Translator: AnubisTL
Twenty seconds later...
"Hmm."
The Tier 8 zombie had vanished, leaving only a rain of blood and shredded flesh slowly drifting to the ground. Not even a recognizable chunk of meat remained—it had been completely pulverized, as if thrown into a meat grinder.
Chen Mang stared intently at the flashing data on the control panel. The Tier 50 vehicle blade and Tier 50 drill, activated by the train's special ability "Death Spin," could easily kill a Tier 8 monster. The damage output was sufficient.
However, instant kills weren't possible, requiring slightly more time.
The resistance was roughly equivalent to the Flesh Wall Barrier from the "Kunlun Mountain" zone's flesh train-exclusive fortuitous encounter map, though slightly weaker.
Moreover, this Tier 8 zombie was relatively small. If it had been larger, the kill would have taken even longer. Still, the fact that it could be killed at all was satisfactory.
Not bad.
Once this Tier 3 Iron Mine was exhausted, upgrading both the vehicle blade and drill to Tier 100 would likely enable instant kills against Tier 8 zombies. While white-grade accessories offered smaller power boosts per level compared to red-grade accessories, their affordability made them worthwhile.
Chen Mang had never dared to dream of upgrading his Groundburst Missile or Doomsday Cannon to Tier 100.
Several lines of text flashed across the screen:
"Strongly corrosive liquid detected spraying onto the mech."
"Mechanical nanospiders are ready to deploy."
"Armor Tier 5 overpowered effect: immunity to corrosion from liquids, mists, swamps, etc."
"Armor integrity: undamaged."
"External speaker integrity: 22%. Powerful magnet integrity: 19%."
"Mechanical nanospiders are already initiating repairs."
With the Tier 8 zombie leader gone, the zombie horde had devolved into scattered stragglers. The Doomsday Cannon precisely eliminated over a dozen Tier 6 zombies, while the remaining members of Zombie Biaozi's group jumped from the carriages to engage the enemy.
The green-grade "Armor" was undeniably useful, but its sole drawback was that it only protected the train itself. External accessories like the "External Speaker" and "Powerful Magnet," mounted on the armor, remained vulnerable.
This made it inferior to the energy shield, which completely shielded these external components.
As a result, during nearly every engagement, the Audio System and Powerful Magnet suffered damage. Fortunately, their high Tier meant even life-support accessories possessed some defensive capabilities, preventing outright destruction. Instead, they sustained damage that could be repaired by mechanical nanospiders.
Yet this constant cycle of damage and repair was starting to wear on him.
The Tier 8 zombie had traveled all this way just to deliver a green-grade accessory blueprint:
Single-Person Flamethrower Production Line.
Not bad.
A single-person weapon useful in certain combat scenarios was better than nothing. He had no intention of selling the blueprint; even the most worthless blueprints would be crafted to test their overpowered effects.
Selling it would be a complete waste.
He could use it himself, and if he couldn't, the train crew could. Even if they didn't need it now, they would eventually.
"Hmm?"
Just then—
Chen Mang suddenly noticed a train speeding in the opposite direction. The target acquisition radar identified it as the Wild Bull, belonging to his business rival. He chuckled but made no move to pursue.
"So terrifying, so terrifying..."
Inside the Wild Bull train, the man fled in terror, his face pale with fear. Someone had just given him the coordinates of the Stellaris, and since he was nearby, he had rushed over eagerly.
A Tier 6 train!
Daring to compete with his Tier 8 train for the tobacco trade!
They clearly had a death wish.
They needed to be taught a lesson to know their place!
Then—
He arrived just in time to witness a scene that shook him to his core: the Stellaris was... spinning!
Not figuratively—it was actually spinning!
And it had been instantly annihilated by a Tier 8 Zombie Boss.
Perfect.
He had originally intended to show the Stellaris Train what true "Mang" (Wild) meant, as in the Wild Bull Train's reckless spirit. Now, there was no need for such a demonstration; survival was the only priority. Ironically, he suddenly couldn't remember how to write the character "Mang" either.
He sprinted relentlessly for over ten minutes.
