Doomsday Spiritual Artifact Master

Chapter 77 – Sin City (11)
◎ Long time no see ◎

 

After falling from the platform on the 11th floor, the basic model wheelchair was shattered and unusable.

Zhuang Qingyan pulled out a long strip from the steel frame at the bottom, using it as a makeshift crutch. He limped forward, with several joints of his body bruised and his hands scraped. Fortunately, none were serious, except the knee connected to the injured leg, which pressed on the nerve, causing a piercing pain that came in waves.

The surroundings were dimly lit, and only vague silhouettes could be seen. The cells on this level were empty, devoid of any human presence.

After walking for about ten minutes, Zhuang Qingyan stopped in front of an open cell. The prisoner inside was emaciated, with hair resembling tangled straw strewn all over the place. He was curled up in a pile of hair, and if it weren’t for the slight movement of his chest, he would have looked like a corpse that had been dead for a long time.

“Forty-five years.”

A cold, stern voice suddenly sounded from behind.

Zhuang Qingyan quickly turned around to see a prison guard, around fifty or sixty years old, wearing a neat, old-fashioned police uniform and looking at him calmly.

When did this person approach? Zhuang Qingyan hadn’t noticed at all, and his hand gripping the crutch tightened slowly.

“His name is Senran (Green Anaconda), once a top-ranked assassin in the Alliance. He was imprisoned in the Death Prison in the year 2 of the New Calendar, and this year marks the forty-fifth year,” the prison guard explained.

Senran, Zhuang Qingyan silently repeated the name, quickly retrieving relevant records from the database in his mind. Like Su Cha, Senran also hailed from the rainforest and was an active figure decades ago. The most prominent rumor about him was that he successfully assassinated the neighboring country’s leader on the eve of a globally watched international conference, directly leading to the Alliance’s annexation of that country. However… it was likely that no one remembered that now.

“You’re not a prisoner in our cell block,” the prison guard stated confidently.

“William White threw me down here,” Zhuang Qingyan replied.

The prison guard fell silent for a moment. There was no particular reaction upon hearing the name of the warden; instead, he continued, “From now on, remember, you can only enter here, not leave. Stillness is your eternal enemy. Get used to the timeless solitude.”

Solitude? Zhuang Qingyan smiled silently and continued to hobble forward.

Ahead was another distinctive cell. In the corner of the room was a glossy, illusionary nutrient pod. The prisoner lying inside had his eyes tightly closed, his naked body soaked in non-decomposing nutrient fluid. There was a small black box connected to the pod, supplying power.

“Smail,” Zhuang Qingyan softly spoke his name.

“You know him,” the prison guard said, his voice devoid of emotion.

“Smail is a figure recorded in textbooks. Who wouldn’t know him?” Zhuang Qingyan’s eyes reflected the light from the bottom of the nutrient pod. “But few people know that this renowned visionary of District A5 is also the founder of the ‘Country of Old People’ ideology.”

The prison guard fell silent for a moment and objectively remarked, “You come from an extraordinary background, and you’re very knowledgeable.”

Zhuang Qingyan refrained from giving a definite evaluation of the prison guard. He lowered his gaze, lost in thought. Even creations like nutrient pods, tearing through the fabric of technology, could appear in District F. It seemed that the establishment of the Death Prison was closely related to the covert forces within the Alliance’s higher echelons.

“Is he dead?” Zhuang Qingyan inquired.

“From a biological standpoint, no. The prisoner’s sentence is one hundred years. To prevent premature death, we have detached his consciousness from his body, ensuring his consciousness survives and endures a hundred years of imprisonment here,” the prison guard calmly explained.

The prison guard’s demeanor was unexpectedly calm, readily answering questions. He didn’t reprimand Zhuang Qingyan for wandering around so aimlessly and not returning to the cell.

In the dim light emanating from the nutrient pod, Zhuang Qingyan scrutinized the neatly combed gray hair under the officer’s cap and the weathered, alert eyes.

“Officer, are you this patient with all the prisoners?” Zhuang Qingyan asked.

The prison guard replied, deflecting the question, “No one has come down here for a long time.”

“I see. How many prisoners are left?” Zhuang Qingyan inquired.

