over the rights to a BOSS, and they had also fought back-to-back without retreating when the Demon Sovereign's army pressed in.

And now, they all lay quietly in this grey list, like the cold ashes scattered on the ground after a magnificent firework display.

*Drip.*

A drop of warm liquid hit the metallic wreckage on the back of Zhang San's hand.

It wasn't his.

He slowly turned his head and saw that Skillful Hands Mending had stood beside him at some point.

This Lifestyle-class expert, who was always optimistic and cheerful, keen on sewing new clothes for everyone, and who even considered that her hairstyle couldn't get messy during a fight, was now biting her lip hard, while tears fell silently like broken pearls.

On her light screen, there was likewise an ocean of grey.

Her finger was gently and repeatedly stroking a name in vain—[Appearance is Justice].

"I... I still promised her..." Skillful Hands Mending's voice was choked and broken, carrying endless regret and sorrow, "...promised her that when the fight was over, I would use the best materials in the new world to make her... the most sparkling... wedding dress in the whole universe..."

She could no longer go on. She squatted down, burying her head deep between her knees. Her suppressed crying, like that of a wounded small animal, sounded exceptionally piercing in this deathly silent ruin.

One, two, three...

As if infected by this crying, the surviving players opened their own panels one after another.

Then, there was a chorus of suppressed gasps.

No one wailed; no one was hysterical.

There was only a deathly silence.

A silence even heavier than death itself.

Everyone seemed like a prisoner sentenced to life, staring blankly at their own unique "death list" before them.

Gossip Reporter Little Trumpet's finger slid frantically across the light screen, over and over, as if by sliding fast enough, she could find a single miracle of green within that grey.

But there was none.

Miracles had already been exhausted in that world-creating strike just now.

Outlaw Zhang San slowly, inch by inch, raised his finger and clicked on another tab.

[Legion Channel].

[World Guardian Alliance - Commander-in-Chief Channel]

[Current Online Members: 17]

[Total Historical Members: 8743]

He clicked in.

The channel was empty. The latest messages were frozen several hours ago.

[Charge to the End]: "Brothers! Divine Wind Battalion! For the final golden coffin! Charge—!!"

[Immovable as a Mountain]: "Pot Lid Army, form ranks! Hold to the death! Behind us is the future!"

[The Romance of the Science Guy]: "Optimal sacrifice initiated. Theoretically, we can buy 17.3 seconds of absolute interference-free time for the Ancestor. I wish you all good fortune in war."

Line after line of final last words lay there quietly, like epitaphs carved on tombstones.

Zhang San's eyes stung. He wanted to close it, but his finger uncontrollably clicked open another channel.

[World Channel].

Silence.

That boisterous place that once refreshed with messages 24 hours a day, filled with "buying materials," "party for dungeon," "carry please," "bragging and chatting," and "passionate flaming," was now terrifyingly quiet.

This silence was even more heart-wrenching than the Evil God's most crazed ravings.

Zhang San's heart sank bit by bit, into a bottomless abyss.

Did he win?

Did they win?

Yes.

They won the entire world, won a future full of hope and infinite possibilities.

But as he looked up, what he saw was an empty wilderness where no one was left to share this scenery.

He had won the whole world, but lost an entire... era of laughing and cursing together.

He slowly closed his eyes and shut the light screen.

That piercing grey disappeared, replaced by this new world before him, dyed golden by the morning light—utterly real, yet utterly lonely.

The heavy price made this victory feel incredibly real.

It also turned "survival" into a kind of... sweet torture.