Pit of the Dead

The rain had been falling for a day and a night when a hand reached out from the Pit of the Dead outside the military camp.

The patrolling soldier was so terrified he dropped his lantern, scrambling away on all fours to report to the Platoon Leader.

The Platoon Leader and the soldier grabbed long sabers and a lantern, heading out of the camp to investigate.

As the two gazed out into the pouring rain, they saw a figure sitting silently amidst a pile of corpses.

The Platoon Leader shone his lantern from afar, only to see a soldier wearing tattered standard-issue leather armor, leaning against a mound of severed heads with his back to the light.

The Platoon Leader gripped his saber tight and asked in a deep voice, "Who goes there?"

Through the curtain of rain, a blurred voice drifted over: "I am a soldier from the Vanguard Camp. I was severely wounded and cannot move."

Cannot move?

The Platoon Leader's expression softened. He carried his saber forward and said, "So you are a brother from the Vanguard Camp. Come, let me help you up."

"Many thanks."

"Don't mention it. Go to hell."

The long saber tore through the rain, transforming into a cold glint as it swung directly toward the man's neck.

The Platoon Leader's strike was vicious and perfectly timed; the man's head was severed instantly, rolling deep into the pit of corpses.

One strike, one life!

The Platoon Leader grinned as he retracted his saber, but his expression suddenly shifted: "Wha—"

A figure surged into the air from the pile of corpses beneath the man, a cold, sharp light sweeping across the Platoon Leader's arm.

The arm, along with the saber, was severed and sent flying. A mist of blood erupted from the stump, scattering into the wind and rain before vanishing.

As the agonizing pain hit, the Platoon Leader's face twisted in disbelief, his pupils reflecting a figure leaping high into the air.

A short sword grew larger in the Platoon Leader's vision.

With a thwip, the short sword pierced his eye socket.

The agony lasted for only a brief moment, followed by total darkness.

After a few breaths.

The youth pulled the short sword from the Platoon Leader's eye socket.

The Platoon Leader's corpse fell straight backward, landing in the mud.

The youth stood silently in place, gripping the short sword.

The night rain pelted down, washing the mud from the youth's face and revealing a pair of bright eyes.

Suddenly, the youth's gaze sharpened.

Beneath his feet, the Platoon Leader's stomach began to bulge violently, emitting a strange, gurgling sound from within the skin.

The youth took a deep breath, gripped the Sword Hilt with both hands, and thrust it into the Platoon Leader's stomach with all his might.

An inhuman shriek erupted. A layer of Black Blood mist sprayed from the Platoon Leader's stomach, and the skin heaved unevenly, as if something were struggling desperately beneath it.

With a rip, the Platoon Leader's stomach tore open, and a pitch-black, withered claw reached out.

Before this terrifying demonic claw could make another move, the youth twisted the Sword Hilt with both hands.

"Die!"

The youth spat out the word.

The frantically twisting corpse suddenly went rigid, and the claw slowly drooped down in resignation, ceasing all movement.

Everything returned to silence.

Foul-smelling Black Blood slowly spread out from beneath the Platoon Leader's corpse.

Only upon seeing this Black Blood did the youth breathe a slight sigh of relief and pull out his short sword with a grunt of effort.

He looked down at the bizarre corpse on the ground and muttered to himself.

"With such a strange scene, I wonder what the mission reward will be?"

Filled with a hint of anticipation, the youth whispered, "System!"

One breath, two breaths, Three Breaths.

Time flowed quietly by, but nothing happened.

In the dark night, only the sound of wind and rain remained, endless and persistent.

The youth tilted his head in surprise, looking around—behind him was the Pit of the Dead, beneath his feet was the corpse of the Demon Head, and not far ahead, a soldier sat paralyzed on the ground in terror, his lips trembling.

"Strange."

The youth said, puzzled, "The mission isn't finished yet?"

The system remained silent, indicating the mission was incomplete.

The youth looked at the soldier, suddenly feeling as though he had overlooked something.

The youth thought for a moment and struggled to move his feet forward, nearly collapsing into the mud.

He had been so focused on slaying the Demon Head earlier that he hadn't noticed, but now that the adrenaline was fading, he realized he was in pain everywhere—it was agonizing.

His legs felt as if they were filled with lead; every step required his absolute maximum effort.

This was very wrong.

The moment the apocalypse arrived, he had used all his strength to kill the Final Demon Lord, yet instead of exiting the game, he had ended up in this inexplicable place, still carrying all his wounds.

Where on earth was this?

The youth frowned and stumbled toward the soldier, offering a military salute.

