[Greetings, Navigator. You have arrived in a new world] [Time remaining: 30 days] [Anchor this world?]
"No, no, no—fuck!"
The boy swore.
Scorching heat steamed through the air, sweeping across the dry, sand-laden wind.
Golden dunes stretched into the distance, rolling like waves on the sea,
The blistering heat made every breath Alvin took feel like a searing pain running from his throat to his lungs.
"Good news: at least this time, I didn't spawn in an alley." In barely half a minute, he was already sweating buckets. Alvin felt like he was about to roast, so he raised a hand to shield his eyes and squinted up at the blazing sun. "Bad news: this time, I got dumped in the desert."
He looked down at his wrist, where the Navigator System displayed his information.
[Navigator: Alvin] [Race: Human] [Faction: Imperium of Man] [Occupation: Scavenger] [Anchor World: None] [Energy Remaining: 0 units] [Source Power Remaining: 0 units]
This time, Alvin didn't need to panic.
Thirty days wasn't a particularly long time, but it should be enough.
Besides, even if it wasn't, he still had some "energy" in reserve. The "Deflection Field Defence Device" and "Plasma Pistol" Father Aruman had given him still held plenty of power.
Of course, Alvin wouldn't use them unless absolutely necessary. They were lifesavers, after all!
"First, I need to get out of this godforsaken place."
Alvin wiped away his sweat. Being dumped in the desert was bad enough, but he'd also been fully equipped.
He had Carapace Armor over a bulletproof underlayer, along with all his other gear and weapons. He was carrying at least fifty kilograms—about as much as an adult woman weighed.
More importantly, because he was inexperienced, Alvin hadn't anticipated that he might end up in an extreme environment, so he hadn't brought nearly enough water.
At midday, the desert could reach temperatures above forty degrees. He'd be dehydrated in just a few hours!
"I was careless. I'll take this as a lesson."
Alvin swallowed against his parched throat, feeling bitter. "Next time I travel, I have to..."
He was grateful that Tucker had put him through three days of training beforehand, including a rough introduction to surviving in extreme environments.
He'd seen it on all kinds of survival shows in his previous life: desert temperatures could approach forty degrees during the day, and an untrained person would quickly suffer heatstroke or even become dehydrated.
Alvin had been injected with Compound V and had lived in the Underhive for over a decade. Whatever else you said about him, his adaptability was unmatched—thousands of years ahead of humanity in 2K!
"Good thing Tucker taught me survival skills."
After observing the dunes, the sun, and the vegetation, Alvin made a rough guess at which direction he needed to go.
At that moment, he was genuinely grateful to Tucker. If he got the chance, he'd make sure to learn more survival skills from the old soldier in the future, just in case he ever got dumped on Catachan.
Alvin trudged across the desert beneath the midday sun, leaving one footprint after another.
The sun blazed like fire. The scorching sand was an excellent conductor of heat, and even the air seemed to ripple. That was how unbearably hot the damned weather was.
The sun gradually shifted. After walking through the desert for two whole hours, Alvin—who had started to wonder if he'd picked the wrong direction—finally spotted a village.
A village meant people lived there, and people meant there had to be water!
"Looks like there's still a way out. If I can't find water soon, I'll have to fly out with my psychic powers." Alvin's face lit up. He swallowed, but his parched mouth couldn't produce a single drop of saliva. Feeling like his throat was about to catch fire, he quickened his pace and ran toward the village.
The village looked dilapidated. Its mud houses were covered in cracks.
Several elderly residents wearing headscarves saw Alvin, who looked like he was "half dead." They stared in surprise for half a second, then quickly turned and went inside.
Before long, an old man with a white headscarf and a face etched with the ravages of time came out, trembling as he carried a clay jug. "Child, come over here. Have some water."
The language he spoke clearly wasn't English, but luckily, the Navigator System could translate automatically, so there was no awkward language barrier.
