Player B never went there again.
What the hell was that? All that grandiose nonsense over a bite to eat—worms, saving humanity, resisting intelligent consciousness. Wasn't that humiliating enough? Needless to say, the other resistance organizations had probably been deliberately released by the robots too.
They were bait.
Rather than wipe them all out, it was better to leave some out in the open.
He understood it all.
After figuring this out, Player B, Shangguan Tie Zhu, was completely disheartened.
Every day after work, once he got home, he plunged straight into the script world.
The Spring Thunder Organization even sent someone to contact him and ask why he had not paid his membership dues lately.
He said he could not clear the scripts, always dying halfway through, so he had no food rewards.
In reality, he had already had the robots save up his share.
The script he was playing now was a historical one.
The minimum requirement for clearing the script was surviving past fifty; the intermediate standard was dominating one region or becoming a powerful minister; the highest score, naturally, was founding a dynasty and proclaiming oneself emperor.
He had played it more than a dozen times already. Only twice had he lived past fifty, and both times he had spent most of his life fleeing and hiding, drifting from place to place.
Trying to stay alive was far harder than in a Sports Script.
But historical scripts had one advantage: experience could be accumulated and used next time.
Last time, you tried to make muskets at the start but failed; next time, you would know what materials were missing.
Last time, you failed to recruit a great general; next time, you could try a different approach.
Last time, you offended a certain minister; in the next