Weapons of Mass Destruction-Chapter 584: Roadtrip

Myrra stays with me throughout the entire twelve hours I spend creating items. She’s curious, but also unusually understanding when I need to focus. A few hours in, I even start talking a bit more, at which point she responds with a barrage of questions.

She even burns her hands a few times while poking at some of the items I’ve been working with. To her surprise, even using mana to defend herself doesn’t stop the burns.

Thankful for her presence, I repay her by creating an item to her specifications. It is a simple bracelet made out of a mix of endurium and voidsteel, and I even put effort into making it look as good as possible. Though I'm still not all that great with the details or working on the finer parts, such as the links I have to string together to make the chains, but I do my best, and Myrra seems to be happy with the result. The item is only low epic grade, but I don't think performance is what she cares about.

She leaves when I'm almost done with my work, and I find myself alone in the workshop, which now looks so big and empty.

I put the pieces of the arcane item for Channeler back into the box, which I lock up and secure with a set of heavy defenses.

Then I open the skill level up notifications.

[Mana Manipulation - lvl 64 > Mana Manipulation - lvl 65]

[Perception - lvl 60 > Perception - lvl 61]

[Mana Domain - lvl 59 > Mana Domain - lvl 60]

[Mana Crown - lvl 53 > Mana Crown - lvl 54]

[Ley Line - lvl 50 > Ley Line - lvl 51]

[Ley Line - lvl 51 > Ley Line - lvl 52]

[Eclipse - lvl 30 > Eclipse - lvl 31]

[Eclipse - lvl 31 > Eclipse - lvl 32]

[Eclipse - lvl 32 > Eclipse - lvl 33]

[Empyrean Lance - lvl 18 > Empyrean Lance - lvl 19]

[Knitting - lvl 30 > Knitting - lvl 31]

[Knitting - lvl 31 > Knitting - lvl 32]

Nearly all of my skills leveled up over the course of that short fight. It barely took a minute, and yet I had to use nearly everything I had—all against someone 50 levels lower than me, and that’s with the possibility that she wasn’t even at full power. Just as Whitey's lurker was weaker than his "true" self, I think the avatars are weaker as well.

Even with all that, I can’t even say I defeated her properly. I just killed her a split second before I would have died anyway, but I guess that is an Absolute candidate for you. With Lissandra being the one behind that declaration, it is safe to say that among the Absolute candidates, Ruby was at the top. It is further proven by her now being the Ruler of Greed.

What a mess. Especially since Lissandra won’t tell me if I’ve fulfilled her requirements. It just adds to my already shitty mood. freēwēbηovel.c૦m

I add more items to the system shop and then withdraw all the shards I have made and check my current balance.

Shards: 499,663

Then I check the passive I want to buy, and confirming that not much remains, I close the window.

I watch the timer and, as expected, the notification for the 4th event appears, 12 hours before the event starts.

The 4th event - Avatar's Gauntlet will start in 12 hours.

Everyone participating will be moved to the Great Labyrinth of Xyphos.

All participants will be randomly placed throughout the Labyrinth, the paths will be littered with countless traps, each presenting a threat all its own. Each trap may be defused in a number of ways, giving each attendee a chance to bypass, destroy, or avoid it entirely.

At the same time, the Great Labyrinth of Xyphos will create an Avatar for every person who enters. These Avatars will also be placed randomly within the Labyrinth and will hunt the people invading it.

There are 3 ways to gain points:

- Escaping the Labyrinth - The first person to escape will gain 10,000 points, the second 9,000 points, the third 8,000 points, the fourth 7,000 points, the fifth 6,000 points, and the sixth 5,000 points. After that, the points will decrease by 100 for every subsequent escape.

- By finding the treasures randomly placed throughout the Labyrinth -Each treasure is an item that can be used over the duration of the event, points will be awarded upon acquisition. There are:

5 low arcane items - each worth 2,000 points

50 upper epic items - each worth 300 points

100 mid epic items - each worth 100 points

200 low epic items - each worth 50 points

Note: Points for acquiring an item are awarded only once and will not be awarded upon subsequent acquisition.

- By defeating the Avatars:

Beyond difficulty Avatar - 1,000 points

Hell difficulty Avatar - 500 points

Hard difficulty Avatar - 100 points

Normal difficulty Avatar - 50 points

Easy difficulty Avatar - 10 points

Note: You gain no points for defeating attendees.

Note: The duration of the event is set at 24 hours.

As always, I reread the notification a few times before moving to the corner of my workshop and settling in.

