The Dead Man’s Simulator

Shen Li stared at the flickering reward screen for a long moment.

"Forget about the soul for now," he muttered. "What I need is immediate strength—and knowledge."

Without hesitation, he selected Retain Knowledge & Insight.

The moment he confirmed his choice, searing streams of information flooded into his body. Martial principles, anatomical diagrams, tactical formations, soul-forging rituals, and the subtle mechanics of high-grade techniques—each one carved itself into his mind and meridians like molten script.

His muscles twitched.

His breathing grew shallow.

His spiritual sea trembled as enlightenment settled into place, not slowly, but all at once—violent and raw.

Nearly half an hour passed.

Finally, Shen Li opened his eyes with a low, exhausted breath. His gaze was calm, but beneath that calm, a storm brewed.

"It's unexpected," he murmured, "that more than ten first-grade martial artists would appear in Runan County. In any normal situation, a region of this level would struggle to gather even five or six without losing all strategic leverage."

He leaned forward, fingertips pressed together.

"To send more than that… unless you're a provincial-level hegemon, the cost outweighs the benefits. Even during the simulation, I couldn't determine which great power was behind it.

Shen Li rose from where he sat. His movements were slow but sharp, like a predator reawakening after winter.

Shen Li stood alone in the stillness of his caravan, his mind still echoing with simulation memories.

He exhaled slowly, then began testing his newly gained techniques. With focused breath, he activated the method that accelerated his heartbeat and blood flow. His limbs surged with energy, his vision sharpened, and his body responded like a refined weapon.

"Even with this strength…" he muttered after a short round of experimentation, "I'm still being swallowed."

He clenched his fists, the veins along his forearms bulging with force.

"The waters are deeper than I expected."

Shen Li turned to face Wuhan once more. He stared in silence, a calculating glint in his eyes.

Moments later, his expression hardened into resolve. He summoned his followers and issued a single order:

"Prepare to move. We're going to Runan."

After two consecutive simulations, Shen Li's body and mind were frayed. The first had exhausted him physically. The second had nearly broken him mentally. What he needed now was stability—and thanks to the simulator's foresight, he knew that the next ten years would be relatively peaceful.

"But before that," he muttered to himself, "there's one thing I need to take care of."

He descended from the caravan alone and headed directly for the gold mines of Runan.

The mines were the heart of Runan County's prosperity—controlled jointly by three prominent families. The area was heavily guarded, surrounded by cultivators and layered defenses. A massive iron gate sealed the entrance.

As Shen Li approached, his gait was slow and unnatural. His distended stomach shifted with every step, and under his robes, something writhed—like thousands of insects crawling beneath his skin. His face was pale, unreadable, monstrous.

A guard at the gate squinted and called out sharply:

"Hold it! This is private property—state your business!"

But Shen Li didn't stop.

Like a lion building momentum, he moved faster with each step.

"Halt!" the guard barked again.

More men gathered near the gate. Two stepped forward, spears raised.

But by the time they realized something was wrong—it was already too late.

Shen Li dropped to all fours and exploded forward like a beast. His claws tore through the ground as he charged. The two guards barely had time to react before he smashed into them.

Their spears shattered on impact. Their bones followed. Shen Li tore through them like an iron beast through paper.

Without pause, he slammed into the gate. The iron frame groaned under the impact, warping from the force. A human-sized dent caved into the metal.

"Well, well…" Shen Li muttered, his eyes glowing with a cold light. "It's sturdier than it looks."

Without hesitation, he dug his claws into the frame and began bending it.

Inside the mine compound, the alarm finally rang.

"We're under attack! Lock down the gates! Defend the inner perimeter!"

But it was already too late.

Minutes later, Shen Li tore through the broken gate—his claws soaked in blood, his eyes burning with wrath.

He didn't usually favor slaughter.

But this time… the memory of the coalition's betrayal, the humiliation, and the taste of death had left a wound in his soul.

He had no intention of letting them grow stronger again.

"This time…" he growled, "I'll cut off their wings—before they can fly."

And with that, the massacre began.

But Shen Li's slaughter didn't last long.

Before he could fully cleanse the mining grounds, two shadows descended from above. First-grade martial artists—stationed here as elite guardians of the mines—landed with practiced precision.

Unlike the other guards, they wore no ornate armor. At their level, conventional defense meant little. Unless it was a treasure-grade artifact, armor became dead weight.

Shen Li's eyes narrowed the moment they appeared.

I can't hold back.

Without hesitation, he ripped off his tattered robes and revealed the truth hidden beneath.

Gasps echoed around the field.

His bloated belly was grotesque, and beneath his pale, stretched skin, something moved. Countless shifting shapes—like insects trapped under translucent flesh—twitched and rippled with every breath. The sight was unnatural. Wrong.

Mam Boa grimaced in disgust.

"What… is that?"

Tu Rana stepped forward, drawing his sword with a cold gleam in his eyes.

"Don't let it touch you." His tone was sharp, commanding. "Did you fire the help flares?"

Mam Boa gave a sharp nod.

But Shen Li was already moving.

With a sharp breath, he activated the Bloodflow Acceleration Technique. His heart pounded like a war drum. His veins pulsed violently beneath his skin, bulging and glowing faintly. His entire body flushed with deep crimson and shadowy purple—his skin reacting to the sudden flood of blood, chi, and undead essence.

His body twitched.

Muscles spasmed with unnatural coordination.

He no longer cared for conversation or fear. There was no time for tactics or delay.

