Apocalypse Gachapon

Just like people riding a train or airplane for the first time, Ye Zhongming felt an instinctive fascination with the vessel carrying him through space.

He stood by the viewport, gazing motionless at the dazzling cosmic scenery outside.

Aslan approached and stood beside Ye Zhongming. After glancing outside to estimate their position, she turned her attention to this year’s key trainee of the Star-Eye Clan.

“Tell me honestly – how many Twin Poison Shadows can you create at maximum? Can they all wield weapons?”

Her feelings toward this trash—no, this novice—were profoundly complex.

She had taught him the Twin Poison Shadows skill, yet within days, he had surpassed her mastery, even improving and expanding the technique to become their clan’s focus of cultivation. Now, Aslan wasn’t even qualified to be his teacher anymore—Chief Trainer Jikesu would personally instruct him.

Assuming he survived the Novice Battlefield.

Ye Zhongming actually held some goodwill toward this female birdman. During Twin Poison Shadows training, she had been utterly dedicated, and the Cloud Peak King could feel her high expectations.

Yet…he couldn’t shake the feeling she was being unreasonable. So he’d concealed some improvements to the technique—was that worth giving him the cold shoulder the entire journey with those betrayed-lover eyes? And who assigned her as their Novice Battlefield liaison officer? This was just asking for discomfort.

Unaware of Aslan’s true status, Ye Zhongming didn’t grasp the Star-Eye Clan’s careful plans for her development.

“That’s…hard to say.”

Aslan rolled her eyes, clearly disbelieving him, mentally labeling the Cloud Peak King as dishonest.

Ye Zhongming genuinely wasn’t being evasive—he truly didn’t know his maximum shadow count.

The Twin Poison Shadows technique required energy expenditure, with mental power being most crucial—precisely where Ye Zhongming possessed unique advantages. For simple shadow projections, he could create vast numbers.

But combat wasn’t about quantity alone. The technique’s poison reserves were fixed—to be effective, it had to be concentrated in limited shadows. His shadows could wield weapons because they were more substantial, requiring many times more energy than standard Star-Eye Clan usage.

In battle’s fluid situations, a decoy shadow might need minimal energy while primary attackers required heavy investment. Thus, the question left him truly unable to respond—for illusory decoys, the number was uncountable; for functional combat shadows, unpredictable.

Regaining composure, Aslan said, “Let me introduce your teammates.”

She gestured, and three beings approached from behind.

Ye Zhongming turned to examine the figures who’d been waiting there. One he recognized from the trash trials—the other two were strangers. Were there other trial grounds?

“Jie Kui, Bu Lanuo, Shi Kangbo.”

Jie Kui was Ye Zhongming’s fellow trash trial survivor. Perhaps because they were the only two survivors from that batch without conflicts between them, he nodded amiably at Ye Zhongming.

The other two showed no warmth—their hostility was palpable.

“They’re clan-cultivated candidates,” Aslan briefly explained without elaboration.

Ye Zhongming frowned. Hadn’t all Novice Battlefield participants supposedly survived trials?

“Now about your Novice Battlefield,” Aslan continued, clearly their briefing officer. “Each cosmic year, the spacefaring races hold a tournament originally meant to select elite warriors against the Slave Race. Gradually, it evolved into resource competition.”

All listened attentively, even the two unfriendly ones.

“You know Moonspan Gold—the foundation of everything. Projecting anything to planets requires it as energy. More Moonspan Gold means cultivating more warriors, killing more Slave Race parasites, strengthening our clan.”

“The other reward is the spokesperson quotas.” Aslan’s solemn tone reflected the Star-Eye Clan’s typical gravity regarding this matter.

“There are many spacefaring races, but we can only track seven Slave Race target planets—yes, matching the number of Survivor Fortresses. Each fortress monitors one planet, where internal order and resource limitations prevent all races from intervening simultaneously. Each planet has quotas for spokespeople—more for larger life-bearing planets, fewer for smaller ones. All are precious.”

So that’s how it was!

Ye Zhongming sighed inwardly. The spacefaring races truly had it rough—with unknown Slave Race numbers but only capacity to oppose seven, these civilizations seemed pushed to desperate extremes.

“Our Star-Eye Clan hasn’t obtained quotas for fifteen cosmic years. We’ve resorted to entrusted cultivation to produce Novice Battlefield warriors, with poor results. Last cosmic year, we staked everything, spending enormously to purchase several quotas.”

Understanding dawned.

Ye Zhongming and Jie Kui came through purchased Spokespeople quotas, while Bu Lanuo and Shi Kangbo were products of earlier entrusted cultivation.

“Spacefaring races inhabiting Survivor Fortresses must pay taxes. There’s something you likely weren’t told to avoid crushing your morale—many clansmen don’t know either. If we don’t achieve breakthroughs this Novice Battlefield, we’ll be reduced to selling assets and mercenary work to survive…until extinction.”

Aslan took a deep breath, her wings shifting slightly.

“You must place within the top fifty for our clan to barely endure. Only breaking the top twenty offers hope of revival!”

Hearing this, Ye Zhongming suddenly felt he’d stolen the wrong admission ticket…