At this mont, Wang Yun was like a demon wearing a ghostly mask—a true harbinger of terror.
Stop him? Don’t even think about it.
If you dared to attack him, you’d face the full consequences.
Wang Yun didn’t kill the program Captains. Not because he couldn’t, but because he wanted them alive. He wanted them to watch, helpless, as their n fell one by one. That was the real punishnt—one that cut straight to the soul.
“Wang Yun!”
Hardy’s hoarse shouts echoed through the chaos. His bloodshot eyes locked onto Wang Yun as his subordinates fell one after another.
The sound of protective suits being torn apart filled the air, one after another. Yet, not a single person could track Wang Yun’s movents. He moved through the crowd like a fish gliding through water, weaving in and out at will.
One mont, he erged from the thick mist, the next, he was right in front of you.
Fear and despair painted the faces of everyone present. The guns in their hands were nothing more than decorations at this point.
Gunfire erupted everywhere, but Wang Yun’s figure was nowhere to be seen.
Sixty seconds.
In just one minute, the battlefield fell silent.
When the dust settled, only the Captains remained standing. Everyone else had collapsed to the ground. Their bodies twisted in agony as the poison mist clawed its way into their throats. Their faces turned ashen, their eyes bloodshot.
From a distance, Wang Yun’s voice echoed coldly through the air, “This is the price you pay for going back on your word.”
And just like that, he was gone. No one knew where Wang Yun had gone, nor when he had left.
The six Captains stood frozen in place, their expressions vacant.
Hardy, who had been seething with rage earlier, now wore a blank, lifeless face, staring numbly at his fallen teammates. Werner slowly crouched down, wrapping his arms around his head as if trying to block out the reality before him. Wu Mingyu staggered backward a couple of steps before collapsing onto the ground.
“How… how could this happen…?” he mumbled, his voice trembling.
“C-Captain… I… I can’t breathe!”
A pained cry shattered the captains’ despairing thoughts, snapping them back to reality.
The first program inspector to collapse was now clutching his throat with both hands, his face deathly pale, his body trembling uncontrollably.
“He’s poisoned! The mist—it’s the poison mist! We need to get out of here, now!”
Wu Mingyu jolted upright, forcing himself to focus. The events of the past few minutes had left him gasping for air, as though he himself was suffocating.
This was just a show—a simulation—but the people involved were real. And the poison mist surrounding them was very real.
“Those in better condition, carry your unconscious teammates on your backs! Move quickly!” Werner barked, regaining so composure as he took charge.
Fortunately, the dayti mist had thinned sowhat, making the journey back more manageable.
anwhile, the production team, watching the live broadcast, imdiately dispatched reinforcents. Over a hundred rescue workers were sent into the mountain, ensuring the team would be evacuated safely.
The captains stationed around the outskirts of the mountain could see the situation unfolding and began to piece together the reality.
They’d lost.
Once again, they had been utterly defeated.
And this ti, it was a complete victory for Wang Yun, right in front of the captains’ faces. The only hostage and insider they had were rescued and spirited away. They didn’t even have a bargaining chip left.
***
“Unbelievable! This is insane!”
“Man, watching Big Bro’s first-person view just now made my head spin. It’s even crazier than riding a rollercoaster!”
“Right? The speed was insane. All I saw were blurry afterimages, and then soone would fall!”
“Over thirty people—gone in under a minute! And Captain Hardy still tried to shoot? That’s just asking for trouble!”
“They’re done for. The inspectors have taken such a huge hit to their morale. Who knows how they’ll recover from this?”
The livestream chat exploded with comnts, viewers buzzing with excitent and disbelief.
anwhile, Wang Yun’s perspective continued to play on-screen as he ran, moving at an incredible speed. It was clear he was escaping.
***
Three hours later, Wu Yaoming and the others finally erged from the mountain.
In total, there had been three waves of people who entered the mountain. Altogether, nearly one hundred individuals had gone in.
The second wave, led by Wu Yaoming, was the only group that ca out completely unscathed. However, the third wave, led by Wu Mingyu, consisting of twenty people, was completely wiped out.
Every single one of them was sent directly to the hospital. And this hospital wasn’t part of the program—it was very real.
As for the remaining captains from the Oil Nation, Ying Yuezi, Qian Guosen, and Zhao Youcheng—they stood in grim silence, processing the aftermath.
They all stood outside the mountain, watching silently. No one stepped forward to ask what had happened. The words hovered at the edge of their lips but refused to co out.
Seven captains were unscathed, but not a single program inspector remained.
The scene was eerily quiet, filled with an oppressive stillness.
The remaining inspectors stood to the side, their eyes reddened, their noses stinging. Even though it wasn’t actual death, seeing comrades who had fought shoulder-to-shoulder with them being carried out like this—no one could fully accept it.
Wu Mingyu, trembling slightly, walked over to Zhao Youcheng.
He had once been a commander himself, but now his bloodshot eyes stared at Zhao Youcheng, who was standing there silently.
Zhao Youcheng’s lips twitched, opening and closing a few tis as though he wanted to say sothing, but no words ca out.
After a long pause, Zhao Youcheng placed a hand on Wu Mingyu’s shoulder.
“It’s… it’s okay. There’s still a chance.”
As long as they were alive, there was still hope.
That single pat shattered Wu Mingyu’s defenses. He broke down crying. At first, silent tears rolled down his cheeks. Then quiet sobs.
Finally, he wailed uncontrollably.
Right there, in front of nearly a hundred people. In front of the caras. In front of the staff and dical workers. Wu Mingyu cried loudly.
The thirty-eight-year-old man, usually tough as iron, wept like a heartbroken child, his cries filled with frustration and despair.
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