Apocalypse Gachapon

The aircraft flew through the sky. Under normal circumstances, such a journey would be extremely dull if one had nothing to do. Yet Ye Zhongming and the others were all swamped with work.

“Memorize the characteristics of these parasites, because you never know what you might encounter. However, don’t take everything at face value—much of this information was gathered from other spacefaring races over the years, and we can’t guarantee its complete accuracy.”

Aslan’s words left the group speechless.

They had already been taught the parasite information the Star-Eye Clan possessed. Now, they were being asked to memorize additional data collected from other sources—some of which might contain errors.

There was no helping it. In Ye Zhongming’s initial perception, the spacefaring races were advanced civilizations wielding formidable technology and combat prowess—the kind of invincible UFOs that could freely traverse the cosmos.

But after spending time among them, his impression had shifted drastically. To him, they now seemed like stray dogs teetering on the brink of collapse. Some were big, some were small. The bigger ones were still relatively well-fed—even if times were tough, tightening their belts could get them by. If things got desperate, they could cull a few of the smaller ones and redistribute their resources to survive a little longer.

The smaller ones, meanwhile, had no choice but to fight tooth and nail, striving to grow fatter and stronger, hoping to rise in status—or at the very least, not be the first to starve when resources ran thin.

Given such fierce internal competition, the information they shared was often incomplete at best. At worst, it might even contain deliberate misinformation meant to send smaller factions to their deaths.

Aside from memorizing parasite types, Ye Zhongming and the others also had to familiarize themselves with each other’s skills and combat habits.

Of course, at first, Ye Zhongming struggled to adapt. Back on Earth, he had never needed to coordinate with others—or have others coordinate with him. Fortunately, in his past life, he had been part of a squad, serving as ranged fire support, so he still understood the basics of teamwork.

That said, all four of them knew full well that everyone was holding back.

During this time, Ye Zhongming took advantage of a private moment with Aslan to ask about things he still didn’t fully understand.

Where are we going now? Where is the Novice Battlefield being held? If the spacefaring races possess aircraft, why can they only monitor seven targets? Will top-tier evolved from Slave Race target planets still receive admission tickets in the future? If someone hasn’t reached the top tier, can they still be brought over?

He also had many other questions about the spacefaring races.

Aslan didn’t seem annoyed by the barrage of questions, though she told Ye Zhongming that details about the Novice Battlefield would be explained to everyone once they neared their destination. As for the aircraft, short-range flights were manageable, but long-range travel was too extravagant, consuming vast amounts of Moonspan Gold.

“You know, the universe is so vast that even we don’t know its true scale. Given our current circumstances, we can’t afford to search for entirely new life-bearing planets—so we have no choice but to follow the Slave Race.”

As she spoke, Aslan was eating from a plate filled with colorful plant matter. Ye Zhongming eyed it and almost asked if the spacefaring races were also obsessed with dieting.

“As for whether other lifeforms on target planets can obtain admission tickets… naturally, they can—if they manage to seize one. However, they won’t be retrieved. The retrieval machines in the Survivor Fortresses are set to only activate for level nine lifeforms.”

Ye Zhongming nodded. Aslan’s answer clarified a long-standing question of his. If he could bring his Cloud Peak subordinates here, things would be much easier—even if they weren’t top-tier, they’d still be far more reliable than these three scheming teammates.

He also asked about the number of admission tickets. Aslan explained that it was tied to proxy quotas. During a Slave Race’s occupation of a life-bearing planet, large-scale ticket distributions only happened twice.

The first distribution was relatively small, with fewer tickets compared to the second wave. However, this batch selected the planet’s first generation of top-tier lifeforms—in other words, the elite.

The second wave was different.

There were far more tickets, but many factors came into play—longer evolution times to reach the top tier, more external assistance, greater opportunities for “cheating,” and so on. As a result, the quality of warriors selected in this wave was slightly inferior to the first.

“The Novice Battlefield is where we compete for the second wave’s spokesperson quotas. You must perform well.”

For a moment, Aslan almost wished she could take their place. But then she remembered Color Man’s evaluation of Ye Zhongming and decided this trash was probably the better choice.

“What about the quotas for the first wave…?”

Aslan rolled her eyes. “The first wave is far too important to be decided by a bunch of novices in a single battle. Those are allocated based on rankings from the Honor Roll.”

Ye Zhongming recalled the two massive leaderboards in the headquarters hall and nodded in understanding.

Two days later.

“We’re about to enter the dimensional tunnel. When we emerge, we’ll be at our destination—this year’s Novice Battlefield.”

Aslan gathered the four of them for a final briefing.

“The Novice Battlefield takes place on a dead planet drained of energy by the Slave Race. The environment is harsh, the wildlife vicious, and extreme geological conditions and weather will also pose lethal threats.”

“Upon arrival, you’ll first enter a base camp before being deployed to certain zones. Within a set time limit, you must kill as many parasites and mutated lifeforms as possible. The recorders on your bodies will assess the level of each target you eliminate and award corresponding points. Your final rankings will determine your placement. Special events may also occur during the process, but I don’t know the specifics—you’ll have to adapt on the fly.”

From her hand, Aslan produced four small, flesh-colored semicircular pellets and distributed one to each of them.

“These are the Star-Eye Clan’s anti-interference communicators. They’ll allow you to stay in contact. Insert them into your ears. Press once to initiate a call, and press again to end it.”

A sharp alarm blared through the cabin—a signal that they were about to enter the dimensional tunnel. Everyone needed to don life-support helmets to endure the roughly one-hour dimensional journey.

“I’ve told you everything I can. When the battlefield concludes, I’ll be waiting for your return at the base camp.”

With that, Aslan personally saluted the four of them. The rest of the crew in the cabin followed suit.

These four were the Star-Eye Clan’s hope.

One hour later, the aircraft emerged from a white hole, its form solidifying in space. Around it, thousands of other ships—large and small—hovered in dense clusters.

All of them faced the same direction.

There, suspended in the void, was a lifeless planet.

The Novice Battlefield had begun.