Only when he realized the Stellaris Train wasn't pursuing him did he finally stop, his back drenched in cold sweat. He exhaled a long breath of relief, his hands trembling slightly, and silently thanked the zombie that had inadvertently tested the waters for him. Without that creature's sacrifice, he'd likely be buried in the ground by now.
He recalled hearing another train cursing the Stellaris Train on the train radio, their insults equally vulgar.
It was called the "Second Dimension Train."
He was about to search for this train on the leaderboard to warn them against provoking the Stellaris Train—a train capable of instantly annihilating Tier 8 zombies—but after scouring the leaderboard for ages, he couldn't find the Second Dimension Train listed anywhere.
"Gone?"
A horrifying possibility dawned on him: could the Second Dimension Train have already confronted the Stellaris Train and been destroyed?
He remembered that the Second Dimension Train belonged to the Heavenly Balance Organization, and several other trains had been grouped with it.
He searched the leaderboard for those trains again.
Damn.
Without exception, they were all gone.
This made the situation far more serious. The Stellaris Train was even more formidable and absurd than he had imagined.
"..."
The man slumped in his chair, his expression shifting between fear and resentment, before gritting his teeth and typing a series of messages into the train radio chat box.
[Wild Bull Train]: Captain of the Stellaris Train, I was wrong. I shouldn't have insulted you recently. I was possessed by a ghost. Just let me off the hook. I...
[Wild Bull Train]: "..."
He sent seven or eight messages begging for forgiveness.
It was humiliating, with everyone watching.
But he had no choice.
The master of Stellaris train hadn't replied to his private messages, preventing him from continuing the private conversation. With no other way to contact him, he had to resort to the train radio. Now, he could only hope the train conductor would see his messages, wipe the slate clean, and spare him. He was terrified.
But he couldn't be sure if the conductor was even reading his messages.
He decided to send messages periodically to ensure the other party saw them.
Soon—
Many people in the train radio chat room were asking what had happened. Even the train conductor, with whom he had a good relationship, sent him a private message asking if he was okay. He didn't respond in the chat room but replied to each private message with a single, blunt sentence:
"He's too strong. I can't beat him."
Simple and direct.
Indeed, the man was too strong. What else could he do but admit defeat?
Chen Mang paid no attention to this minor incident. He simply steered the Stellaris back to the Tier 3 Iron Mine and resumed mining for the day.
It had to be said, the residents had become quite resilient. When they saw a zombie horde charging toward the train from afar, including a towering, ten-meter-tall zombie, few even paused their work. Their faces showed no fear.
They merely glanced up occasionally at the approaching zombies, their eyes filled with curiosity.
The Stellaris's illustrious combat record had earned the residents' unwavering trust in the train.
Chen Mang glanced at the residents busily working outside the locomotive cabin, stretched his limbs, and then headed to the Combat Training Virtual Space to try out the Resident Evil map.
Although a train conductor didn't need exceptional comprehensive physical fitness, being slightly above average wouldn't hurt. Chen Mang still harbored a dream of piloting a mecha, yearning to take one for a spin.
As the words "Resident Evil" dissolved into white dots before him, a familiar scene unfolded. Though this was his first time entering this map, he had watched Biaozi conquer it countless times.
A slowly ascending elevator.
Flickering lights within the elevator.
Thump.
In the next instant, a heavy object crashed onto the elevator roof, accompanied by a monstrous roar. The elevator lurched to a halt between the seventh and eighth floors.
Chen Mang glanced down at his palms, the realism striking him as indistinguishable from reality. With a sudden kick, he slammed his foot against the elevator door, then wedged a nearby steel pipe into the gap to pry it open. With a fluid turn, he landed gracefully on the seventh floor.
His recent training in the Combat Training Virtual Space had clearly paid off, his movements now more agile and precise.
Thump!
After locating a fireaxe and smashing open the fire escape door, Chen Mang grinned as he cleaved through a zombie's skull. Wiping the viscous, foul-smelling blood from his cheek, he hefted the fireaxe and charged back into the fray.
It had been far too long since he'd savored the visceral thrill of slaughtering zombies with his own hands!
How to put it?
Slaughtering zombies with a cannon felt less immersive than this. Killing them by hand was much more satisfying.
"Hmm."
Old Pig stood inside the refrigerator, gazing at the decaying corpses before him. After a long pause, he looked up at Xiao Ai, who was standing nearby. "President Ai, do we still need to call a forensic pathologist?"