"Brave Cavalry Camp, Gu Qingshan, reporting for duty."

"Y-y-you killed your superior!" the soldier stammered.

"He wasn't human," Gu Qingshan said, eyeing the soldier.

The soldier was wearing ancient-style leather armor, the kind that didn't even have spirit-power-driven devices—not even the most neglected units would wear such antique junk.

Gu Qingshan looked at himself and realized he was also wearing these old relics; all his original equipment had vanished into thin air.

This was strange.

The soldier cast a quick glance at the Pit of the Dead, where the Platoon Leader's bizarre corpse lay motionless in the mud.

The soldier asked hesitantly, "But... but how did you know he wasn't human when you killed him?"

Gu Qingshan spread his hands. "I was just being careful, and he struck first."

Gu Qingshan walked back, dragged the Platoon Leader's corpse in front of the soldier, and told him to examine it closely.

"Look, this is a Skin Peeling Blood Demon."

Gu Qingshan used his short sword to slice open the Platoon Leader's stomach, revealing a jet-black monster with a hideous face and a Vertical Pupil.

Seeing the monster's corpse with his own eyes left the soldier even more shocked.

Recalling the comrades who had died inexplicably over the past few days, the soldier felt a lingering fear, but finally, a sense of gratitude toward the youth took root.

The soldier steadied himself and asked, "Your name is Gu Qingshan?"

"Correct."

"Brave Cavalry Camp?"

"Correct."

"Where is your identification badge?"

Gu Qingshan fished out the badge, took a look at it himself, and then tossed it to the other man for inspection.

The badge was heavier than he had imagined.

With current artifact-refining technology, an ID badge could easily be crafted as light as a sheet of paper; why was the one he carried as heavy as a weight?

The youth's confusion grew deeper.

The soldier took the badge and examined it carefully. It indeed bore the six characters "Brave Cavalry Camp Gu Qingshan," and the entire surface was wreathed in wisps of vibrant, living spirit light.

The badge was genuine.

The soldier let out a long breath, the tension fading from his face to reveal a look of exhaustion. "Finally, a living person has arrived. Quick, we can't stay out here for long. Follow me into the camp."

That made sense. Gu Qingshan nodded slightly. "Alright."

The soldier handed the badge back and turned to walk toward the camp.

Gu Qingshan took the badge and looked at it closely once more.

—Not only was it heavy, but the entire texture was bronze, with the characters crudely carved on the surface. It was clumsy, ugly, and completely outdated in style.

Outdated style...

A flash of insight crossed Gu Qingshan's mind, and an indescribable fear gripped his heart.

He jerked his head up, locking his gaze onto the soldier ahead.

Ancient-style leather armor.

The answer was so inconceivable that Gu Qingshan couldn't help but shout, "Brother, what year is it?"

The soldier turned his head, looking at him strangely. "It is the 681st year of Chengping."

Gu Qingshan froze.

Suddenly, a waterfall of data streams transformed into frantic, surging blue light, flashing across Gu Qingshan's vision like a tidal wave.

BOOM—

A cold, mechanical voice rang out abruptly.

"Current time confirmed as the final years of Chengping."
"Time flow stabilized; confirmed exit from Time-Space Turbulence."
"Verdict: Successfully escaped the apocalypse!"

Identity reset successful. Current identity: soldier of the Brave Cavalry Camp, Vanguard Army.

The system had finally activated, but Gu Qingshan felt no joy in his heart; he simply found the scene before him impossible to believe.

How could it be the final year of Chengping? The game hadn't even begun yet!

This was a time from the past that existed only in the game's lore and history; humanity in the real world had not yet officially entered this terrifying, otherworldly game.

It would be another year before the players entered the game.

Could it be that he had returned to the time before the game started?

And what about the real world? Had he returned to the past there as well?

Gu Qingshan's heart tightened fiercely, and he couldn't help but look up and scan his surroundings.

Ahead, the soldiers had walked further away, already crossing the military camp gates.

On the door of the barracks, a wisp of spiritual light from a Concealment Array flickered occasionally.

Looking past the camp toward the distance, deep within the dim and desolate wilderness, one could vaguely see the blurry, massive silhouettes of creatures flashing in and out of sight amidst the torrential rain.

Gu Qingshan slowly raised his arm, opened his mouth, and bit down hard.

A clear row of tooth marks appeared on his arm, and where the bite was deepest, beads of blood gradually began to seep out.

It hurt!

This was no dream!

Gu Qingshan stood motionless in the pouring rain like a statue, letting the icy water fall from the sky and soak his entire body.