112: Chapter 112 The Living Legend

Upon the watchtower, the wind wailed like a sob.

It brushed past the hem of Outlaw Zhang San's clothes, bringing with it the scent of dust and the salty tang of sweat from the distant construction site.

His gaze followed the small, thin figure named 'Little Stone,' watching him move like a wound-up machine, tirelessly shuttling between the ruins and the restoration points. Every trip was for a single, meager 'contribution point,' for the next white flour bun that could fill his stomach.

"It seems... we've turned this world into a game that is both more cruel and more fair." Immovable as a Mountain's voice sounded behind him, steady as ever, yet carrying a hint of unprecedented bewilderment.

His arms, which had once withstood the impact of a Demon God, were crossed over his chest. The lines of his muscles were as hard as rock, but his eyes were as complex as a deep pool.

"The steps have been laid," Zhang San said without turning around, his voice as calm as a frozen lake. "But as for where they lead, who will guide the way, and who will protect those who are climbing—we haven't figured that out yet."

"Figured it out?" Infrastructure Maniac nearby let out a scoff. He had just returned from surveying a collapsed mine, covered in mud and with sunken eye sockets, but the fire burning in his eyes was even more intense than during the war. "There's no time to think! We're still missing three types of repair materials for the Number One Energy Core, the defense formation blueprints for Newborn City are only conceptual drafts, and then there's the food problem for at least thirty thousand people... Zhang San, we aren't adventurers anymore. We're... we're damn stewards! Stewards of a dilapidated manor where only the foundation remains!"

His words were crude, but they struck at the core of the matter.

The ecstasy of victory had long since been ground away by endless trivialities and the grayed-out names on their friends lists.

They had won the world, only to inherit a riddled mess, along with tens of thousands of 'natives' waiting to be fed and equally dazed surviving players.

They were no longer the 'Heavenly Chosen Filial Grandsons.' The Old Ancestor had transformed into the Heavenly Dao; he no longer issued quests and no longer provided protection.

That ultimate slogan, 'For the Old Ancestor's golden coffin,' had also been forever sealed in the past along with that magnificent yet hollow monument.

They had become their own Old Ancestors.

"Then let's have a meeting." Zhang San finally turned around, his gaze sweeping over everyone present. "We 'living legends' need to set a tone for this new era."

...

Half an hour later, at the temporary headquarters of Construction Site Number One.

Calling this place a headquarters was a bit of a stretch; it was more like a cave temporarily reinforced with giant stones and formations.

The air was thick with the smell of damp earth and the bitter scent of cheap refreshing potions.

A massive sand table made of spliced wooden boards sat in the center, marked with different colored stones indicating the countless problems Newborn City urgently needed to solve.

Almost all the surviving high-level players of the first generation were here.

Besides Zhang San, Immovable as a Mountain, and Infrastructure Maniac, there was Skillful Hands Mending, who was in charge of logistics and production and was currently checking resource reports with bloodshot eyes.

And Gossip Reporter Little Trumpet, who held a thick notebook and recorded everything with a sharp gaze.

A few seats were empty.

Those belonged to 'Life-Bargaining First Person - War God Number One,' 'Charge to the End,' 'The Romance of the Science Guy'... names that would never light up again.

No one mentioned it, but everyone subconsciously avoided those empty seats, as if their comrades were still sitting there, merely fallen into a deep sleep.

The silence was so oppressive it felt physical.

"I'll go first." Immovable as a Mountain was the first to break the silence. With a broad wave of his hand, he pointed at the red stones on the sand table representing the defense system. "We must rebuild our armed forces. Not like the wartime 'Divine Wind Battalion' or 'Pot Lid Army,' but a normalized, strictly disciplined 'Guardian Legion.' The Evil God is destroyed, but this world is still full of danger. Who can guarantee there isn't a second or third 'Maw of Myriad Manifestations' beyond the Void?"

"I object." Skillful Hands Mending put down her reports, her voice not loud but exceptionally firm. "At least not for now. Immovable, have you looked at today's resource consumption? All our resources should be prioritized for production and people's livelihoods. A steamed bun can save a child like Little Stone, but a standard-issue Flying Sword cannot. We no longer have the capital for resurrection; we can't think about war like we used to."

"If we don't think about war, are we supposed to wait for war to think about us?" Infrastructure Maniac countered. "I agree with Immovable's point, but from a different angle. We need an armed force, not for external threats, but for internal ones! To ensure our infrastructure projects proceed smoothly! Now that everyone has a system, who knows if some native cultivator or player will use their slightly higher level to rob someone else's mine or occupy someone else's land? Without rules, there is no order! What we lack most right now are rules!"

"Rules..." Gossip Reporter Little Trumpet pushed up her non-existent glasses, a habit she'd developed over the years. "What kind of rules? Who sets them? Who enforces them? Us? By what right? Just because we survived?"

Her question was like a sharp knife, precisely piercing the core issue that everyone was avoiding.

By what right?

They were the heroes who slew the dragon, the saviors of the world.

But when the dust settled and they held the most powerful forces and advanced systems in the world, how should they carry themselves?

Become a new 'Holy Land'?

New 'Gods'?

Then what would be the difference between them and their former enemies?

Inside the cave, a suffocating silence fell once more.

Just then, Outlaw Zhang San slowly walked to the center of the sand table.

He didn't look at the stones representing resources, defenses, or population.

