Samsara Space: They're all begging me to heal them one more time.

"laugh--"

With a heavy screech of hydraulic pressure deflating, the bronze door, half a meter thick, slowly slid open.

Instead of the expected warm greeting from the train conductor, Zhang Yuan and A Qiang were greeted by an atmosphere mixed with gun oil, high concentrations of ozone, and an indescribable sense of anxiety.

D-007 [Bronze Sequence] War Train.

The carriages here are no longer the cheap hard seats and littered with fruit peels and scraps of paper found in the E-Class. What you see is a cold, hard alloy floor, and the walls and racks against the walls are covered with all kinds of heavy weapons.

There were already more than a dozen people sitting in the carriage.

Completely different from the uncertainty, crying, and even hysteria in the E-Class carriages, this place was eerily quiet.

Every veteran was racing against time to make final preparations for the battle. A suffocating sense of professionalism permeated the air.

On the left, a man in a tactical vest was applying green corrosive venom to rows of sniper bullets with remarkably steady movements, ensuring the coating thickness remained astonishingly consistent for each bullet; on the right, a mechanic wearing goggles was adjusting the pressure valve of a flamethrower, the red warning light flickering on his oil-stained face; further away, someone was wrapping thick layers of bite-resistant bandages around their body—special protective gear designed to prevent lacerations.

Even without system prompts, just by looking at these highly targeted preparations, anyone with a little experience could guess the next destination—Starship Troopers.

In this world teeming with endless swarms of insects, corrosive bombs, flamethrowers, and ripstop gear are the real commodities.

The moment Zhang Yuan and A Qiang, this "strange duo," stepped into the carriage, everyone who had been whispering about tactics or resting with their eyes closed suddenly stopped.

A dozen pairs of eyes focused on them instantly, like searchlights.

Those gazes held no goodwill, only scrutiny, assessment, calculation, and undisguised aggression. It was the look of a wolf pack upon an outsider intruding into their territory—if a conflict of interest arose within the instance, these people would not hesitate to use the newcomer as cannon fodder or bait.

"A newcomer?"

A burly man with a shiny bald head and a hideous scar across his face, sitting near the car door, broke the silence first.

He was shirtless, revealing rock-like, bulging muscles, and was carefully wiping an enchanted greatsword with an oilcloth, its surface gleaming with a ghostly blue light. With his movements, the greatsword emitted a soft hum, clearly a weapon of considerable enhancement.

The scarred man stopped what he was doing, his gaze sweeping over Zhang Yuan with unbridled lewdness, before finally letting out a sneer:

"Poor guy. His first time being drafted into a D-class train, he ran into a meat grinder like a swarm of insects."

The bald, burly man frowned, scrutinizing Zhang Yuan's extremely eye-catching eclectic style—

The sacred and solemn standard plate armor, the hydraulically assisted gloves that exude the aura of industrial wasteland, and the terrifying white spine cross on the back that exudes a faint deathly aura.

"Priest? Or Paladin?" The bald man sneered, his tone full of the superiority of a veteran over a newbie. "You've just reached E-rank and you're already wearing such heavy armor? Looks like you've done your homework and know how sharp the insects' teeth are."

"Unfortunately, this bulky tin can is a sitting duck in the swarm of insects. Once a jumper pounces on you, your tin can is just a packaging shell, and the flesh inside will only rot faster."

A few low chuckles of agreement came from the surrounding area.

In the circle of D-level veterans who pursue "high mobility and high burst damage", excessively stacking defense often means a lack of confidence in one's own flexibility and is a synonym for "clumsy".

However, when the bald man's gaze refocused on the two-meter-long, pale cross behind Zhang Yuan, his smile froze, and then, as if he had discovered some huge joke, he burst into exaggerated laughter:

"Wait, am I seeing things? That bone... is it a [Troll Spine Cross]?!"

This shout attracted the attention of several people in the carriage who hadn't been paying attention to them before.

"Holy crap, it really is!" A mage nearby, who was resonating with his staff, also looked at it with a bewildered expression. "I remember this thing was sitting on the plaza stalls for half a year and nobody bought it, right?"

