Survival of the Nation: My luck was a tiny bit worse.

He looked up at the distant mountain hidden in the morning mist.

That man named Ou Yun is probably still lying in his hammock taking a nap.

The woman named Leng Ruolan has probably finished her morning exercise and is preparing to patrol the mountain.

And Chen Hao, the one with glasses, was probably squatting by the experimental field counting his ants—just like he was taking care of himself.

No one chased him, no one monitored him, and no one cared where he went.

They couldn't even be bothered to waste a tracker on him.

Because they don't need it at all; whether he lives or dies, stays or leaves, makes no difference to them.

Mike sat on the pebble beach for a long time.

The sun rose above the mountain ridge, bathing the river in a golden-red glow.

The giant tortoise rolled over in the pool, the splash of water shimmering in the sunlight before disappearing into the depths of the pool.

He suddenly felt very tired.

It wasn't physical fatigue—the wound on my leg was almost healed, and my strength had been almost fully restored after those two days of good meals.

It's that kind of exhaustion in your heart, where you feel completely crushed and even struggling is meaningless.

He recalled the last question Ou Yun had asked him from the watchtower the previous night.

Did that athlete from a small country really die from an infected wound?

Mike closed his eyes and buried his face in his hands.

Yes, it's not a wound infection.

Sarah slit his throat.

Because the player from that small country has a fragment of Abyss Crystal, and they need that fragment to make a weapon that is effective against the players from the Dragon Country.

A fragment, a life. In the forbidden area, this is no big deal.

Each of them had killed people, more than one. Those scattered small-country contestants, lone weaklings, and survivors exhausted from being chased by mutated beasts were all their prey.

They believed this was the law of survival. The strong live, the weak die—it was only natural…!

Until they encountered something even stronger.

Mike opened his eyes, looked at the sun-bleached water on the river, and suddenly laughed.

How ironic.

They killed so many people and looted so many supplies, yet in the end they didn't even manage to harm a single hair on the enemy's head.

While they were out there diligently scouting, meticulously planning, and repeatedly rehearsing, the man was lying in a hammock drinking chilled juice.

They thought they were hunting, but in reality, they were just being watched and laughed at from the very beginning.

They've met their end too?

Mike stood up and brushed the gravel off his pants.

He decided to keep searching.

Even if we can't find the body, we must find some trace, some trace that can prove that Sarah and James existed!

He continued walking downstream along the riverbank, leaning on his hiking stick, his figure growing smaller and smaller in the reflection of the river.

Of course, what he didn't know was that on the cliff above him, a lynx was crouching on the edge of the rock, its golden-brown eyes watching his every move intently—

The lynx yawned, its tail brushing against the rocks as if it had seen something utterly boring, then it stood up and galloped off toward the camp.

*

"Gone?"

Leng Ruolan stood on the watchtower, holding a bowl of pork bone soup, and casually asked a question while looking at the small snacks on the mountain road in the distance.

Green Bean scurried up the stairs of the watchtower, squatted at her feet, and meowed in response.

Leng Ruolan took a sip of soup. "Then why are you still following him? Come back and go to sleep."

Green Bean snorted and turned to walk downstairs. After taking two steps, she turned back and tilted her head to look at Leng Ruolan.

"Alright, he can't escape now."

Leng Ruolan placed the bowl on the watchtower's railing. "But we still need to check. What if he suddenly goes crazy and comes back to kill and commit arson...?"

Green Bean seemed to understand but not quite, so it flicked its tail and meowed.

—Him? Murder and arson? He can't even use a flint properly!

Leng Ruolan chuckled and ruffled Green Bean's hair. "Go to sleep. We still have to patrol the mountain tonight."

Green Bean rubbed against her hand, then trotted away happily.

Leng Ruolan stood on the watchtower, watching the figure in the distance grow smaller and smaller, lost in thought.

Ou Yun poked his head out from downstairs, a tuft of hair still sticking up, clearly having just climbed down from the hammock. "How's it going?"

"I'm gone."

"You let mung beans follow you?"

"Following up."

Ou Yun climbed the watchtower. "Where do you think he'll go?"

"Let's find his teammates," Leng Ruolan said, picking up her bowl and continuing to drink her soup. "But I doubt he'll be able to find them."

"Oh?"

"Because there were no bodies at all."

Ou turned to look at her, "Did you clean it up so thoroughly?"

Leng Ruolan gave a half-smile, half-smile, "You wouldn't want to know."

Ou Yun paused for a second, then changed the subject, "Um... what's for breakfast this morning?"

"Honey pancakes. Freshly baked by Alexander, I saved three for you."

"Damn it, pancakes again? Can't we have something else?"

"The honey is almost gone, just bear with it."

"What? It's gone so quickly?!"

"The monkeys didn't bring any honey today, so the stock is limited."

Why didn't the monkeys deliver it?

"Because yesterday, the mung beans stole their beehive, and the monkey king found out."

"..." I just praised this little thing for growing up yesterday, but it has grown back again.

*

Mike walked along the riverbank for a whole day.

He started from the gravel beach and walked downstream along the river.

The river made several bends in the canyon, and the vegetation on both banks became increasingly dense.

He traversed coniferous forests and climbed over rocky ridges, stopping to search carefully at every possible clue.

He found James's saber on a rock.

The blade was chipped, and the hilt was stained with dried, blackened blood.

He sat on the rock for a long time, holding the military knife, before putting it into his backpack.

He found Sarah's headscarf among a patch of ferns.

The headscarf was cut off by a sharp object, the edges as neat as if it had been cut with scissors.

He examined the headscarf from all angles for a long time, then carefully folded it and put it into his breast pocket.

But the body was never found.

He found traces of a campfire by the river.

The ashes were still fresh, and the surrounding stones were charred black by the smoke.

Several empty bullet casings and a crushed water bottle were scattered nearby.

He squatted beside the campfire and brushed away the ashes with his fingers—buried inside was a small piece of charred cloth, military green, the same material as their combat uniforms.

Mike clutched the fabric in his hand, his knuckles turning white.

He was almost certain that Sarah and James were ambushed here.

The campfire was theirs, the bullet casings were theirs, and the canteens were theirs.

But all traces come to an abrupt end here, as if someone pressed the pause button and then erased all the characters in the scene one by one.

Mike stood up and looked around.

The river flowed calmly, and the trees on both banks cast deep shadows in the afternoon sun.