I need to crush the coalition's strength by half today.They may be necessary in the future… but only if I control them.I cannot allow them to grow under an unknown backer—it may be a giant I can't yet face.

Shen Li's blood-soaked claws tightened. His body, half-flesh and half-nightmare, lunged forward with the force of a starving beast unleashed.

.....

The battle raged through the entire night.

By the time the support squad arrived, the mine grounds had become a field of ruin.

Corpses were everywhere. Mangled bodies, ruptured organs, and torn limbs painted the earth in red. Even the two first-grade martial artists—elite guardians of the site—had been slain. Their bodies lay shattered, twisted in ways that spoke of inhuman force.

More than sixty second-grade cultivators had also perished, their bodies broken beneath collapsed buildings or shredded across stone.

The shock was immeasurable.

And Shen Li was nowhere to be found.

What he left behind was a tracing scene of horror—a crimson trail marked by half-devoured torsos, blood-slick walls, and scattered entrails. 

Far away, in a hidden safehouse deep within the forested hills, Shen Li leaned against a stone wall—his chest rising and falling slowly.

He was soaked in blood. His body was pierced in several places, bristling with broken spear shafts, lodged arrowheads, and blade fragments. Deep cuts marred his arms and chest. And yet, not a single drop of fresh blood escaped him.

"Two first-grade martial artists really were a lot…" he muttered with a tired grin.

As he exhaled, his body began shedding the remnants of battle. Spears clattered to the floor. Arrows slid out of his flesh. Bits of shattered weapons, embedded deep within his skin, popped free one by one.

And then, his wounds began to close—slowly but steadily. The muscle reknit itself. The torn skin sealed without scarring. Even the twisted flesh around critical injuries restored itself with eerie precision.

"I need a week of rest," Shen Li said, exhaling. "Didn't think they could beat my meat this badly."

He looked down at his own body—not with fear, but with a kind of admiration. His monstrous form, toughened through transformation and cultivation, was a fortress of flesh.

"No serious damage," he murmured. "To a mortal, even a small cut could be fatal. But to me… as long as I protect my vital organs, and my bones don't turn to dust, I can recover."

His skin and muscle were denser and more durable than most treasure-grade armor.

And now he understood something deeper—something that lingered from the simulation.

"So that's why… the me in the simulator forged a treasure armor," he whispered.

Shen Li moved quickly. He knew now—**from painful experience—**just how absurdly powerful an encirclement of first-grade martial artists could be. Delay meant disaster. And this time, he would strike before the net could tighten.

"There are still four more first-grade martial artists stationed in Runan…" he muttered, wiping dried blood from his jaw. "I can kill them. I'll take damage—but not like before. I won't be beaten like a dog. And I sure as hell won't be crippled."

His eyes darkened, distant.

"From the simulator, I learned one simple truth: a crippled body is worse than death. You're alive, yes—but you carry a weak, pathetic hope. A future undeserved. A pursuit hollow."

At a nearby lake, Shen Li cleaned himself.

The water turned red as it washed over him, revealing pale skin beneath torn robes and muscle. He scrubbed away the blood and mud with ruthless focus, like a man shedding the remnants of weakness.

He stood silently afterward, watching the ripples fade, waiting.

"With two first-grade enemies dead… and the gold mine now leaderless, opportunists will come," he said quietly. "Flies. Greedy ones. But before they arrive…"

A cold grin spread across his face.

"I'll be the one to harvest the benefits."

A few days later, his caravan finally appeared on the outskirts of the county—reliable, loyal, and armed. The sight of it made his fingers tighten in anticipation.

He turned his gaze toward the horizon, toward Runan.

"Now…" he whispered, "the second showdown can begin."

There was no longer fear in him—only a deep, seething intent. Shen Li's soul had been scarred by the simulations. His character, once mortal, was being reforged into something more monstrous with every turn.

Especially in the last simulation—where they shattered his spine and left him powerless—the humiliation had burned so deep it carved a vow into his bones.

Dozens of wagons followed behind him—merchants, guards, supplies. To the outside world, it looked like the arrival of a wealthy trader, not the return of a monster.

His entrance into the city wasn't greeted with resistance or suspicion—at least, not directly. But the atmosphere had changed.

Tension gripped Runan.

The deaths of two first-grade martial artists had sent shockwaves through the county. No one knew who was responsible. No one claimed the act. The battlefield had been so brutal, so inhuman, that most couldn't believe it was the work of any known force within the region.

Now, fear lingered behind every noble curtain. Whispers passed in coded language. Trust between the great families had fractured. With three mining clans left standing—two of them now crippled by the loss of their strongest guardians—suspicion naturally turned toward the one clan still intact.

Shen Li observed it all with a calm smile.

"Just as I expected," he thought. "If I had revealed myself… they would have united again. But in this fog of fear, they all watch each other instead."

This time, Shen Li played his role carefully. He didn't display strength. He didn't throw accusations.

Instead, he openly declared his intention to enter the gold mining business—presenting himself as a wealthy outsider looking to invest.

The reaction was exactly what he wanted: vigilance, but not hostility. The families grew wary of his ambition, but not enough to unite against him.

"Let them be nervous," Shen Li mused. "As long as they don't see me as a threat, they won't band together."

He kept his aura restrained. His movements slow. His speech mild.

"Play the part of the fox, not the lion," he whispered to himself.

And just like that, the true hunter stepped into the den—not as a predator, but as a guest.