Then I close my eyes, concentrate, and find myself in my mental space. Whitey waits for me there, but for once he looks confused.

It is because this time our surroundings and clothes were chosen by me.

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

We’re standing in the middle of a desert area. Nearby, there’s an old asphalt road, a rundown gas station, and a rusty Toyota Camry that looks like it was made sometime around the year 2000. Cicadas scream in the background, a sound I remember Whitey somewhat enjoyed.

Both of us are wearing casual clothes: shirts and shorts with crocs. It is uncomfortably hot in the setting I’ve created, reducing our stats to those of normal humans. Both of us are already sweating, and the air is difficult to breathe.

Of course, this asshole still manages to look cool. With his long white hair tied up and a random red pattern on his shirt matching his eyes, he cuts an impressive figure.

I gesture for him to follow and enter the gas station.

I pull my wallet free of my pocket along with a few thick golden coins, mana crystals, and some billion-dollar bills. I toss them onto the table near the cash register, even though no one’s there.

I reach the corner of the shop and open the fridge to grab some chilled sodas, tossing them all into a plastic bag that I also take. Then I throw in some snacks I used to enjoy, along with some other stuff. Whitey watches me and does the same, picking up anything that looks interesting.

Once we’re done here, I head outside, open the car door, and get behind the wheel. I glance up, shrug, and open the sunroof. I pull down the sun visor, and sure enough, the keys drop out. I slide them into the ignition, and the engine roars to life.

I lower the window to look out and call to Whitey, "Get in, loser."

He stares at me intently, likely trying to read my memories to get some idea of what I might be planning, but he can’t. I’ve blocked them all.

With a groan, he throws his bag into the car, and it smacks me in the head. In fact, it’s surprisingly painful, sending a burning pulse through my eye.

After getting in, he slams the door closed and looks ahead, avoiding eye contact with me.

I shift into gear and drive us away from the gas station, pulling out onto a long stretch of empty road that disappears into the horizon. I reach to turn on the AC, but of course, it is not working, so I just lower both windows and turn on the radio, at which point some old-school road trip songs begin to pour from the speakers. When I try to focus and listen to the words, it always turns into random babble, probably because my mind doesn’t remember the exact lyrics. But as long as I don’t focus, the music just plays in the background. It’s an extremely strange feeling.

It is only getting hotter outside, and the passing air only helps a little, forcing me to drive faster. It is just one of these disgustingly hot days.

Whitey, by my side, takes out one of the chilled bottles and presses it against his forehead for a while before trying to cut it open with kinetic energy.

But he is unable to do so, given that neither of us can use our primordial energies or mana at the moment.

"Motherfucker," he curses and throws the bottle out of the window.

Then, just a minute later, he curses again, takes out another bottle, opens it normally, and takes a long sip. I do the same as we ride toward a structure a few miles in the distance.

A space shuttle launch pad.

It squats there like an old beast forced out of retirement, all faded white with black scorch marks along the base. It is not one of the sleek, polished sci-fi ships; no chrome, no curves. This thing looks like it was built by a set of stubborn engineers who cared only about functionality.

The shuttle is a fat white hulk, with an orange fuel tank leaning against its side like it’s started to rust into the ground, its paint is sun-faded and dull. The black nose points upward, and the windows are dusty and cracked. Burn marks streak down its body like someone tried to scorch it out of existence from orbit.

The name "Fuck the tutorial" is etched in peeling paint across the side, barely visible beneath a layer of grime and heat distortion. A set of rusted stairs leads up to the side hatch, swaying slightly in the wind.

Whitey squints at it. "You fucker, knowing you, you want to fly that thing."

"Yup," I say, then press the gas.

Dust kicks up behind us. The radio is playing something that sounds like "Country Roads, Take Me Home," so I increase the volume, which gets me another look from Whitey.

Knowing I hate it, he starts eating snacks and chewing loudly, scattering crumbs everywhere. He even wipes his oily fingers on the car’s tape deck, leaving visible marks.

"You're eating chips? In my car?" I call out to him with disgust.

He lifts and licks the salt off his fingers and then, while looking at me, opens a soda and pours a little of it on the floor.

I slam the brake, and, not having a seatbelt on, he moves with the inertia and his head smacks loudly into the dashboard.

While I awkwardly shift gears and get the car running again, he slowly gets back up into a seated position, red eyes shining from beneath the white hair covering his face. There’s also a small wound on his forehead, from which a droplet of blood slowly flows.

"You fucking son of a bitch," he says calmly.

"No, you."

"Motherfucker," he exclaims as he attacks me, punching me in the neck and driving a fist into the side of my chest right against my ribs.

