Lin Qiao had never participated in “Cangjie Chess,” so naturally, she didn’t understand the meaning of the two “characters.”
Chu Tianqiu shook his head and continued, “In the game, one ‘Marshal’ and one ‘Cannon’ were exchanged for ‘Paradise Gate’ clearing an obstacle for the ‘Extremists’ once.”
“Hard to believe you’d make such a lopsided trade,” Lin Qiao remarked. “This time, clearing the obstacle was fatal.”
“Indeed,” Chu Tianqiu nodded. “Though it’s the first time in my life I’ve made such a rash and presumptuous decision, I don’t feel bad about it now.”
“Oh?”
“Strange, isn’t it?” Chu Tianqiu mused. “Yan Zhichun threatened me with those two ‘characters,’ I lost the game, left the scene, lost a key ally, and then agreed to all sorts of unreasonable deals with Qi Xia and Yan Zhichun. By all accounts, it should’ve been an infuriating day for anyone. Yet now, I feel oddly at ease.”
Lin Qiao let out a bitter laugh and replied, “Perhaps you never wanted to be a faction leader in the first place. Some lingering obsession pushed you to this point.”
“Is that so?”
“Now, with fewer burdens to carry and only a do-or-die battle ahead, it must feel much lighter, no?” Lin Qiao said.
“Perhaps it does.”
Chu Tianqiu fell silent and led his group into the crowd.
By now, nearly all the “Supporters” had stormed the battlefield from all directions, plunging the scene into even greater chaos.
“Paradise Gate” couldn’t distinguish which side belonged to the “Extremists,” leaving them momentarily deadlocked.
“Qiao Yun,” Chu Tianqiu turned to the slender figure beside him. “What do you think we should do?”
Wen Qiaoyun paused briefly, then scrutinized the situation with sharp focus. In no time, she spotted the telltale signs.
Though hundreds in the square were locked in brawls, one group stood out—more aggressive, forming squads and attacking indiscriminately.
“I don’t know the ‘Extremists” goal,” Wen Qiaoyun murmured, “but they’re not here just to kill.”
“Understood.” Chu Tianqiu nodded and signaled to Li Xiangling and Zhang Shan ahead. “No need to strike first. Just defend against those who attack us.”
“Got it.”
The two quickly confirmed Wen Qiaoyun’s observation. Some in the crowd seemed passive, indifferent to others, their focus fixed solely on the White Tiger before the giant bell.
The other half, however, were fiercely aggressive, striking at “Paradise Gate” members without hesitation.
Li Xiangling stepped forward, her spear flashing like a dragon. In moments, she wounded several knees, clearing a path.
Chu Tianqiu spotted Yan Zhichun in the distance. She stood with Jiang Ruoxue, Zhou Mo, and Zheng Yingxiong, now also under attack.
Luckily, Zhou Mo had picked up an iron rod and was mercilessly cracking skulls.
But none of the four possessed combat-worthy “Echoes.” If anything, Yan Zhichun’s “Echo” held some lethality—yet she stood frozen, as if suffering from overuse.
“No time. Disperse. If Yan Zhichun dies, we’re in trouble.” Chu Tianqiu ordered decisively. “Our numbers slow us down. Split up, regroup near the woman in white, and identify yourselves as ‘Paradise Gate.'”
Yun Yao and Zhang Shan relayed the command swiftly. The twenty-strong “Paradise Gate” scattered into the crowd.
As Chu Tianqiu predicted, the dispersed members became harder to track, allowing them to advance faster.
Chu Tianqiu remained still, carefully observing the battlefield before plucking an eyeball from his palm.
“Tianqiu…” Wen Qiaoyun asked from behind. “What’s wrong? Something off?”
He shook his head, eyes locked ahead.
“Feels ominous,” he muttered. “The ‘Extremists’ have surrounded the White Tiger, the ‘Participants’ have surrounded the ‘Extremists,’ and now a ring of ‘Human-Level Zodiacs’ encircles everyone.”
Wen Qiaoyun noticed the ragged-suited “Human-Level Zodiacs” looming in the distance. Though devoid of “Echoes,” they were still management—killing “Participants” without hesitation.
Anyone unmasked was their enemy.
“I know ‘Earth-Level Zodiacs’ are formidable, but are ‘Human-Level Zodiacs’ that strong?” Wen Qiaoyun asked. “I thought they were near-human. In a fight, we might not be at a disadvantage.”
“True in theory,” Chu Tianqiu smiled. “But there’s a fatal flaw. Under the rules of ‘Terminal Land,’ ‘Zodiacs’ can kill us freely. But can we, as ‘Participants,’ attack them?”
As he spoke, he flicked his wrist and tossed the eyeball into his mouth.
At that moment, a tall man leaped from behind, swinging an iron rod at Chu Tianqiu’s skull.
His attire marked him as “Extremist”—fitting the image the faction had imprinted on all “Participants.”
“Tianqiu, look out!!” Wen Qiaoyun screamed.
A metallic clang rang out as the rod struck Chu Tianqiu’s head—like hitting an immovable pillar.
The man recoiled, arms numb, rod clattering to the ground, now bent.
“Damn… what kind of monster…?” he stammered, but Chu Tianqiu made no move to retaliate.
“Monster?” Chu Tianqiu raised a brow, smiling. “Isn’t the one who ambushes and kills the real monster?”
“You dare lecture us…” the man snarled. “You lunatics are destroying the bell and screens! Without them, how do we ‘Participants’ escape?!”
Chu Tianqiu sighed, offering no reply. He glanced at Wen Qiaoyun. “Let’s regroup. Surviving today will take real effort.”
Ignoring the man, the two strode away.
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