[Post-War. The 13th Street Clinic Basement]

  The air was thick with the smell of disinfectant and blood. John Doe sat at a table piled with bandages and pill bottles, holding the Yin-Yang iPad, his face as pale as a corpse.

  BEEP—

  The screen lit up, and Daoist Singularity’s familiar face appeared again. This time he wasn't wearing sunglasses, and he had dark circles under his eyes, clearly having pulled an all-nighter.

  "Master..." John called out weakly, his voice hoarse. "We... we survived."

  "I know." Singularity didn't tease him as usual. Instead, he nodded solemnly. "Not only did you survive, but you did it beautifully. In this battle, you didn't just save a street; you saved ten thousand lives."

  "Ten thousand lives... one million Merit Points..." John's eyes lit up, as if seeing the dawn of debt repayment. "Then my bill..."

  "Ahem."

  Singularity suddenly coughed, his eyes shifting nervously, avoiding John's gaze.

  "Uh... Disciple, I have good news and bad news. Which one do you want first?"

  John's heart skipped a beat. "Bad news."

  "The bad news is... although that battle generated a massive amount of Merit, roughly 1.2 million. However..." Singularity pointed behind him to a massive construction site bustling with noise. "Look, that's the Underworld's newly upgraded [Cross-Realm Defense Base Station]. To teleport those big shots (Leonidas, Mozi, Tesla) you summoned and maintain that level of energy output, the Underworld's energy reserves were completely drained."

  "So... the higher-ups decided to commandeer this Merit directly. It's being used to fill the hole left by the transformers that blew up during your war, and incidentally, to upgrade the entire Underworld's broadband to 6G."

  John's jaw dropped, feeling like he'd been stabbed in the heart. "All... all confiscated?"

  "Not all confiscated." Singularity quickly waved his hand, throwing out the "good news." "In light of your heroic performance, the Accountant has granted special approval to waive 100.000 New Currency of the principal debt! Plus the 20.000 you paid before, you now only owe 380.000! Are you happy?"

  "380.000..." John laughed bitterly. Though it was less, it was still an astronomical figure. "Happy my ass! That was my blood and sweat money! We traded our lives for that!"

  "Hey, don't be mad. This is for long-term development." Singularity comforted him. "Think about it. With the infrastructure upgraded, won't your summoning be lag-free in the future? And now that the Underworld's reputation is out there, it'll be easier for you to get orders."

  John slumped in his chair. He realized that in this cross-realm gig economy, he would always be the exploited bottom tier.

  "Alright, stop looking so glum." Singularity suddenly lowered his voice. "More than money, you should be worried about... people."

  "People?"

  "Yes. The human heart." Singularity pointed off-screen. "The gunfire outside has stopped, but the voices inside... have just begun."

  [The 13th Street, Ruins Square]

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  The smoke of war dissipated, and hunger and panic began to spread.

  Although John had led everyone to victory, what followed was a harsher blockade. No water, no electricity (Tesla's tower ran out of juice), no food.

  Thousands of people were crammed into cramped shelters. The air was foul, the wounded groaned, and children cried.

  "Where's John? Why isn't he coming out?"

  A middle-aged man with a stubbly face sat in the corner, holding a piece of moldy bread—his entire ration for the day.

  "He's taking care of his mom," a woman next to him whispered. "I heard she's very sick."

  "Hmph, his mom is a life, but ours aren't?" The man threw the bread onto the ground viciously. "If it wasn't to save his mom, would we have provoked the Guild? Now look, homes gone, food gone. Are we supposed to starve to death with him?"

  The voice wasn't loud, but in the deadly quiet shelter, it was piercing.

  "Old Pete, shut your mouth." Harry, the old veteran, glared at him. "If not for John, we would have been slaughtered last night! Have some conscience!"

  "Can conscience be eaten?!" Old Pete jumped up, pointing at the Guild drones still patrolling outside. "Look out there! That's a blockade line! As long as John is here, the Guild won't let us go! Are we ten thousand people supposed to be buried with him?"

  This sentiment spread like a virus through the crowd.

  "I heard... the Guild put out a word." Another young man huddled in the corner, his voice trembling. "As long as we hand over John, everyone gets 50.000 resettlement fee. And they'll let bygones be bygones."

  "50.000..."

  The sound of swallowing saliva rippled through the crowd.

  "Let him turn himself in... it's for everyone's good..."

  [Clinic Second Floor]

  John wasn't asleep. He leaned against the window, listening to the voices downstairs that weren't particularly lowered. His hearing had been enhanced; even through the walls, he could hear every accusation clearly.

  His hand gripped the curtain tightly, nails digging deep into his palm.

  "Why..."

  John's voice trembled, filled with deep confusion and pain.

  "Mom, you taught me to be a good person, to help neighbors, to be kind. I listened to you. I risked my life to save them. I emptied my savings for them, I almost died under a mech's foot."

  "But now... they want to sell me."

  John turned around, looking at his mother lying on the bed, his eyes full of incomprehension and grievance.

  "Did I do something wrong? Do good people deserve to have guns pointed at them? Is this world not worth saving at all?"

  Margaret looked at her son. She saw the light in his eyes fading bit by bit, replaced by a dangerous grayness.

  She struggled to lift her hand, beckoning John closer.

  "Child, you didn't do anything wrong."

  Margaret's voice was soft but firm.

  "But you misunderstood human nature."

  "Human nature isn't black and white. It's like the water in this street—usually clear, but stir it a little, and the mud at the bottom rises up."

  "Those neighbors, they aren't bad people. That Old Pete used to send us eggs; the young man who wants to sell you helped you move rocks last night."

  "They are just... scared. Hungry. Desperate."

  Margaret stroked John's hand, a hand covered in scars from battle.

  "In the face of survival, morality is a luxury. When a person can't even eat, you can't expect them to remember gratitude. This is instinct, the will to live carved into our genes."

  "If you hate them for this, or even want revenge, how are you different from those Guild bastards who treat people like consumables?"

  John froze.

  At that moment, Xuanwu, who had been lying under the shrine, suddenly stuck its head out.

  "The old lady is right."

  Xuanwu crawled over slowly, its beady eyes revealing thousands of years of ancient wisdom.

  "Kid, what do you think being a hero is? Posing amidst flowers and applause?"

  "Wrong. A hero is someone who rolls in the mud, gets misunderstood, betrayed, even spat on, and still chooses to pull them up."

  Xuanwu snorted a puff of air.

  "This is the meaning of cultivation. Not so others praise you, but so you yourself... can see this rotten world clearly and still have the courage to love it."

  "Or rather, still have the courage to... control it."

  John was silent for a long time.

  He looked at his mother's loving eyes, at Xuanwu's philosophical gaze, and listened to the harsh whispers downstairs.

  The anger of betrayal slowly settled, turning into something deeper, colder, and harder.

  "I understand."

  John stood up and took a deep breath.

  "I won't hate them. Because that's the instinct of the weak."

  "I won't turn myself in, either. Because that's a fool's choice."

  "Since they want the hero to die, then I'll... live differently."

  John opened the door and walked down the stairs.

  The whispering downstairs stopped abruptly. Everyone looked at the young man walking out of the shadows.

  There was no anger on his face, nor disappointment.

  Only a kind of... cold determination that comes from seeing through everything.

  [Message from Singularity]

  VIP Suite for you over on the Patreon Server. We are opening New Rooms (Chapters) for FREE daily. Even better? Select Chapters feature HD Illustrations for the full immersive experience.

  ?? [Enter the VIP Suite]