Apocalypse Gachapon

Chapter 1804: Map Cannon

At the front were Jie Kui and another Star-Eye Clan bronze-masked warrior.

As warriors, maintaining vigilance was fundamental. But this was the base camp, and the room had been empty moments ago, so everyone was relaxed. With their business concluded and heading toward their quarters, no one expected an attack.

Even if they encountered others, yielding would have sufficed—yet their opponents struck without warning.

Jie Kui and the bronze-masked warrior reacted swiftly. The formerʼs body blurred as he shifted backward, hands raised to deflect the force. The bronze-masked warrior met the attack head-on, his fist lashing out with a glint of cold steel between his fingers.

Behind them, Aslan watched—then shut her eyes in anguish.

She recognized the assailants instantly: the Nangmao Clan.

Among the spacefaring races, they were infamous as siege warriors—thick-skinned, monstrously strong, surpassing even many parasitic lifeforms in raw power.

Compared to them, the Star-Eye Clanʼs bodies were as fragile as glass.

Thud! Thud!

Jie Kui and the bronze warrior were sent flying.
Their attackers barely budged.

Ye Zhongming had been walking a meter behind Jie Kui. Seeing the man hurtling toward him, he hesitated briefly before reaching out, tapping Jie Kui’s shoulder while pivoting aside. His other hand gripped the warrior’s arm, guiding him in a smooth arc before releasing.

By the time Jie Kui’s feet touched the ground, the momentum had been redirected—though he still staggered back several steps.

As top-tier fighters, everyone recognized Ye Zhongming’s skill: absorbing the impact, then using a deft technique to prevent a crippling fall. Jie Kui shot him a grateful glance, though his flushed face betrayed lingering discomfort. His gaze toward the doorway now burned with undisguised killing intent.

The bronze-masked warrior fared worse. Behind him stood Shi Kangbo and Bu Lanuo—neither as charitable as Ye Zhongming. They sidestepped, letting the warrior sail past until a third-row comrade caught him. Both tumbled to the floor in a heap.

”Truly filthy trash.”

The Nangmao giant who’d traded blows with the bronze warrior examined his knuckles—where a small cut bled—and spat the words with dull contempt.

The bronze warrior clambered up, one arm dangling uselessly—likely broken—his hand grotesquely twisted. He, too, recognized their foes, but with no room to evade, he’d had no choice. The blade between his fingers was standard Star-Eye gear, dubbed Fingerblades—tools of many assassinations.

”Warriors of the Nangmao Clan, you—” Aslan stepped forward, attempting to defuse the conflict. Though the fault was clearly theirs, the Star-Eye Clan was weak, while the Nangmao ranked among the top hundred factions. Reason wouldn’t prevail here.

Before she could finish, the wounded Nangmao fighter roared and charged again—this time aiming a killing blow at the already-crippled bronze warrior. The punch carried even greater force, leaving no doubt of its lethal intent.

Rage flashed across every Star-Eye face.

This was too much. They’d been the aggressors, attacking without provocation, and now sought to murder a man with a shattered arm over a scratch?

Yet neither Aslan nor the bronze warriors resisted. The birdwoman darted to her injured comrade, yanking him backward while the others scattered from the impact zone.

Shi Kangbo and Bu Lanuo had already distanced themselves from the group, their expressions detached.

Only one figure remained unmoved.

Ye Zhongming.

He’d merely tilted his stance slightly, his gaze locked on the assailant’s throat.

The bronze warrior’s face was masked, but his exposed eyes brimmed with despair.

Star-Eye members were ill-suited for frontal combat—especially against melee specialists like the Nangmao. At full strength, he might’ve held out briefly, seeking an opening. But with a broken arm and grievous injuries in this cramped space, evasion was nearly impossible.

Even as Aslan pulled him back, he knew—this punch would land.

Then, as he braced for a desperate counterattack, his enemy froze.

Silence gripped the room.

”Huh? Little trash?”

The Nangmao fighter kept his fist raised, his entire body coiled to strike, but his head turned toward Ye Zhongming.

”Don’t make this trash kill you,” Ye Zhongming retorted coldly.

The Cloud Peak King was pissed.

On Earth, harming a Cloud Peak member in his presence meant the annihilation of their entire faction. Here, though their roles were reversed—with many Star-Eye members viewing him as the outsider—the principle stood. Shared interests now bound him and the clan: access to cosmic knowledge, resources, and Jikesu’s goodwill.

He wouldn’t tolerate this slaughter.

Moreover, that ”filthy trash” comment? A blanket insult, Ye Zhongming took personally.

Back in the Survivor Fortress, Earth’s gravity control had weakened. Here, it returned—stronger than ever.

Now, the lethality focused on the Nangmao’s throat.

For now, that was warning enough.

”Another defiant one? Then you die first.”

The Nangmao didn’t even shift his stance—a shadowy afterimage split from his body, slashing toward Ye Zhongming.

At this proximity, the phantom struck instantly—then detonated, flooding the room with thick black mist.

”Trash who only know one trick,” a voice sneered through the haze.