After speaking, the old man seemed afraid Alvin hadn't understood. He gestured toward the jug to show that it contained water, then handed it to him.
"God bless you! Thank you so much." Alvin took the jug without hesitation, brought it to his lips, and gulped down the sweet well water.
The cool, sweet water soothed his throat, which had felt ready to catch fire. Every pore on Alvin's body seemed to sigh with relief.
"Don't rush, child. There's more if you need it. Don't drink so fast." The old man gently patted Alvin on the back, afraid he might choke. His sun-darkened, deeply wrinkled face was filled with a kind smile.
"Thank you. Without you, I might have died of thirst in this desert." Alvin drank his fill, then sincerely thanked the old man.
"You don't need to thank me, child. The desert may be cruel, but the people who live in it aren't heartless." The old man chuckled as he took the empty jug, his face wreathed in smiles. "Judging by your appearance, you came to explore the desert and got lost, didn't you?"
In a way, Alvin's outfit did make him look like one of those idiots from a rich family who suddenly got it into his head to conquer the desert.
"Uh, yes, sir." Alvin awkwardly scratched his head and went along with it.
"You've come to the wrong place. This is a cursed place, child." The old man suddenly sighed and shook his head. "Rest for a little while, then leave as soon as you can. Head northwest. Walk about another thirty miles, and you'll be out of the desert."
"A cursed place?"
The old man's words only piqued Alvin's interest. "Could you tell me more about it?"
Maybe he could find a clue or at least learn something about this world. Otherwise, he was completely in the dark and had no idea where to begin.
"Ah, child, I'm not trying to scare you. There's a terrorist organization nearby."
The old man thought Alvin didn't believe him, so he earnestly tried to persuade him. "Outsiders like you might get taken away if they find you. That's why I told you to leave as soon as possible."
Alvin was about to ask what sort of terrorist organization he meant when dust rose like a wave outside the village. Several camouflaged Humvees came speeding through the swirling yellow sand!
"Oh no, they're here!"
The old man's face changed in alarm. He grabbed Alvin in fright and tried to pull him inside. "Quick, child, hide! If they find you, you're done for."
Alvin was hidden inside a mud-brick house. Several military Humvees barged into the village, and a few brawny men with their heads wrapped in cloth and guns in their hands jumped out of the back.
"Jamil, time to hand over the grain." The burly man at the front sneered. Waving an AK-47, he shouted arrogantly, "Everybody get out here! Don't make me go in and search!"
"Ahmad, you've already been here this month. We really don't have any grain left!" Jamil begged humbly. "Just look around—the whole village is practically empty. Only old people are left. How could we possibly have any grain to give you?"
"Enough excuses! Are you handing it over, or do we have to search?"
Ahmad kicked the elderly man to the ground and pressed his AK-47 to his forehead. "You're giving us grain for the sake of our great victory! Don't argue, or I'll blow your brains out!"
Just as Jamil had said, only a dozen or so elderly households remained in the village.
But the men didn't care how old they were. They roughly pointed their guns at the villagers' heads and shouted at them to hand over whatever grain they had left.
Whether they handed over the grain or not, there were only two choices before them.
Either they starved to death, or they were shot.
Jamil, utterly despairing, trembled as two streams of tears rolled down his hollow-eyed face. With a gun pointed at his forehead, he roared at them, "Lord, punish these sinners! Cast them into Hell!"
"Bastard, you dare curse me?"
Ahmad was furious. His finger was about to pull the trigger and kill the damned old man.
There wasn't a trace of fear in Jamil's eyes. It was as if he'd long since known what fate awaited him. He stared fixedly at the men, as though he wanted to memorize their faces and wait for them in Hell!
Click!
Ahmad was just about to pull the trigger when he suddenly froze.
He realized that no matter how hard he tried, the trigger wouldn't move, as if it had been welded in place!
Then, under the terrified gazes of the terrorists,
Ahmad's head began to swell like a balloon, until it suddenly burst with a bang, his face contorted in terror and horror!
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