Chapter Twenty-Six: The Selection of the Gifted

Over two hundred people boarded the plane one by one. The interior was remarkably spacious, with seats arranged luxuriously in rows of four. Aside from the wide central aisle, there were only two seats connected on each side.

No one assigned seats; friends or acquaintances simply chose to sit together. Ji Cheng found himself next to Ma Jingwu, the roommate he’d met just the day before.

"Hey, Ji Cheng, can you tell me what your situation is? Why is all your information marked as top secret?" Ma Jingwu blinked. "We’re roommates now—you don’t have to keep secrets from me, right?"

How shameless, Ji Cheng thought privately. We’ve only been roommates for a day. Outwardly he just grinned. "I’m not really sure myself. Maybe the machines glitched or something."

"Is that so? Well, never mind then." Ma Jingwu laughed heartily. "I'm a bit nervous now—this is my first time flying."

"It’s not so bad. This is my first time too," Ji Cheng replied casually, stowing his backpack under the seat.

Despite his rough appearance, Ma Jingwu’s eyes betrayed a shrewd and calculating nature—not someone easy to get along with. Even after sharing a room for one night, Ji Cheng didn’t trust him much.

"If you become an ability user, have you thought about joining another city-state?" Ma Jingwu asked abruptly. "You know we’re free to choose which city-state to join after awakening, right?"

Ji Cheng hadn’t considered this before and was caught off guard by the question.

"I haven’t thought about leaving," he answered honestly.

They made small talk, trying to fill the silence. The plane started its engines, taxied, accelerated, and took off. Aside from a bit of turbulence during ascent, the flight was smooth.

The gene serum candidates gradually relaxed, adjusting their state of mind to prepare for the challenges ahead upon landing.

"I didn’t sleep well last night. I’ll take a nap," Ma Jingwu said, pulling down the window shade and glancing back at Ji Cheng.

"Alright, I’ll wake you when we’re close—" Ji Cheng began, but was interrupted.

Ding.

A chime sounded, and the cabin lights inexplicably brightened.

What’s going on?

At that moment, the communicators everyone wore crackled to life.

—The selection for ability users has officially begun. The plane will self-destruct in one minute according to preset procedures.

Thunk.

A parachute pack sprang out from between Ji Cheng and Ma Jingwu’s seats.

"What?!"

Chaos erupted in the cabin.

Was this a joke? Why would the plane have a self-destruct protocol? And there weren’t nearly enough parachutes!

It became obvious—there was only one parachute for every two seats. The tension escalated instantly.

"They want half of us dead," Ji Cheng hissed through his teeth.

Damn it.

One parachute for every pair of seats meant half the people were doomed.

Suddenly, a frail woman in the row ahead lashed out with a knife hand, striking her seatmate.

"Sorry, but the parachute is mine."

On the right in the same row, two men simultaneously drew sharp weapons, stabbing for each other’s vital points.

"Die!"

"You think you can take me, Qi Hu?"

The cabin descended into utter chaos.

Ji Cheng tensed, turning toward Ma Jingwu, who also looked back. Their eyes met. Ji Cheng was about to speak, but before he could open his mouth, he saw a murderous gleam flash in Ma Jingwu’s eyes. In one smooth motion, Ma Jingwu’s right hand produced a slender, gleaming punch dagger, its tip glinting like a venomous snake as it plunged for Ji Cheng’s chest.

In the same instant, Ma Jingwu’s left hand moved to his holster.

Bang.

A suppressed pistol fired right through the holster, the bullet tearing through the leather as it spun toward Ji Cheng.

"Excellent!" Despite the peril, Ji Cheng trembled with excitement.

His reflexes were lightning-quick. Relying on the strength granted by the Tyrant Serum, he didn’t even bother to dodge. His muscles swelled, making him appear even more robust. A burning sensation surged in his chest.

Instantly, the skin over his chest took on a blue-black, iron-like sheen.

Clang!

The dagger struck Ji Cheng, but it was as if it hit a slab of indestructible metal—breaking with a pitiful whine.