“42,” the prison guard added, “still alive.”

Zhuang Qingyan lightly tapped the floor with his cane. “Officer, can I move around freely since I can’t leave anyway?”

“You can,” the prison guard nodded.

After getting the answer he wanted, Zhuang Qingyan slowly moved forward, and the prison guard followed him silently.

Zhuang Qingyan: “…”

What does this mean? We agreed on free movement. Why are you following me?

*

Song Ke plunged into a void.

After falling from the arena’s gap, she landed on a long slope that seemed endless. Along the way, there were different exits, but she was unconscious at the time, too weak to struggle, and slid directly to the deepest point, crashing onto the ground with a “thud.”

She didn’t know how long had passed before Song Ke faintly regained consciousness.

It was pitch-black around her, the kind where you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face.

Song Ke, lying down, moved her fingers and attempted to use her abilities, all to no avail.

The fantastical sensation of her abilities erupting just now could no longer be grasped. The spiritual power in her body felt like stagnant, depleted water, unable to sense any ripples. Even the injuries that hadn’t healed properly on her chest started to ache miserably at this moment.

Song Ke fumbled to stand up, exploring back and forth in the winding passages. She walked down several dead ends before finally entering a spacious area.

There were faint breaths in her ears, seemingly coming from somewhere higher than her.

Song Ke abruptly looked up, although she couldn’t see anything. “Who?”

“Me.”

“…Who are you?”

“I am me; I’ve always been here.”

Always here… Song Ke realized this was likely a fellow prisoner, and she might be able to gather some information from them.

She carefully moved towards the voice, step by step, and finally sat down in a corner, exhausted.

“Where is this place?” she asked.

“The Death Prison,” the voice replied.

“No, I meant, which level are we on?”

No response from the other person.

Song Ke tried a different question, “Apart from me, have others fallen down here?”

“No.”

Song Ke lowered her head in frustration. The 13th to 18th floors seemed quite different from what she had expected. How was she going to find Zhuang Qingyan?

In the silence, the young-sounding voice spoke again.

“Your body is perfect.”

Song Ke’s hair stood on end, and a chilling sensation ran down her spine. She had heard similar indifferent praise from another person’s lips before.

At the public cemetery in Ferrara, the super AI Ilya had made comments like “…I would still like this body of yours”.

“What do you mean?” Song Ke asked, feigning composure.

“Just a compliment. Your limbs and joints have a vigorous flow of vitality, very healthy,” the man’s tone carried a hint of melancholy.

Song Ke squeezed her palm nervously and asked, “Are you not healthy?”

The man fell silent again.

His silence eased Song Ke’s tension a bit. Perhaps he was missing an arm or a leg, and he made that comment out of envy.

“I have a friend… he broke his leg, but he loves life and is always positive,” Song Ke spoke nonsense in the darkness.

The man’s tone showed some confusion, “Are you comforting me?”

Song Ke stammered, “Uh…”

“Thank you, but I don’t need it.”

“…”

Communicating with him was difficult; Song Ke had a headache.

“I want to explore the area. Do you want to come along?”

“I can’t move.”

“I am like a tree.”

“Trees have soil to root into, and so do I.”

Song Ke was filled with question marks. This person seemed to be speaking very seriously, but she couldn’t understand him at all.

“Trees can’t talk,” Song Ke argued.

“You’re not a tree; how do you know trees can’t talk?”

“I… I’m not a tree, and you’re not a tree either.”

“You’re not me; how do you know I’m not a tree and can’t talk?”

Oh no, he turned the tables on her.

Song Ke couldn’t argue with him and could only simmer in frustration.

After a while, the man initiated communication again.

“So, you’ve seen it now.”

“Seen what?”

“A talking tree, me.”

“…”

“Let’s discuss something. After you die, can I have your body for use?”

“No!”

“You’re quite stingy.”

Song Ke was infuriated. Me, stingy? Okay, whatever you say.

This person’s way of thinking was truly strange, rigid, and robotic, exuding an odd sense of formalism. Although he seemed eager to communicate, he might lack social skills as he could easily annoy people upon opening his mouth.