Neither of us has any mana or kinetic energy available, so the fight is awkward as I defend myself while he attacks, all while the wheel swings and the car moves from the paved road to a side path made of dirt and dry grass.

"We’re going to fucking die!" I shout.

"It’s flat fucking ground, motherfucker! There’s nothing to hit!" Whitey screams, punching me a few more times for effect before leaning back once more, his hair falling over his face.

With frustrated movements, he brushes the hair from his face, ties it up, and sits up straight, looking ahead at the road.

I almost let it go, but then he snorts, "Bitch."

So I slam on the brakes again, and he smacks his head against the dashboard once more.

The tires screech against the scorching asphalt as the Toyota Camry jerks to a halt, the entire car rocking from the sudden stop.

The moment the car stops moving, I release the wheel, raising my arms in defense. "I stopped because we’re here now!"

Barely containing his anger, he looks out at the space shuttle that is still about half a mile away. I use that short opportunity to exit the vehicle, and a water bottle comes flying my way and hits me in the back of the head, sending me staggering forward, but I take it like a champ and continue walking.

Then the second bottle hits my head, making me let out a painful groan as I rub the spot it struck.

Whitey doesn't say anything. He just joins and walks up next to me, his crocs crunching over the dry grass and cracked dirt. The two of us move forward, side by side, following the faint trail that winds between patches of brittle weeds and sun-bleached rocks. Heat radiates off the ground in shimmering waves, and every breath feels like dragging in air from an open oven.

Even though I’d complained earlier about the car’s lack of onboard cooling, and the way it was just blasting hot wind into our faces as we drove, I quickly come to realize just how much worse it is on foot. There’s no shade. No breeze. Just the relentless sun beating down on our backs and the distant hum of cicadas buzzing in the silence. But I was the one who picked this “setting,” so I act like nothing’s wrong. This was exactly what I wanted. Not that it will do anything to trick Whitey, but it will atleast allow me to retain some shred of dignity.

Whitey wipes the sweat from his brow and mutters something under his breath, but keeps walking. Neither of us has the energy to argue anymore.

When we finally reach the space shuttle, we see a woman standing in front of it, dressed like a pizza delivery driver. A scooter with a thermal box is parked on the road beside her. She’s wearing a red shirt with a company logo, a matching cap, and black shorts.

She’s something I created from my memories, and twisted to the extreme. I used my experience with Logic Core and my imagination to shape her exactly as I wanted. There is no mind or feeling, only a puppet reacting to its surroundings in the way I programmed. Within my mental space, at least with Whitey here, that much is possible, though it did take a lot of effort and preparation.

But it was worth it.

The woman has silver hair tied back in a ponytail, a red cap on her head, and brown eyes. Her expression, however, doesn’t quite match. She looks shy and nervous.

The real Lissandra would never make a face like that.

"Y-your pizza, sir," she says while handing us two boxes of pizza and looking down at her feet.

I come closer, take both boxes, and open one of them, taking a sniff as I do.

"You call this pizza! I clearly said garlic crust! How could you mess this up!? Even a random Lady's pet would be able to remember that!" I shout at her.

"I-I'm sorry! I don't know how it happened!"

Taking a piece, I start eating it and offer the box to Whitey, who also takes one and bites into it.

I turn to the silver-haired delivery woman again, "You call that mana manipulation? I’ve seen kids with better control of their mana."

"What, sir? Excuse me, I do not understand," she says, sounding almost as if she is about to cry.

"Of course you don’t. Something, something, you will never become an Absolute; something, something, your limit is Champion."

"I don't understand," she sobs, her voice cracking as tears stream down her cheeks. Her hands tremble at her sides, fingers curled slightly like she’s trying to hold herself together.

"Blah blah."

She lets out a sob, followed by a shaky sniff.

I take a step closer, remove her cap, and place it on my own head, turning backwards as I do. "I ain't paying shit; that pizza is cold." I burn my finger as I take another piece of pizza and blow on it to cool it down before taking another bite.

Next to me, Whitey chews with his mouth open. He takes a step toward the scooter, opens the thermal box, and steals all of the boxes inside, holding them in one hand while using the other to feed himself more pizza.

After watching her for a moment, Whitey carefully places the pizza boxes on the ground. Then he grabs the open thermal container from the scooter, a bulky thing big enough to hold a full stack of pizzas, and sets it over her head. Drifting out from inside, we can still hear her muffled sobbing.

"There. Now you are thinking inside the box. That is more your level," Whitey says.

We leave NPCandra behind and head toward the shuttle.