The west of Wasteland Camp was unlike the other directions. Compared to them, it was far more desolate, more like a true desert. Even the sky and earth were gray and hazy. There was barely any grass, let alone trees. It looked like a bone scraped clean of flesh, leaving behind nothing but a vast stretch of pale, cracked wasteland where even weeds could not be bothered to grow.
And because this direction was so barren and open at a glance, hardly any players came here. It was difficult to spot those green, noisy, tireless workhorses who always seemed to be running across the wasteland.
There was only loneliness and desolation here. Most players gave up after exploring roughly seventy or eighty kilometers from the camp. No one liked eating sand in a desert like this, because there was bound to be nothing valuable in a place like this.
But the player I Want to Sleep Another Thousand Years was different. He liked this feeling of desolation.
Because he was a lone-wolf player.
From the first day he entered the game, he had never teamed up with anyone. It was not because he was antisocial, but because he had discovered that when he traveled alone, he could see things and sights that others could not.
When in a team, his attention would be scattered. Whether it was smell or sight, the influence of teammates made people subconsciously overlook the scenery around them and certain subtle details.
But when he was alone, it was completely different. His eyes, ears, and nose all belonged to him. Whatever he heard was what he heard, whatever he saw was what he saw, he could do whatever he wanted, and whatever he found was his. All the loot was his as well.
That was precisely