Chapter 35: Celestial Dome Base

The other survivors didn’t care; their goal was the very top. They kept ascending, floor by floor, but the Celestial Tower boasted thirty-six stories, and it was the highest floor they sought. By the time they reached the eighth, the ordinary folk who had come from the cinema were already exhausted, muscles aching, while those whose bodies had been tempered by star energy showed not the slightest sign of fatigue. Even An Ziheng’s elderly parents were brimming with vitality, not a bead of sweat on them.

The ordinary people sensed the gulf between them, gritting their teeth as they pressed on, thoughts whirling in their minds. They had seen Qin Hao infuse An Ziheng’s parents with energy, and some among them had watched Zihui’s live broadcasts, knowing full well all those fans had been granted that unique power by her. They wondered if any of them might receive such a gift.

Though their minds raced, not a single step faltered as they pushed on to the thirty-sixth floor. All fifty ordinary people collapsed in a heap, one even fainting from sudden exertion after years of inactivity. Fortunately, Zihui was there; her power of light held the force of healing, enveloping them, soothing their weariness, leaving them warm and invigorated, strength and stamina renewed.

Even the smallest trace of star energy could make a world of difference for an ordinary person.

Meanwhile, Qin Hao was surveying their new surroundings. The Celestial Tower was barely three months old; no company had yet moved into the thirty-sixth floor—or, for that matter, any floor above the thirtieth. There were no other occupants to interfere; it was an ideal stronghold. Qin Hao was quite satisfied.

“I’ll unload everything. You can sort it yourselves,” he said, producing shelf after shelf from his space, the goods from a whole supermarket forming a dense, overwhelming pile. Even with his spatial compression, the supplies filled two entire floors.

Once everything was in place, Qin Hao turned to leave.

“Qin Hao, where are you going?” An Ziheng asked as he saw him heading out.

“To hunt Snake Fiends.”

An Ziheng was taken aback; he hadn’t expected Qin Hao to be so relentless.

“You—you didn’t sleep at all last night. Aren’t you going to rest?”

“Are you tired?” Qin Hao asked.

“Not at all!” An Ziheng replied instinctively.

Qin Hao nodded. “Heroes never tire.”

Star Energy Tempering was more than a boost to strength and speed; it was a profound transformation. By now, Qin Hao’s constitution had broken the very cycle of human fatigue—he no longer needed sleep. There was no sense in wasting time. Before the apocalypse, one deep sleep had been enough for him to go three days and nights without rest.

Qin Hao knew his purpose and never once forgot it. He exited through the emergency stairwell, and An Ziheng, left behind, could only marvel at his determination. Perhaps that was why Qin Hao had become one of the first heroes, and why his power was so formidable.

Qin Hao returned to the streets. Activating his mission predictor, he frowned at the steady stream of Snake Fiend locations it displayed. “Too slow,” he muttered.

So far, he had slain just over four hundred of the creatures. But with the god-level gene from the Fang Fiends as his foundation, Qin Hao found himself growing greedy. He had turned back time and been given a second life; he would challenge the impossible. He wanted the god-level gene from the Snake Fiends, but the numbers weren’t enough.

He decided to try a different approach.

Instead of heading straight into Snake Fiend territory, Qin Hao circled the Celestial Tower, slaughtering Fang Fiends wherever he found them. They were no match for him now. With his current strength, he could have wiped out the two thousand Fang Fiends that had once besieged the Grand Theater in less than five minutes.

Sixty million Fang Fiends had been dispatched by the Claw civilization to Blue Star. According to scans of the human settlements, each city had at least two hundred thousand. In Qin Hao’s eyes, the early days of the apocalypse had offered humanity a chance: if every person could slay ten Fang Fiends and consume their flesh, they would become evolvers within a month.

But no one had such courage. Most humans feared pain, feared death. They missed the chance to grow; when crisis struck again, they would surely perish.

Qin Hao cared nothing for their fate. He had only one goal: to become a god.

He slaughtered without emotion. Each street he crossed, Fang Fiends fell before him.

When the sun began to set, Qin Hao checked his hero stats on the system.

Hero: Qin Hao
Combat Rating: G+
Total Kills:
Fang Fiends: 4,291

Of these, over a thousand had come from completing the “Survival” mission. Between yesterday and last night, Qin Hao had slain two thousand; that afternoon alone, he had hunted another thousand. His speed was terrifying.

He remembered the days before he turned back time. Even as one of the first heroes, his kill rate matched An Ziheng’s—about a hundred per night at most. Now, he was ten times faster than an ordinary hero, a hundred times faster than a regular person.

But it still wasn’t enough.

“I wonder how things are going back at the base?” Qin Hao mused, producing a liquid metal device that transformed into a floating vehicle, carrying him back to the Celestial Tower.

Inside, after an afternoon of organizing, the supplies were all sorted: the thirty-sixth floor was now a storeroom, the thirty-fifth a living space. A hundred people could move about with ease.

When Qin Hao returned, Li Xinlong was the first to spot him. Though he’d heard Qin Hao was out hunting Fang Fiends, who could say he wasn’t just slacking off? As a former leader and successful man before the apocalypse, Li Xinlong had always disliked restless youths like Qin Hao. But now, Qin Hao was one of the key leaders of the survivor base—by virtue of strength.

Society had collapsed. From now on, it would be a world where only the strong mattered.

Zihui let out a visible sigh of relief when she saw Qin Hao return, afraid he might never come back.

“Qin Hao, you’re just in time. We were about to eat. Also, now that our stronghold is established, should we give it a name? It’ll be easier to refer to going forward.”

“A name?” Qin Hao recalled how, in the early days of the apocalypse, the great bases had gradually taken shape, understanding what Zihui meant. With a name came belonging.

“Let’s call it Celestial Base,” he said.

Yet he wondered how long the base would endure. Perhaps, because of him, it would soon face a deluge of disaster.