I chose the safe house, and the Human Alliance regretted it.

"What's the background of Ganda, the cult of all things?"

"Never heard of it..."

"........."

The sky over the capital returned to normal, and the thunderclouds dissipated.

Everyone in the underground living area was stunned.

The disaster suddenly added another person, and that person was an unknown figure.

Everyone could understand why the beasts wanted the prophet dead. After all, the prophet was the biggest obstacle to their invasion of humanity.

But who is this Ganda?

What exactly does disaster mean?

People in the underground city area of ​​the capital were buzzing with discussion and all sorts of speculation.

Some say Ganda might be a hidden big shot, while others say it's a conspiracy by alien beasts to sow discord among the human alliance.

But no one guessed the truth: this Ganda had just said something in the most impassioned tone at the league meeting that he would regret for the rest of his life.

In the Union Hall, Ganda, a Black man, slumped in a chair, his face drained of all color.

His dark skin turned an eerie grayish-white, his lips trembled violently, and his pupils became dilated.

"Why...why...why did this happen?"

He muttered to himself in a very low voice, "Why was I targeted by this strange beast..."

His mind was in a mess. He couldn't understand how those were just polite words, mere decorations to make himself seem noble. How could they possibly become real?

How could the beast know what he said?

The people around him looked at him with various expressions.

There was sympathy and pity, but more than anything, there was schadenfreude and even blatant mockery.

Those who had just stood on his side and were "rational" with him all turned their attention away.

After all, it's better to die for your fellow Daoist than for yourself.

Dewey looked at Ganda with disdain, a cold smile playing on his lips.

Just now he was saying things like "If it were me, I would definitely be the first to agree," which sounded better than he actually did, and he was as righteous and awe-inspiring as a martyr.

The results of it?

The beast had barely called a name when the person collapsed, like a lump of mud slapped against a wall.

It truly lives up to its reputation as an underdeveloped, defective product.

"Enough!" Dewey suddenly snapped, "Don't embarrass yourself here!"

Ganda shuddered, as if she had been electrocuted, and came to her senses.

He looked at Dewey, opened his mouth and then closed it again, before obediently sitting back down.

He knew it all too well.

The monstrous beasts that threaten to kill the prophet Chen Junjie are currently facing enormous resistance.

Chen Junjie's title of prophet was earned through sheer hard work and risking his life. He saved six major bases in China, the sacred mountain in Northern Europe, and countless survivors around the world.

Anyone who dares to touch him will face the scorn of the whole world.

But what if it were him?

Two hundred percent of the world's population would immediately agree.

He could even imagine what people would say after the news spread.

"Giving one away in exchange for thirty years of peace—a huge profit."

"Pack this up and send it away."

He regretted it.

Why are you bragging for no reason?

Can't you just sit there quietly and be mute?

Why did you stand up and say that damn thing?

Now look what's happened, he's ruined himself.

No, you can't sit still.

Ganda suddenly stood up again, her voice rising, almost shouting, "No trade! We cannot agree to exchange the Prophet for thirty years of peace!"

Those around him were startled by his sudden outburst.

"The Prophet has been kind to the whole world, how can we betray him? This is ingratitude! This is betrayal!" he said, spitting as he spoke, his expression agitated.

But nobody paid any attention to him.

Everyone knew he was afraid.

He feared that if the alliance agreed to the trade, he, as a "gift," would be sent to the alien beast along with it.

Betrayal and ingratitude are nothing but a fig leaf for cowardice and fear of death.

"Alright, that's enough for today." Old Liu waved his hand. "There are still three days left, no need to rush."

He was the first to stand up and leave the hall without looking back.

The others also got up one after another and filed out.

Ganda was left standing alone in the empty hall, stunned.

In the Dragon Kingdom, beneath a certain mountain range, lies a luxurious underground plaza built by hollowing out the entire mountain.

A giant 3D projection screen displays real-time images of major bases around the world, satellite cloud images, and energy consumption data.

In the center of the square, thousands of young men and women gathered together.

These "seeds" remain unaffected.

In the small group of seven, a bespectacled boy said in a relaxed tone, "In this high-level game, we're going to kill the Seer right from the start."

"Do you think you'll eventually agree?" a girl asked him, turning her head to him.

The bespectacled boy smiled and pushed up his glasses: "It depends on the prophet himself."

"Hmm?" The girl frowned.

"If Chen Junjie has a way to deal with the beast tide, then there's no need for an exchange. If he can't, then he'll definitely be sacrificed." His tone was like analyzing a math problem. "This is the most rational judgment."

The others looked on with a hint of regret upon hearing this.

"After all, he saved so many people..." a slightly chubby boy said in a low voice.

"Times create heroes." A young man in a white shirt walked over with a cup of coffee and continued the conversation, "Even without him, someone else would have appeared. Heroes are simply pushed to the forefront by the times."

The young man spoke with certainty, carrying a condescending confidence: "The higher-ups will definitely agree to the conditions for the disaster."

"And—" he changed the subject, his gaze sweeping over the people present, "those at the bottom of society would agree too."

The girl pressed further, "Why?"

The young man put down his coffee cup, a slight smile playing on his lips: "When a knife is held to their throats, do you think they want to die on their own, or that Chen Junjie will die in their place?"

"The reason some people disagree is simply because they have blind confidence in Chen Junjie." The young man's voice was calm.

"They believe the prophet can solve everything, which is why they confidently declare 'oppose the deal.' But once they realize the prophet can't save them, do you think they'll change their minds?"

He paused, a hint of amusement in his eyes.

"When it comes to that point, everyone will agree. And they will stand on the side of righteousness and the greater good, without any psychological burden regarding their own fear of death."

"They'll say things like 'This is for all of humanity,' or 'Sacrifice the minority to save the majority.' Anyone can say nice things."

The people around fell silent.

The bespectacled boy pushed up his glasses and interjected, "Actually, even without Chen Junjie dying, our trump cards are enough to deal with the alien beasts, right?"

The young man in the white shirt shook his head. "A trump card, once used, is no longer a trump card."

He looked at the bespectacled boy, his gaze sharp: "Is it worth revealing your trump card for one person? If you show it now for a prophet, what will you do later?"

The bespectacled boy opened his mouth, but then said nothing more.

The girl hesitated, saying, "But we should protect the prophet... He saved so many people, if even we don't protect him..."

"As members of the elite, our thinking revolves around whether something is worthwhile, not whether it should be done or not," the young man in the white shirt interrupted her, his voice turning cold.

"This is the difference between elites and ordinary people. Ordinary people talk about emotions, right and wrong, and conscience. Elites talk about interests, weighing options, and survival."

He turned his head and looked at the huge projection screen.

"See? By the third day at the latest, everyone will agree to this condition."

"The prophet will be sent in exchange for peace, and that Ganda will be sent too."

The girl also looked at the screen, her gaze complex.

"But... is this right?"

The young man in the white shirt didn't look at her, but simply said:

"Only those who survive have the right to define right and wrong."