A fragment ricocheted off, making Ma Jingwu’s scalp prickle in horror.

"Impossible..."

Ma Jingwu barely had time to react before another metallic sound rang out.

That was the bullet, lodged firmly in Ji Cheng’s muscle.

"What?!" Ma Jingwu’s expression twisted with terror, his hair standing on end.

Ji Cheng flexed his waist and back, snapping the seatbelt. He sprang up like a leopard, agile despite the cramped space. With a half-step, he found room to unleash his strength.

"Die." Ji Cheng’s lips curled into a smile, but his presence was as menacing as a tiger descending a mountain.

His muscles, bones, and skin swelled like an overinflated tire. With a burst of explosive force, he drove his fist forward, murderous intent surging from his entire being.

Boom!

Ma Jingwu didn’t even have time to scream. The sound of shattering bone and torn flesh filled the air as Ji Cheng’s punch blasted a hole straight through him.

Splurt—splurt—

Ji Cheng retracted his iron-hued arm. The corpse, deflated like a punctured ball, gushed blood and viscera from the gaping wound.

Perhaps it was the influence of his predecessor’s personality or a side effect of the Tyrant Serum, but he felt an intense urge to charge further into the fray.

"Breathe. No, I have to control myself. This is too dangerous."

Ji Cheng took a deep breath, letting the scent of fresh blood fill his nose and lungs. The smell calmed him, helping him suppress his urge for violence.

The fighting in the cabin quickly subsided. The space was too tight for maneuvering, so most battles were decided in moments.

Now, each row of four seats was reduced to two occupants, glaring warily across the aisle. Some rows were left with no one standing, their occupants obviously mortally wounded.

But now, they faced forced high-altitude jumps—being seriously wounded was no different from being dead.

Bang.

Without warning, the cabin door swung open. At this altitude, the pressure difference was immense. Several unlucky souls were sucked out instantly, vanishing into the sky.

The roaring wind shook the cabin, drowning out even the screams of those who were lost.

"There’s no more oxygen," Ji Cheng realized. Even if the plane didn’t self-destruct, staying aboard without air was suicidal.

Without hesitation, he grabbed his bag from under the seat, snatched up the parachute, slung it on his back, and lunged for the open door, leaping into the void.

Seeing someone take the plunge, the rest scrambled after, nearly a hundred figures tumbling from the plane like dumplings boiling in water.

Beep.

Through the roar of wind, a faint sound pinged in Ji Cheng’s communicator. He listened intently.

—Luck is a kind of strength, too. Congratulations, your luck is good.

"Good luck? What do they mean?" As he pondered, a sudden force yanked at his shoulders and abdomen.

His parachute deployed.

A dark figure flashed past his eyes, followed by several more, each trailing agonized screams as they plummeted to the earth.

Their parachutes were fakes, Ji Cheng realized.

Only forty or fifty people remained. He glanced up at the sparse canopies dotting the sky, feeling a twinge of envy.

"If only my parachute were fake, too. Falling from this height would be such a thrill..."

What the hell am I thinking? Ji Cheng caught himself, shuddered, and clung tightly to his parachute.

Thank goodness it’s real.

The communicator crackled again.

—Now, eliminate as many competitors as possible and collect their communicators. See you tomorrow.

Seven or eight minutes later, Ji Cheng landed softly and shrugged off his parachute.

"Whoever designed this round is a bastard—half of us dead right out of the gate," he cursed silently. "The casualty rate must be a record."

And now they were being forced to fight again.

Muttering curses, Ji Cheng surveyed his surroundings. Finding no immediate danger, he opened his bag.

First, he took out a biochemical respirator and strapped it to his forehead—when inactive, it looked like a headband.

He quickly buckled a wrist computer to his arm, donned tactical goggles, and checked the local planetary network module embedded in the wide frames.

Two laser lock devices, shaped like long-handled grenades, went into his trouser pockets, and a pair of alloy wrist blades—resembling hidden daggers—were slipped into his sleeves.

Finally, he carefully inspected his handgun, then strode into the forest ahead.