Chapter Sixty-Seven: Three Blows from the Farmwife

Phantom Moon City was the second largest metropolis in the southern region of the Radiant Federation, covering a thousand square kilometers and boasting a player population of over 2.2 million, not including the countless AI-controlled NPCs. Unlike Dream Star City, whose futuristic air was steeped in the scent of cutting-edge technology, Phantom Moon City blended the charm of Jiangnan's water towns with the grandeur of an international metropolis. Water encircled the city on all sides, meandering eastward; if you followed this great river upstream, you would eventually reach the Ayat Ruins.

The female gunner’s name was “Peasant Woman Three Punches,” a name so unconventional that Wu Hua couldn’t help but marvel—these days, you could skimp on anything, but never on a name.

Yet there was nothing remotely “peasant” about her. On the contrary, she was strikingly pretty. If you ignored her voice and manner, you might take her for a refined lady. But once she opened her mouth, crude words poured forth, and at the slightest provocation, she’d spit out threats like, “Damn it, I’ll beat you to death,” all the while swinging her fists—living up to her moniker.

On the ferry heading west from Phantom Moon City’s service port, Peasant Woman had idly insulted the ship’s police NPCs, earning herself a fine of a hundred credits for cursing, “To hell with your uncle.”

Wu Hua had to admit, after years of gaming, he’d met all sorts.

Still, after a few hours’ journey together, he rather liked Peasant Woman. She was refreshingly unpretentious, her personality reminiscent of a simple bumpkin, and she was a level higher than Wu Hua—level thirty, to be exact. He didn’t know what her main weapon was, but she’d twirled a Five-Seven pistol around her finger the whole way, and Wu Hua was certain that whatever she used in battle wouldn’t be lacking. So, the two of them teamed up and set off towards the Ayat Ruins.

Countless massive rocks lay haphazardly across the endless expanse of withered grass, while lone eagles circled under a cloud-laden sky, their cries echoing through the desolation. The place was bleak beyond words.

Yet at the entrance to a narrow path, many players had gathered, holding up electronic signs flashing red text:

“Guided tours. Cheap rates.”

“Looking for party members to level up. Sincere applicants only.”

“Just need one Controller. If you’re in, come show us your stuff.”

“Level 26, fully equipped purple-geared tank seeks party. Need DPS, come on!”

“I can’t help but roar: I want to go to the dungeon! Adding to the above, that’s all I have to say.”

The scene at this crossroad was lively, reminiscent of a bustling service port—clearly, venturing inside was not something one could do alone.

Wu Hua and Peasant Woman conferred and agreed it would be safest to find someone who could both guide them and join their party. The players here were eager, flocking over to make their pitches, but Peasant Woman dismissed them all without hesitation.

Eventually, a level 25 scout stepped forward, introducing himself as “Passerby Alpha.” He swore he’d been exploring the Ayat Ruins since the game launched and knew every inch of the terrain. Wu Hua and his companion checked his gear and found it acceptable.

Passerby Alpha carried only a standard-issue M4 carbine, a common enough weapon, but he was clad in a SAS (Special Air Service) outfit. Though basic, the set boasted a “Stealth” skill lasting twenty seconds and an impressive movement speed of up to nine meters per second—a lifesaver in the field.

“The going rate is three hundred credits for guiding to the entrance. If you want me to level and quest with you, it’s a thousand. But there’s one condition: you can’t leave until we’re finished.” Wu Hua’s demand was calculated. In Star Wars, gunners were expensive to maintain but had the best self-preservation. Passerby Alpha seemed an ordinary player, but his scouting skills were invaluable; Wu Hua needed him to blaze the trail.

Passerby Alpha hesitated. “How about fifteen hundred credits? The dungeon inside is really dangerous—I’ve died in there plenty of times.”

Wu Hua scoffed. “Trying to haggle?”

Passerby Alpha pleaded, “Come on, man, I’m still a student. I don’t have much money. Can’t you spare a little more?”

Peasant Woman snorted, “Please! Who are you kidding? That SAS set you’re wearing could fetch thousands on the market. Don’t pretend you’re broke.”

Passerby Alpha flushed bright red. “I only got this set after someone got killed by the entry boss and I picked it up in secret. Without it, I’d never dare enter the dungeon. Would you even hire me otherwise?”

Wu Hua could tell the scout was genuinely just a student—guileless and down on his luck. He’d been there himself, and it wasn’t easy.

“Fine, fifteen hundred it is. Here’s a hundred up front. Lead the way.” Wu Hua waved dismissively.

Peasant Woman muttered, “Wow, you really are generous. I’m paying my share too, you know.”

Wu Hua retorted, “Spare me. You think I don’t know you’ve been hoarding those colored .35s, fifty credits a box? Quit pretending to be poor.”

Peasant Woman fell silent.

The paths across the Ayat Plains were a labyrinth—every two hundred meters, another fork. Wu Hua was silently grateful they’d hired Passerby Alpha; without him, he and Peasant Woman might have wandered for days without finding the entrance.

Passerby Alpha, however, was terrified of his two companions. The tall grass of Ayat Plains was home to level 25 cobras with vicious venom, and the sky teemed with level 28 man-eating hawks. These monsters didn’t hit hard, but they were absurdly fast and specialized in sneak attacks. One slip and you’d be chugging health and antidote potions nonstop. In a sense, this place was a money pit—no wonder so many players insisted on teaming up.

But Wu Hua and Peasant Woman were hardly ordinary. Armed with only pistols, they dispatched monsters with terrifying accuracy; not a single shot missed, even when blasting hawks out of the sky.

Wu Hua’s Desert Eagle felled cobras with a single shot—heads exploded or bodies severed, each round dealing about two thousand points of damage.

Peasant Woman’s pistol was no slouch either. The Belgian-made Colt boasted not only formidable power but remarkable accuracy in rapid fire. It used a double-stack magazine, allowing for fifty rounds per reload—a significant advantage.

Whenever the man-eating hawks swooped within thirty meters, they were blasted out of the air, feathers flying, never getting close. Each shot delivered over nine hundred damage.

Passerby Alpha was left gaping. “Wow, you two have the best aim I’ve ever seen. Are you heading in to take down the dungeon boss?”

Peasant Woman grinned, “What a sweet boy. I’ll buy you a lollipop later.”

Wu Hua and Passerby Alpha broke out in goosebumps for no reason at all.

When the entrance finally appeared, Wu Hua, though prepared, couldn’t help but marvel at the designers’ ingenuity.

A sunken expanse of several thousand square meters lay among the plain’s scattered rocks. Across the way, carved into the mountainside, loomed a giant golden cat’s face, its gaping maw dark and foreboding. A long staircase led up from the basin to the cat’s mouth.

“This entrance is seriously creepy,” Peasant Woman remarked.

“Creepy? It’s the very definition of hidden in plain sight,” Wu Hua said, brandishing his Desert Eagle. “Come on, let’s go.”