My Players Are So Fierce

Chapter 2999 -999: If Something Bad Happens, Make a Bigger Noise to Cover It Up (Feeling Guilty)

The disheveled Sarifov Shadowblade wore a bewildered expression as he pulled one leg free from the sand.

In this desolate Grey Desert, amidst the swirling sand behind him, the cool Flyshuttle was embedded in the ground in an inverted manner. It was only due to the impressive materials that it didn’t disintegrate upon impact with the ground. Despite the Slave Master falling from ten thousand meters, he sustained only minor scratches, proving the man had some skills.

In fact, if it weren’t for the need to safely drop his “prisoner” to the ground just before the crash, Sarifov might not have even gotten scratched.

After all, as a strong figure walking the assassin’s path, no matter how down-and-out he might be, he wouldn’t die from fall damage.

However, the Slave Master felt completely disoriented.

Though he had come into contact with much Creator Technology and personally excavated numerous artifacts, he wasn’t a skilled mechanic, so there was no way he’d figure out what had just happened in that moment.

The Slave Master rushed over to check on his prisoner.

The Matriarch of the Mejewa Clan was unscathed but equally shocked; shortly after, a mocking smile appeared on her seductive lips.

She had always been acutely aware of her dire situation and had tried not to provoke Sarifov, but seeing the traitor so unlucky now made her unable to suppress the pleasure in her heart. She coldly said:

“See! This is fate’s punishment for traitors! Shadowblade, Lady Spider is already free, and her destined power has descended. This accident is just the beginning; if you don’t turn back, you’ll eventually die in an even more pathetic mishap.”

“At this point, how can I turn back?”

Sarifov sneered, reaching out in the cold desert night to wipe the delicate chin of the Matriarch, removing some grains of sand, and said softly:

“My dear Fielna, you seem very angry. Is it because you haven’t had tea today?”

“Hmph.”

The Matriarch’s mature body trembled slightly, and she lowered her head, unwilling to provoke this madman further.

“Scholar! Scholar? Answer me!”

Sarifov stood up, took out a communicator he carried with him to contact his companions, but this device, which previously allowed normal conversations over half the world, now only emitted a series of busy signals when turned on.

Could this thing be broken too?

When the Scholar handed it to him, he had confidently claimed it would last until the very end, even in a continent-shattering disaster.

The Slave Master’s heart sank deeper, but with strong execution capabilities, he didn’t halt to wait due to this unexpected disaster. Instead, he returned to the grounded Flyshuttle to retrieve all the items he stored inside.

The collection wasn’t vast, with just a few famous swords, some armor suits, a delicate tea set, and a heap of women’s clothing.

The Matriarch wisely reminded:

“Bring out all the water from the ship. I can use Spiritual Energy to help you travel in the darkness, but we’ve crashed in the center of the Grey Desert. No matter which direction we take, it’ll take a long time to get out.”

“Hmm.”

Shadowblade nodded and was about to return to the ship for water when he suddenly sensed waves of Spiritual Energy. Taking a pendant representing the Twilight Traveler from his bag, he activated it and heard the Scholar’s hoarse, tired, yet slightly dejected complex voice emanating:

“Are you still nearby? If you are, come over; I’ll guide you. At your speed, you can reach here in up to three days. There’s a big problem on my end, and I need your help.”

“I was about to ask, why did my ship fall?”

Shadowblade retorted:

“If you intended to kill me to silence me, then you botched the job!”

“What are you thinking?”

It was clear the Scholar was in a bad mood, speaking unusually bluntly. He briefly explained:

“Murphy and his minions wrote a data meme program containing highly authorized formatting commands. Just now, the driver programs for most of the Creator’s artifacts on the Continent were formatted out…”

“Speak plainly!”

The Slave Master also grew unreserved.

The Scholar sighed. At this moment, he was utterly hopeless with these guys, who only knew how to wield knives without any academic value. But what else could he do? He could only explain in simpler terms:

“He used a self-destructive measure to seal all the Creator’s artifacts in our possession, except for those that can function without driver programs. Now, the Instruments of the Creator we have are all as good as scrap metal.

Really ruthless.

In any case, come quickly. We must release the temporarily stored data before the living greenhouse’s biological information database enters the freeze command, otherwise, we’ll lose them forever.”

“I said, speak plainly.”

The Slave Master rubbed his forehead and said:

“At least let me know what you want me to help you with?”

“Your faction members and my Mechanical Church followers! Idiot! Don’t you get it yet?”

The Scholar finally erupted, roaring in his Spiritual Energy communication:

“The Monk Leader and I promised to help you rebuild your faction, and that wasn’t just a ploy to make you work. All your faction members underwent medical exams with me, and their biometric data is stored in the living greenhouse. They can be mass-cloned to be revived.

Of course, since souls and consciousness aren’t encoded, they’ll ‘lose’ something randomly upon resurrection, but at least you can see them again.”