In the laboratory within the "Geocore Nuke" fortuitous encounter map, they had retrieved the bodies of several human researchers who had committed suicide. Lord Mang had instructed them to find any residents with forensic pathology experience to estimate the time of death for these corpses.
But whether it was the monsters Biaozi and his men had personally killed within the map, or these researchers' bodies, all of them began to decompose rapidly after being brought out of the map, turning into mummified remains that looked like they had been dead for millennia.
"Lord Mang said it's not necessary," Xiao Ai replied, shaking her head. "He wants you to continue classifying the 1,900-plus survivors."
"Got it."
Old Pig nodded and strode toward Carriage 11. He needed to record each survivor's pre-apocalypse occupation and skills in their files. While this information might not be immediately useful, it would allow them to quickly mobilize specialized personnel if needed in the future.
"Resident No. 1998."
Inside Carriage 11, Old Pig sat at a table with several clerks, guarded by a few men standing behind them. He casually addressed the burly man standing before him, "What was your profession before the apocalypse? Any special skills?"
Behind the man stretched a long, serpentine queue.
Beside them stood a Mechanical Eye, recording all the information gathered today and storing it in President Ai's database for future retrieval.
The questioning still required Old Pig's personal touch.
After all, many people didn't even know their own talents, requiring guidance and discovery.
"I used to work in funeral affairs," the burly man replied. "We'd set up funeral tents, and I was the foreman. We never lost a tent-building competition."
"Tent-building competition?"
The man nodded cautiously, took a deep breath, and suddenly slammed his head against the table with a dull thud. He lifted his head again, blood streaming down from the gash on his forehead.
"We used to do extreme stunts for the tent-building competitions," he continued. "Stuff like smashing beer bottles with our heads, breaking fluorescent tubes with our backs, piercing our flesh with steel needles, and even the crane centipede."
"I used to be a thug on the previous train."
"What's a crane centipede?"
"It's when you pierce eight steel rings through your back, thread steel cables through them, and then get hoisted into the air by a crane."
"..."
Old Pig remained silent, observing the solid steel table—a creation of Lord Mang. The guy was a bit of a hothead. After recording the man's ID and specialty in his notebook, he called out, "Next."
"Number 1999."
The Mechanical Eye recorded the information.
Old Pig also noted down exceptional talents in his notebook.
"I..." A handsome man stepped forward cautiously. "Trainmaster Zhu, I was a novelist before the apocalypse. I wrote fiction—pretty much every genre except supernatural fiction."
"Specialty?"
"I can write 20,000 words a day."
Old Pig silently recorded this. "Write a draft of a new novel's beginning for me to review in the next few days."
The residents needed entertainment to balance work and leisure. If the novel was good, he could have this guy write full-time and let the residents read it as entertainment.
No other duties required—just writing 20,000 words a day.
Not bad-looking either, Old Pig thought.
"Next, Number 2000."
A woman, barely 1.55 meters tall, approached nervously. "I was a bar singer before the apocalypse. I can sing."
"Sing a bit."
The girl took a deep breath, cleared her throat, and finally mustered the courage to sing.
"Clap your hands up."
"The loli beside me is the cute type."
"Skilled dance moves sync with dubstep."
"The other one's showing off robot dance."
"She chugs the wine, shouting 'Nice!'"
"Loosen your tie..."
"Alright, stop," Old Pig called out, then looked at the girl with surprise. "That was pretty good. Your voice is so sweet, and it's a real otaku song."
"Too bad you're not on the Second Dimension Train. You'd definitely be treated like a VIP there."
He silently noted the girl's resident ID in his notebook, planning to ask Lord Mang later if he liked hearing songs. Singing so well without accompaniment was already impressive.
Plus, she was quite cute.
He wasn't sure if Lord Mang would be into her type, but he'd make a note of it just in case.
"Next, Number 2001."
"I was a prostitute before the apocalypse. My special skill is... playing the flute."
"Excellent."
Old Pig rolled his eyes, annoyed. "Straight to the point. Your three-day detention is waived. Report to your post immediately. Xiao Li, take her to the logistics team."
(End of the Chapter)
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