Chapter One: The Survival Tournament

The entire land was parched and exhausted, the sky sunk into endless gloom. Shards of time and space crisscrossed in every corner, while ceaseless ghosts assaulted without end, leaving the world gasping for breath.

“The Thirty-Seventh Annual Sinner Survival Tournament has begun. Let us wait and see—after these thirty days, how many sinners will still be alive.”

With a flick of the light-brain, the event hosted by the so-called “organizers” could be accessed—one could bet on any sinner, wagering on whether they would survive and reaping high odds if they did. Bets could also be placed on who would make the top three, earning even greater returns, and as for the champion's odds, they were enough to make anyone’s eyes burn with envy.

“Number Thirty-Seven looks strong. I’ll bet a hundred credits.”

“Number Fifty-Five—though a woman, I’ve kept an eye on her. She’s remarkably tough. I’ll wager a thousand credits.”

“Number One, the favorite to win it all—low odds, but the highest probability. I’ll put down ten thousand credits.”

People opened their light-brains, placing their wagers as if this were nothing but a game for their amusement.

Sinners were the most wretched class in this world. Due to genetic defects, their lifespans barely reached thirty years. No matter how brilliant a new sinner might be, in the eyes of humanity, they were no more than ants—forever unable to develop abilities, forever unable to surpass the limits of the human body.

…

Xia Yan lifted his head to the sky—murky and gray, the telltale sign of an approaching storm. All around, the world lay broken: shattered fragments, the skeletal remains of ruined towers, soil thick with the mingled weight of earth and blood. Even the sky seemed to wail, filled with ancient sorrow.

He was a young man with a face that could be called resolute, no more than fourteen or fifteen years old—unremarkable in appearance, but with eyes shining faintly with a quiet light. His task was simple: survive thirty days here as Number Sixty-One.

To fight monsters and aberrations to the death, to endure the law of the jungle, to balance on the scales between human nature and iron law—any one of these could claim his life.

For now, he had three things to do.

First, find shelter. Second, secure supplies and weapons. Third, locate his brother, Ding Li.

But above all these—

“Survive, and win first place.” Xia Yan’s voice was soft, yet utterly resolute.

“Judging by the organizers’ habits, they won’t leave weapons in high places; the risks below ground are greater. Targeting buildings with basements to search for weapons might be more efficient,” Xia Yan pondered. “As for water and food, those supplies should be scattered around—probably less in basements, more locked in rooms to prevent mutant destruction. So searching enclosed rooms will likely be more fruitful.”

“First, find a weapon—and quickly.”

He sprang into action, moving swiftly through the ancient metropolis that sprawled for miles, dashing through large buildings in search of any underground passage.

Mutants abounded here. If he ran into one unarmed, he’d be in deadly danger.

“A convenience store,” he murmured, heading toward a shopfront where the ancient sign, “Station Supermarket,” was little more than a battered, dust-covered relic.

Suddenly, ten meters behind him, the air began to ripple. A creature, nearly four or five meters long and shifting in form, emerged.

“Damn it, what rotten luck.”

Xia Yan cursed under his breath, then bolted like an arrow, darting into a side alley.

The creature, sensing life, gave chase. Its body was like shifting mist, racing after him, narrowing the distance between them.

At the corner ahead, a burly man in blue strode through the city ruins, arms cradling several cans of food and bottles of water, a broad grin on his face.

“Not bad! Only a few minutes since being dropped here, and I’ve already found food and water. Once I get a weapon, surviving thirty days will be easy. No—if I take first place, I’ll receive the ‘Gene Serum’ and finally shed the ‘sinner’ label.”

Thinking of the first-place prize, the Gene Serum, his eyes shone with excitement—a dream for every sinner. He failed to notice the commotion a few dozen meters ahead.

“What!” The big man gasped, too shocked by Xia Yan’s speed to utter a word—because he saw the monster.

Before him towered a shadowy demon, four or five meters tall, its body spreading outward as if to envelop the very space. The mist coiled around the big man, instantly cocooning him.

“Aaah!”

Blood gushed from the man’s eyes and nose as waves of negative emotion crashed through his mind. He didn’t even have time to struggle before his blood and flesh dissolved, leaving only a dried husk. Even his soul seemed devoured by the monster.

At that moment, countless eyes watched the live feed on their light-brains, nerves taut. This weaponless Number Sixty-One had escaped the demon—through pure luck, or was there more to him? They weren’t sure.

…

The sky darkened; dusk faded and night descended. The world was plunged into silence, utterly devoid of light.

Xia Yan found a seventeen-story building, choosing the top floor as his shelter. The elevator was long dead, the stairwell half-collapsed, with some flights ending in gaping voids. It took effort to climb all the way up.

On the seventeenth floor, he found a suite, forced the door open, and was met by the thick scent of rust and ancient dust. The place was caked in grime, the red bedding long since turned charcoal gray.

He could still glimpse traces of centuries past—the owner must have been a woman, as the room was awash in faded pink, trinkets piled in every corner.

There was no water with which to clean, so he did only a cursory sweep before preparing to sleep.

In a city like this, you had to find high ground at night to avoid attacks from ground-dwelling mutants. Danger abounded in the day—at night, it only grew worse. To wander after dark was to court death.

Shutting his eyes, Xia Yan slipped into darkness. In sleep, he felt as though he’d returned to the earth’s embrace—safe and at peace.

At dawn, he opened his eyes, thoroughly rested and free of fatigue.

He began searching for weapons, food, and water.

Nearly a day had passed without sustenance. Hunger and thirst gnawed at him. If he didn’t replenish soon, his body would weaken further—forget fighting mutants, even movement would be a struggle.

Fortunately, luck was with him. In a large warehouse, he found a weapon: a small steel dagger, modern in make and gleaming with a cold light, clearly placed there by the organizers.

“Pity there are no guns or bullets,” Xia Yan remarked, gripping the dagger and testing its balance—it felt nimble, almost alive.

With a weapon, he had a fighting chance. The odds of victory were still slim, but first place meant a dose of Gene Serum—it was worth risking everything.

“Hm?”

His expression shifted—he heard footsteps in the distance, crunching through the dust. More than one set.

“Three people, coming toward the warehouse.”

He glanced around—nothing but rusty steel beams, no place to hide. There was no escape route, and it was already too late.

He retreated a few steps as the three entered.

Both sides tensed. The blond man among them drew a pistol, pointing it at Xia Yan. The other two, one wielding a club, the other a short sword, glared at him with predatory intent.

After all, killing a sinner earned five points.

“State your number,” the blond man barked coldly.

“Number Sixty-One, Xia Yan. And you?” Xia Yan’s face was calm.

The blond man’s expression changed slightly. “I’m Number Seven, Matthew. Hand over your weapon and any food, and I’ll let you live.”

“Food, I have none,” Xia Yan replied evenly. “A weapon, I do—but who would willingly surrender their only means of survival?”

To give up your weapon in this wasteland was to surrender your right to live; your fate would no longer be your own.

Better to die than to hand it over—in this land soaked with blood, such a principle was as sacred as law.

“Seeking death,” the blond man spat.

“If it’s a fight you want, then so be it. If you try to kill me, you’ll pay dearly,” Xia Yan answered, steel dagger in hand, eyes sharp as arrows piercing cloud after cloud.

“Boss,” the short, dark-haired man behind the blond said, “Let’s just kill him together.”

“If it’s a fight you want, then so be it,” Xia Yan repeated. In his eyes, there was not a trace of fear.