New World Specialty Scum

[Dear Navigator, New World Arrived]

[Stay Duration: 30 Days]

[Anchor This World?]

"No, no, no, fuck!"

The youth cursed.

Scorching heat waves surged, sweeping across the dry sand.

Rolling golden sand dunes, like turbulent waves in a vast ocean, The sweltering heat made every breath Alvin took feel like a burning pain from his throat to his lungs.

"Good news, at least my spawn point isn't an alley this time." In just half a minute, he was sweating profusely. Alvin felt like he was about to be roasted alive. He raised a hand to shade his eyes, squinting at the blazing sun. "But the bad news is, they threw me into a desert this time."

He looked down at his wrist, at the information displayed by the Navigator System.

[Navigator: Alvin]
[Race: Human]
[Faction: Imperium of Man]
[Class: Scavenger]
[Anchor World: None]
[Remaining Energy: 0 Units]
[Remaining Source Power: 0 Units]

This time, Alvin didn't need to rush.

Thirty days, while not very long, should be enough.

Besides, even if it wasn't enough, he still had backup "energy." Priest Aruman had given him a "Deflection Field Defence Device" and a "Plasma Pistol," both of which were still storing a lot of energy.

Of course, Alvin absolutely wouldn't use them lightly unless it was a last resort; they were his lifesavers after all!

"First, I need to get out of this hellhole."

Alvin wiped his sweat. Being thrown into a desert was bad enough, but he was also fully armed.

His Carapace Armor was worn over a bulletproof fiber undershirt, plus a series of equipment and weapons. He was now carrying at least fifty kilograms, equivalent to carrying an adult woman.

Moreover, and most importantly, due to his lack of experience, Alvin hadn't anticipated the possibility of appearing in an extreme environment and hadn't prepared enough water.

In the desert at noon, temperatures could reach over forty degrees Celsius, and dehydration could set in within a few hours!

"I was careless. This time, it'll be a lesson learned."

Alvin swallowed with a dry throat, feeling a bit bitter. "Next time I transmigrate, I must..."

He felt fortunate that Tark had trained him for three days beforehand, mentioning survival methods in extreme environments.

He had seen it in various survival shows in his past life. Desert temperatures during the day neared forty degrees Celsius, and an untrained person would quickly suffer heatstroke or even dehydration.

Alvin had been injected with Compound V and had lived in the Underhive for over a decade. Setting aside other aspects, his adaptability was second to none, tens of thousands of years ahead of 2K Humans!

"Fortunately, Tark taught me survival skills."

After observing the sand dunes, the sun, and the vegetation, Alvin roughly identified his general direction.

At this moment, he was sincerely grateful to Tark and decided that if he had the chance, he would learn more survival skills from the old soldier to avoid being thrown onto Catachan in the future.

Alvin walked step by step, enduring the scorching midday sun in the desert.

The sun blazed like fire, and the hot sand acted as an excellent heat conductor. The air even seemed to distort, showing how incredibly hot the weather was.

The sun gradually shifted. After walking for two full hours in the desert, Alvin, who had begun to doubt if he was going in the right direction, finally spotted a village.

A village meant people lived there, and people meant there was definitely water!

"Heaven hasn't cut off all paths! If I hadn't found it, I would have had to use my Psykana to fly out." Alvin's face lit up with joy. He swallowed, but his dry mouth couldn't produce any saliva, and his throat felt like it was on fire. He quickened his pace toward the village.

The village looked dilapidated, with houses made of mud plastered walls, covered in cracks.

Several elderly people wearing headscarves, upon seeing Alvin looking like he was "about to die," were surprised for half a second but quickly turned and went into their houses.

Before long, an elder with a white headscarf and a face weathered by the sun tremblingly came out with a crude clay pot. "Child, hurry over and drink some water."

The language the elder spoke was clearly not English, but thankfully, the "Navigator System" could translate automatically, avoiding any awkwardness due to language barriers.