“I’m going to look for someone,” Song Ke declared, and she began to walk away. However, it was so dark that she accidentally stepped on something and stumbled.

“You stepped on me.”

“Uh… I’m sorry,” Song Ke said with a choked voice. How could I possibly step on you when your voice was at least ten meters away from me?

“I accept your apology.”

There was a slight rustling sound accompanied by the sound of leaves withdrawing from under her feet swiftly.

Song Ke was taken aback. An absurd thought crossed her mind: Could she really be talking to a tree?

Song Ke wandered in the dark for a while. The place was vast, and she found nothing. She returned to where she started, feeling disheartened.

“Whom are you looking for? I’m sure it’s only me here.”

“Why didn’t you say that earlier?” Song Ke was annoyed.

“Do I need to say this kind of thing in advance? I thought you knew,” the man replied, not sarcastic but genuinely puzzled.

Song Ke stretched out her limbs and lay down on the ground, feeling exhausted. She needed to rest for a few minutes.

At least the 13th to 18th floor seemed safer than she had imagined.

‘Zhuang Qingyan, please wait for me a little longer.’

*

From the 13th to the 18th floor, Zhuang Qingyan checked each level one by one. Besides Senran and Smail, he found the other 40 prisoners. They were all well-known figures within the Alliance, but here, they were indistinguishable from the living dead.

It might have taken two or maybe three days, but the specific time was immeasurable, as he had no reference point. Due to excessive walking, blisters formed on his palms and arms, and his intact left leg had also begun to ache intensely.

“Officer, what do you think is the purpose of the Death Prison’s existence?” Zhuang Qingyan turned to the person who had been quietly following him.

“The Death Prison is a necessary product of the Alliance’s development at a specific stage, created with the emergence of class and division of districts.”

“Necessary product. What about the Crime Record? Is that necessary too?” Zhuang Qingyan chuckled.

The prison guard remained silent for a second, as if unfamiliar with the sudden use of that term, and didn’t respond immediately.

Zhuang Qingyan instantly understood. Apart from the prisoners, the only other person on this level was the prison guard. The man’s true identity had become apparent.

“The person I’m looking for isn’t here,” Zhuang Qingyan stated.

“All the prisoners from the 13th to the 18th floors are here, alive,” the prison guard replied.

“Is that so? I guess the Death Prison must have more than 18 floors,” Zhuang Qingyan raised his gaze slightly. “Isn’t that right, Lord Hades?”

The prison guard fell silent.

“Sorry, I should be more precise and address you as… the former Lord Hades,” Zhuang Qingyan said slowly.

The prison guard had been giving off an aura of dissonance ever since he appeared. Later, Zhuang Qingyan gradually noticed that this person didn’t breathe, had no chest movement, and displayed an unnaturally stable emotional state. He remembered Senran, who had been imprisoned 45 years ago, in detail, but he couldn’t recognize the Crime Record that every present-day prisoner had, nor did he know about William White, the infamous, ruthless warden.

Connecting all these oddities left only one possibility. However, this possibility likely hid other secrets.

“You’ve been emphasizing ‘alive’ all along because you know you’re no longer a living being. So, what are you? A puppet or a marionette?” Zhuang Qingyan asked.

“You don’t need to answer. Regardless of what you are, take me to see the true Lord Hades.”

*

“Are you dead?” the man asked.

“No,” Song Ke lifted her leg slightly, indicating that she was still alive, though the man probably couldn’t see her.

“Oh,” the man’s voice sounded a little disappointed, “When will you die, then?”

Song Ke retorted, “You go first, and I’ll die later.”

“But trees have long lifespans.”

“My lifespan is also long,” Song Ke replied spitefully, “Longer than yours.”

The man was about to engage in a logical argument with her about “whose lifespan is longer” when he suddenly paused and said, “Someone’s coming.”

Song Ke immediately rolled over and asked eagerly, “Who’s coming? Are they alive? How many people? Are they male or female? Where are they?”

Finally, someone was coming, and it got her really excited.

The man thought silently for a moment and muttered to himself, “To meet people, you need to have a light.”

“Why didn’t you turn on the light earlier if you had one?” Song Ke shouted in disbelief, considering she had been stumbling in the dark for so many days!