The bald, burly man shook his head, looking at Zhang Yuan with the eyes of someone looking at a nouveau riche fool, and joined the other veterans in loudly discussing Zhang Yuan's taste in equipment:

"Look at this, typical newbie mistake. They can't resist the words 'purple rare' in the shop, completely ignoring attribute compatibility. A stay-at-home dad who relies on intelligence and stamina is spending a fortune on a weapon that increases strength and constitution?"

"What? Are you planning to give up on treatment and use physical means to 'bless' your teammates? Or do you think you can knock them unconscious with this 200-pound bone when the swarm of bugs rushes at your face?"

"What a waste of good stuff. It's a complete mess."

"Oh wait, this thing isn't exactly a good thing either. Should I say—a broken pot with a broken lid?"

The carriage was filled with a cheerful atmosphere. In the eyes of these seasoned veterans who were meticulous and wanted to split every bit of reward in half, this kind of behavior—disregarding their own class and style in order to equip themselves with a high-quality weapon—was the most basic and foolish mistake.

"I feel more sorry for the blond guy than for the violent dad who took the bone."

Another gunman, dressed in camouflage and feeding the mechanical wolf with engine oil, chimed in, his gaze falling on A-Qiang's M134 Vulcan cannon. "That's the live ammunition version, right? Newbie, looks like you haven't done your homework. There are tens of thousands of bugs in the Starship Troopers dungeon, your reward points, how many rounds of ammunition can you buy? Don't run out of bullets halfway through and end up smashing bugs with the barrel."

Faced with the ridicule and overwhelming sense of contempt from everyone in the carriage, Huang Mao Aqiang blushed and instinctively wanted to retort, "I did..."

"Keep quiet."

Zhang Yuan interrupted him casually, without even glancing at the bald man. He led A-Qiang to an empty seat in the middle of the carriage, took out a can of iced cola from his storage space, and opened it with a "click".

The sound of carbon dioxide bubbles bursting was particularly crisp amidst the mocking laughter.

"Some people rely on words to achieve their goals, while we rely on bullets."

Zhang Yuan took a sip of cola, feeling the cold liquid slide down his throat, before slowly saying, "Save your saliva. When those bugs swarm your face later, I hope your corrosive liquid and bite-resistant bandages will be more effective than my plate armor."

Zhang Yuan's disregard and retort caused a fierce glint to flash in the bald, burly man's eyes.

In Class D carriages, newcomers are usually timid and eager to be guided, so it's rare to see such a tough and assertive person like this.

But bound by the rule against taking action inside the train, he could only snort coldly:

"Sharp-tongued. Don't come crying to us for help after we get off the bus. In this kind of high-intensity war instance, bringing a weird healer who increases strength instead of intelligence will only increase the team's mortality rate."

After saying that, the bald, burly man turned around, ignoring the two men, and continued wiping his heavy sword, muttering something like "dead men don't need advice."

The oppressive busyness returned to the carriage.

In fact, although the bald man's words were harsh, they represented the mainstream values ​​of the train space—at least the Bronze Series.

At this level, apart from established teams that have been working together for a long time, very few random teams are willing to bring a healer.

The reason is quite practical: D-rank healers typically have an awkward healing output, unable to instantly restore a character to full health, and lacking in survivability. When facing high-attack, high-frequency monster hordes like swarms of insects, replacing a healer with a DPS character often means the defenses collapse even faster.

The best defense is to smash the bugs before they get close, rather than waiting to be bitten and then healing.

This is the underlying logic of the "hierarchy of contempt".

But Zhang Yuan didn't care.

Taking another sip of cola, Zhang Yuan subtly observed the seasoned individuals around him as he adjusted his glasses.

Since they were rejected by the mainstream community, they had no choice but to form their own team.

His gaze was like a sophisticated scanner, quickly sweeping over each veteran in the carriage, assessing the luster of their equipment, their posture, and their energy fluctuations, searching for potential clients who were equally "unconventional."

He quickly identified his first target.

In the left corner of the carriage sat a woman with a cold and aloof demeanor.