Chapter 1 Abandoned Shrine

In the abandoned shrine, the color of the insect cocoon's surface changed from white to beige, then gradually deepened, eventually turning into a blood-reddish brown like a scab forming over a wound.

After the color change stopped, several minutes passed before the cocoon suddenly shattered. Thousands of fingernail-sized fragments collapsed to the ground. These brown pieces were very dry, and they landed cleanly without sticking to the man inside.

This Level Three Derivative appeared to be a man in his thirties with soft facial features and medium-length hair, giving him a scholarly air. He was even wearing a player's newbie outfit.

After emerging from the cocoon, he expressionlessly stretched his neck. He was missing his right arm. Where his right shoulder should have been was a smooth cut. The cross-section showed no flesh; it was just a faintly glowing surface. Upon closer inspection, one could see tiny streams of data flowing across it.

"Tch... Still the same..." he muttered in annoyance, walking to a corner of the room and picking up a clay pot.

There was a narrow spatial pocket behind the mouth of the clay pot, similar to a player's inventory, but this space would disappear once the arm came out. The Derivative's right arm was like a piece of luggage that couldn't be carried around or disassembled. Every time he entered a script, it was forced in directly from a spatial rift in its physical form.

He took the arm from the pot and attached it to his shoulder. When the two glowing cross-sections made contact, the entire right side of the Derivative's body distorted. Without any physical collision, the wall next to him suddenly caved in, its surface showing irregular undulations.

After connecting the arm, he tried swinging it, then looked at his right hand and pondered, "So many times... yet the adjustment time hasn't shortened by even a second..." He could sense the position of his arm even when it wasn't attached, and he knew immediately how long it would take for the data to synchronize with his body after it was reconnected.

In short, this Level Three Derivative still needed some time to recover to one hundred percent combat power. The arm appeared to be attached, but he couldn't yet use its full strength.

"So painful..."

"So uncomfortable..."

"Save me..."

Suddenly, a chorus of moans echoed around the Derivative. He frowned slightly and looked down, following the sound. He saw that the floor of the room was now covered with horrifying ghosts, their bodies covered in blood.

The ghosts came through the walls from under the floor, like dying people trapped in a swamp. Some only showed their heads, while others had half their bodies emerging. Their hair was scattered over their faces, their complexions were pale, and their eye sockets were black and empty, with no eyeballs. Their mouths were half-open, and their hands were outstretched, as if trying to grab something... like drowning victims...

The ghosts' moans weren't loud; they sounded like the cries for help from those struggling in agony. But that was precisely what made it so eerie...

At this moment, the entire floor of the room was filled with these ghostly figures. The Derivative barely had anywhere to stand. Soon, the ghosts reached out and grabbed him. Some hands grabbed his ankles, and others reached up to pull at the hem of his clothes.

"Is the Boss of this script using illusions..." His eyes lit up, and a faint glow appeared in his pupils. "Hmph... seems quite cunning..."

In the next second, he bent his knees slightly, making a very light jumping motion. This seemingly casual jump allowed him to shake off the ghosts' grasp. With a straight-body flip of one and a half rotations, he shot directly up to the rafters.

A gray ghost was hiding on the rafters, identical to the one Feng Bujue had encountered. Before it could launch any attack, the Derivative punched it into "exploding."

Level Three Derivatives could view the world in the script with a different perspective than players. They could turn the scenery in their eyes into a semi-data, semi-physical state and sense things within a certain range. Therefore, illusions were useless against them, far less threatening than actual strength and speed.

"Strange... hasn't that Level Four guy taken care of the Boss yet?" he wondered, kicking his leg up, his toes easily passing over his head. The roof of the shrine was immediately torn off. A powerful impact force broke open a large hole, large enough for someone to jump out of.

After leaping onto the roof, he saw a hazy moonlight. Of course, for Derivatives, light was a minor consideration for observation. Even in the dark room, he could see very clearly.

In the shrine's courtyard, there was a dry well.

On the edge of the well, the Level Four Derivative's head was placed.

"You've got to be kidding me..." he muttered, his body moving as he dashed forward. His whole being fell from the sky like a shooting star, his feet touching the ground, standing firmly.

He came to the head and spoke, "What happened?" Apparently, he knew the head could still communicate with him.

"I... went to... the other... side... of the... world..." The head spoke as if it were a broken radio.

Although Level Four Derivatives were the weakest rank, their combat power shouldn't be weaker than the script's Boss under normal circumstances (not all worlds are suitable for Derivatives to enter; for example, the Pili world will never have Derivatives). The current situation was very abnormal.

"I'm already... completely... data... frag..." He could no longer speak a complete sentence. "It put me... here... to let... you..." As he said this, a ghastly claw suddenly reached out from the well, dragging the head down.

Standing at the well, the Level Three Derivative was also encountering this situation for the first time. He immediately began a series of logical analyses. First, he checked the positions of the players and GMs. They were all still on the way up the mountain, so the current situation was clearly unrelated to them. Then, he tried to establish data-level communication with the Boss (the standard for Level Three Derivatives was being able to command some script Bosses with relatively low intelligence, so X-23 had commanded Ashford's mutants), but he failed.

"If you don't understand what I mean, I'll say it myself," a deep, distant voice suddenly came from the dry well. "I put his head here to tell you to be smart and not try to be my enemy."