The moment his words fell, a faint light began to shine, gradually brightening from the distance. Song Ke instinctively closed her eyes and waited for her pupils to adjust to the surroundings’ brightness. When she cautiously opened her eyes, she was shocked by the scene in front of her.

A vast sea of data formed a lush, towering tree right in the center of the space. It emitted a vibrant green glow of life. The man who had been speaking to Song Ke was completely surrounded by flowing code. His legs, from the thighs down, were missing, but an endless stream of data continuously poured in, forming the shape of virtual legs. Simultaneously, they acted as two flexible branches, winding and extending throughout the entire space. In other words, the man was a part of the massive tree.

Silver hair! Ice-blue eyes!

Song Ke had never seen a genuine ice-blue eye before. Lu Xinglan’s eyes were not pure; they had a faint touch of ice blue. But at this moment, she was certain that the man in front of her had the purest form of ice-blue eyes. It was hard to describe the exact color in words; it was like the first snow of winter, like a frozen mirror-like lake, like translucent crystal. But it was by no means lifeless. Every time the man blinked, one could see stars moving within them.

Lu Xiaoyu, this tree…ah, no, this person was Lu Xiaoyu! They had finally found the person they had been searching for!

Two other figures slowly emerged from the darkness. The man with the crutches, upon seeing the scene before him, was initially taken aback but then smiled slightly.

“It’s really you.”

“Haven’t seen you for years. How did you end up in such a pitiful state?”

“The Lu family dealt quite a blow; they even broke both of your legs?”

Lu Xiaoyu blinked in confusion and his silver hair scattered over his shoulders. “I have legs.”

The data around him trembled slightly, and the branches decorated with green 101010 leaves rustled.

“You’re the one without legs,” Lu Xiaoyu retorted.

“You seem to be enjoying yourself as the Lord Hades here,” Zhuang Qingyan removed the Crime Record from his shoulder and casually threw it in front of him. “Is this lousy thing also your creation?”

Lu Xiaoyu glanced at the Crime Record on the ground, then looked back at Zhuang Qingyan. He furrowed his brows slightly, and the data flow around him accelerated, making it clear that he was not pleased.

Zhuang Qingyan raised an eyebrow and smiled, “What’s this? Lost your legs and your memory has regressed?”

The flow of data came to an abrupt halt, and Lu Xiaoyu observed Zhuang Qingyan’s expression for a while before softly saying, “Ah, it’s you.”

“Zhuang Qingyan!” Song Ke hurried over to support him.

Zhuang Qingyan breathed a sigh of relief; he was nearly at his limit. He obediently relaxed, leaning against Song Ke.

Song Ke complained, “I was looking for you and couldn’t find you. It’s so dark in here, and I couldn’t get out.”

Zhuang Qingyan pinched her puffed cheeks lightly and playfully tugged them from side to side.

In response, Song Ke shook her head from side to side, mimicking his actions.

Zhuang Qingyan chuckled, “Alright, stop acting cute. I’m fine.”

Acting cute? Song Ke’s face remained expressionless as she punched him in the face, causing his head to tilt.

“Hiss, you’re so fierce,” Zhuang Qingyan exclaimed softly.

“Zhuang… Qing… Yan.”

Lu Xiaoyu suddenly called his name, repeating it with a strange tone.

His pair of pure ice-blue eyes locked onto Zhuang Qingyan, and Zhuang Qingyan returned the gaze.

Across a distance of ten meters, both remained silent, yet their expressions were remarkably similar, right down to the slight chin lift as they observed one another.

Transcending the vast expanse of time and space, a long time ago, two equally brilliant and proud young men, neither willing to yield to the other, constantly challenged each other and ultimately had to shake hands and make peace.

Song Ke belatedly remembered that Zhuang Qingyan had once said that Lu Xiaoyu was his “friend.”

Were they really friends, these two oddballs?

Lu Xiaoyu awkwardly tugged at the corners of his mouth, trying to form a “smile.”

“Long time no see, Zhuang Qingyan.”

 

 

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**TN

Oh~ The last team member is here~ And he looks like Gojo Satoru~Kyaa kyaa <3