When the bloody acid rain corroded the city again, the deliveryman Chen Mo was using a rusty knife to cut open the abdomen of the mutant rat, just to take out the crystal core that could be exchanged for half a compressed biscuit. He doesn't know that in tens of millions of ruins around the world, convenience store clerks, retired teachers, and night shift nurses are all performing the same survival rituals - every swing of their swords and every wound is being broadcast live to hundreds of millions of viewers across several stars in the form of holographic projections by the "Abyssal Council" thirty light years away. When the first anti-matter shell made of scrap steel hit the "Galaxy Noble" on the edge of the auditorium, the barrage on the entire Xingyuan Live Channel suddenly solidified - in the 100,000-year history of the arena, no lower civilization has ever been able to splash blood on the faces of civilizations in the stands. But the survivors of the earth do not know that the fists they wave towards the stars will soon become the most shocking civilizational declaration in the entire universe: Our survival is not a bargaining chip on your gambling table, but a sharp edge that can penetrate the abyss of the stars.