The elder, fearing Alvin wouldn't understand, gestured with his hand to indicate the pot contained water and handed it to him.

"God bless you, thank you so much." Alvin took the pot without a word, brought it to his lips, and drank greedily of the sweet well water.

His throat, which had felt like it was burning, was soothed by the cool, sweet well water. Every pore on Alvin's body seemed to release a comfortable sigh.

"Don't rush, child. There's more if you need it. Don't drink too quickly." The elder gently patted Alvin's back, afraid he might choke. His wrinkled, sun-darkened face was filled with a benevolent smile.

"Thank you. Without you, I might have died of thirst in this desert." Alvin drank his fill and sincerely thanked the elder.

"You don't need to thank me, child. The desert is harsh, but the people who live in it are not indifferent." The elder took back the empty pot with a chuckle, his face full of smiles. "Judging by your appearance, you must be an explorer who got lost in the desert, right?"

In a way, Alvin's attire did make him look like the kind of foolish rich kid who impulsively decided to conquer the desert.

"Uh, yeah, old man," Alvin said, scratching his head awkwardly and just going along with it.

"You've come to the wrong place, child. This is a cursed land," the old man suddenly sighed, shaking his head. "Rest for a bit, then leave quickly. Head northwest, and after about thirty miles, you'll be out of this desert."

"A cursed land?"

Hearing the old man say that, Alvin became more interested. "Can you tell me more about it, old man?"

Maybe I can find a clue here, or at least understand this world a little. Right now, I'm completely lost and don't know where to start.

"Hey, child, I wouldn't lie to you. There's a terrorist organization nearby."

The old man thought Alvin didn't believe him and earnestly advised, "If an outsider like you is discovered by them, you'll be captured directly. That's why I'm telling you to leave quickly."

Just as Alvin was about to ask what kind of terrorist organization it was, he saw dust rising like waves outside the village. Amidst the swirling yellow sand, several Humvees with distinctive paint jobs came speeding in!

"Oh no, they're here!"

The old man's face changed in panic. He frantically grabbed Alvin and pulled him towards the house. "Quick, child, hide! If they find you, you're dead."

Alvin was hidden inside a mud-brick house as several military Humvees crashed directly into the village. Several well-built men, their heads covered and carrying firearms, jumped out from the back.

"Jamil, it's time to hand over the grain." The leading man, with a sinister grin and an AK-47, shouted arrogantly, "Get out here, all of you! Don't make me come in and search!"

"Ahmad, you've already been here this month. We really don't have any grain left!" Jamil pleaded pitifully. "Look, there's no one left in the entire village. All that's left are the elderly. How can we possibly produce any more grain?"

"Less nonsense. Are you going to hand it over, or are we going to search?"

Ahmad kicked over the elderly man and pressed his AK-47 to his forehead. "We're asking you to contribute grain for the sake of the great victory. Don't give me any trouble, or I'll shoot you!"

As Jamil said, the village was left with only about a dozen elderly households.

But they didn't care how old they were. They roughly pressed their guns to their heads and yelled at them to hand over the remaining grain.

Whether they handed over the grain or not, there were only two paths before them.

Either they would starve to death, or they would be shot.

Jamil, completely despairing, trembled. Tears streamed down his hollow eyes. With the muzzle of the gun against his forehead, he roared at them, "Lord, please punish these sinners. Send them to hell!"

"Bastard, you dare curse me?"

Ahmad was enraged. His index finger was about to pull the trigger, to kill the damned old man.

Jamil's eyes held no fear. As if he already knew his fate, he stared intently at them, as if trying to memorize their faces, waiting for them in hell!

Click!

Ahmad, who was about to pull the trigger, froze.

He suddenly realized that no matter how hard he tried, the trigger felt as if it were welded in place, completely immobile!

Then, under the terrified gazes of the terrorists.

Ahmad's head began to swell like an overinflated balloon, and in his shocked, contorted face, it exploded with a bang!