His finger lightly tapped the very center of the sand table, the as-yet-unnamed area that would become the heart of the city in the future.

"We will not be kings, we will not seek hegemony, and we will not be gods."

His voice wasn't loud, yet it reached everyone's ears clearly.

"We will be... a 'Council'."

He looked up, his gaze sweeping over everyone one by one. In those eyes that had once seen through countless rule loopholes, a light never seen before flickered—the light of creating rules.

"I propose the establishment of the 'World Guardian Council.' The Council will not directly rule any land, nor will it possess any private army. Its sole responsibility is to guide, educate, and protect."

"Guidance—using our understanding of the 'System' to guide all 'players,' whether they be natives or survivors like us, toward the correct path of growth and preventing power from spiraling out of control."

"Education—we must establish an academy, the 'Guardian Academy.' We will impart our combat experience, production techniques, and tactical thinking freely to all who are willing to learn. We are not training the strong, but the next generation of guardians."

"Protection—this is the true meaning of the legion 'Immovable' wants. It belongs to no individual, only to the Council. Its duty is not conquest, but to guard the peace of this world and handle crises that exceed the capabilities of ordinary people."

Zhang San's words were like a bolt of lightning, clearing the gloom inside the cave.

He had found a new role for them, these 'living legends.'

Not as lofty rulers, but as the founders of civilization, as guides, and as eternal watchers.

"I agree." Skillful Hands Mending was the first to respond, her eyes reigniting with brilliance. "The Logistics and Production Department will fully support the establishment of the Council and the Academy."

"Feasible." Immovable as a Mountain was concise, the lines on his face softening slightly.

"Damn," Infrastructure Maniac cursed, but an excited smile appeared on his face. "Sounds like this will be much more exciting than building a city. I'll take charge of the Academy's site selection and infrastructure. I guarantee it'll be the most durable building on the entire continent!"

"In that case..." Gossip Reporter Little Trumpet closed her notebook and looked at Zhang San solemnly. "The Council needs a department to record all of this. To record where we came from, why we fought, to record the names and stories of those who sacrificed themselves, and to record every mistake and every bit of progress in this new era. I apply to establish the 'World History Archives' and serve as its first Director."

"Passed by unanimous vote." A nearly imperceptible curve finally appeared at the corner of Zhang San's mouth.

He felt that the giant rock pressing down on the hearts of all the survivors had finally been pried open by a crack.

They had found their direction.

However, at the very moment his mind relaxed, an extremely subtle, indescribable 'sense of discord' flashed through the depths of the 'System Rules' in his perception, like an electric current.

That feeling was fleeting, so fast it seemed like an illusion.

It was like a redundant character that couldn't be identified yet definitely existed, hidden within a piece of flawless code.

It didn't affect the program's operation, but it added a faint, phantom-like 'stiffness' to the very bottom of the entire logic.

Was it an illusion?

Or was the new Heavenly Dao not yet stable?

Zhang San's brow furrowed imperceptibly.

He didn't say anything; now was not the time to cause unnecessary trouble.

But this sliver of discord was like the tiniest thorn, pricking deep into his consciousness.

He had a vague feeling that Fairy Yunshang, who had been 'formatted' rather than 'deleted' by the new Heavenly Dao, might not have truly dissipated.

Her obsession, her ultimate pursuit of 'Absolute Order,' might have already become part of the new world's laws, like a deadly poison in the embers, waiting for the right moment to reignite.

"Now, for the last agenda item." Zhang San suppressed the strangeness in his heart and pulled everyone's attention back. "Regarding the 'Earth Gate'."

The passage connecting the two worlds was the softest and most painful spot in the hearts of all survivors.

Going home was already an option that had been permanently crossed out.

"Blockade? Open? Or limited exchange?" Immovable as a Mountain asked. This question was even thornier than establishing the Council.

Skillful Hands Mending's eyes turned red again. She thought of her family on Earth, of that peaceful and comfortable world she could never return to.

Once again, it was Zhang San who provided the direction.

"It cannot be a door to go home, but it can be a bridge." His voice was calm and powerful. "A bridge for cultural exchange. We can selectively send back safe knowledge from here, such as herbalism or certain gentle fitness techniques. At the same time, we need Earth's knowledge even more—scientific thinking, humanistic concepts, artistic forms... to enrich this world that has been hollowed out by war. We must strictly control it, making it a pipe that transports nutrients rather than a breach that brings disaster."

Everyone was silent for a long time, and finally, they all nodded slowly.

This was perhaps the best choice.

The meeting ended, and everyone filed out.

Outside the cave, the setting sun was dyeing the sky a magnificent gold.

The construction site of Newborn City was still bustling. Countless figures like 'Little Stone' were working hard for their next 'bun'.

The steps they were climbing were difficult, but every step was clearly visible, and every step had a reward.

Outlaw Zhang San stood at the cave entrance, looking at this domain they had personally won, looking at this chaotic, crude, yet vibrant picture.

He reached out his hand.

These hands had once tapped on keyboards, commanding the winds and clouds in a virtual world;

They had also gripped staves, releasing forbidden spells that could destroy heaven and earth;

They had even studied system loopholes countless times, playing with rules in the palm of his hand.

And now, these hands were going to start learning how to write rules, how to guard order, and how to carry the weight of a civilization.

He slowly clenched his fist.

The road ahead was long and covered in thorns, and there were even unknown shadows lurking.

But they, these living legends, had no other choice.