Chapter 41
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 41
Chapter Title: Your Name Is
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Your name is
Star Absorption Great Law.
A demonic art that shows up as a staple in martial arts novels.
The one used by those Demonic Cult bastards swarming the Ten Thousand Great Mountains.
A technique that sucks up the opponent's primal energy like a vacuum. And that's exactly why Master Color Emperor didn't demonstrate it for me personally back in the sparring hall.
'Can't turn my disciple into a mummy, after all.'
Look at this Mutant sprawled out on the ground, all forlorn.
Those muscles that looked ready to burst? Turns out they were all just bloated with primal energy, now reduced to a limp, floppy mess.
Splat-.
I burst the Mutant’s head open.
As expected, the inside was completely hollow. Not a drop of Ether to be seen, when there should have been at least some pooled there.
It had all been absorbed through the Star Absorption Great Law long ago.
"Looks like Ether farming's off the table like this."
Even if you succeed in the extermination, no loot drops—that's a glaring downside, for sure.
But on the flip side, there are clear upsides.
"My inner energy's filling up nice."
Whether I'm circulating the Yin-Yang Five Elements Scripture to temper my body or executing the forms from the Heavenly Mechanism Calculation Method,
none of that comes free. It all costs inner energy, plus the corresponding physical toll.
But with the Star Absorption Great Law, that gets refilled in no time flat.
In other words, sustained combat ability: way up.
And what that means is simple.
"Infinite power for prolonged fights."
In this ruined world, fighting solo comes with an unavoidable curse.
I'm one guy. The enemies? Plenty.
Fights inevitably drag on into wars of attrition, with the physical strain piling up every time.
The Star Absorption Great Law? That's an effective counter.
"Pretty damn good."
I didn't get the raw destructive power I was gunning for, but I've gained a solid means to hold out in a city overrun by Mutants.
'Sure, this is the boonies with a small population and not too many Mutants, but head to a real city and those numbers become impossible to ignore.'
Not quite what I was aiming for originally, but a boon is a boon.
Truth be told, I'd already secured a way to deal with the Monster Flower ages ago.
What is it, you ask?
What else could it be?
"The gifts left behind by my good Raider pals."
AK-47: the nickname comes from claiming more lives than nukes, the nuclear option for the poor.
RPG-7: Allah's magic wand, cheap as dirt and forgeable in any smithy with just blueprints.
And K413 grenades: so worthless even elite air force pilots joked you'd never get a chance to throw 'em, since if you're chucking these, the war's already lost.
Firepower reinforcements? Already locked and loaded.
"This setup could handle even that Monster Flower geezer."
Good Raider pals are the best.
Oh, of course.
"Good Raiders are just dead Raiders, mind you."
Having felt the power of friendship, I realized it was time to hit the road.
Got enough rest, and I've prepped everything I need.
Now, to amplify that power of friendship even more—time to make some friends for my good Raider pals.
"Let's get going."
Stepping out into the yard, day three of the third run dawned.
I'd talked like I was leaving right away,
but truth be told, I didn't head out immediately.
This wasn't some joyride.
I spent the day making the best possible preparations.
Stocked up on sleep for any emergencies, packed the weapons from Sickle Ham and the good Raiders,
and shoveled down a big bowl of mixed grain porridge to fill my belly solid.
Oh yeah, bonus news I forgot to mention.
My staple mixed grain porridge got an upgrade in the meantime.
The Raider pals had been lugging around these MREs from somewhere.
Whoa! MREs!
Miracle military emergency rations that, even dug up after a century, cause zero food poisoning or tummy trouble.
Flavor? Absolute dogshit, naturally...
'You think I've got the luxury to be picky about taste right now?'
All I cared about was that my mixed grain porridge had leveled up to meat-mixed grain porridge. Grateful as hell.
One spoonful in, and ultra-high-calorie, hyper-concentrated energy surged from my gut, making my veins pop taut.
With that vibe, preparations complete, I whipped up a post for the eagerly awaiting gallery bros.
[Live] Newbie in the Ruined World #3: Eve of the Storm
(Image of an off-road vehicle loaded to the gills in the back)
From last night when I started prepping the live update, through today's CBT and launch prep.
Never really saw the gallery bros awake on weekday evenings.
Now, on the eve of the real show.
Wind howls and chilly rain lashes the shelter windows.
Eve of the storm.
I didn't bother replying to the Blind folks mocking my live—still mocking it now.
Whether you lot are trash or we are? Results will tell.
What the hell's wrong with this asshole?
Newbie... Newbie...
Mod's handing out perma-bans here...
Comments flying in at warp speed.
My live serialization? Already the hottest topic in the gallery.
"Watch over me, everyone!"
With the gallery bros' cheers on my back, I gripped the wheel.
Sure, I'm just a category 2 auto license holder,
but after rolling around this world for five years, I can drive damn near any vehicle.
Those who couldn't? Dead long ago.
Vroooom-
Heavy exhaust roar, and the modded ride crunched over the snow.
Metal scraping echoed nonstop from the rear.
Not the fastest speed,
but beats walking.
Village edge came into view before long.
"Ugh, what a shitty sight every damn time."
This village just never grows on you.
How's it stay so consistently brutal?
Rumble-
Parked at the village outskirts.
Could drive it in, but firing up this noisy beast means instant 1v100.
Not Korean style anymore—Ueha version.
Click clack.
Packed only the essentials and hopped out.
Still heavy as hell, feet sinking deep,
but thanks to martial arts, mobility was no worse than bare-assed pre-cultivation.
Nah, feels faster this way.
Martial arts for the win.
"Alright, let's roll."
Unfolded the map.
Another gift from the good Raider pals—details on every Mutant in the village.
Like a minimap, but get this:
They even marked Mutant positions.
Super detailed.
Which heavy-hitters hold which zones.
Cluster sizes.
Where you'll get fucked if you go—all marked.
And the crown jewel?
The Monster Flower lording over the village center, naturally.
"Trusting you on this, Monster Flower. You're the boss mob, alright."
That thing's rank 4 Mutant—two full tiers above the rubber-rubber frenzy bastard that nearly ended me last time.
Highest I've clocked so far is rank 5, so this is despair territory.
Hell, why's a monster like that rooted in this backwater shithole?
Beating it pure with martial arts?
Not now, maybe later. Impossible atm.
So, time for some tactical flexibility.
"Next strongest: those two rank 3s in the east and west of town."
Standard fantasy playbook: take out the Four Heavenly Kings before the Demon Lord.
Thought the rubber Mutant was mid-boss,
but nah, that was just an elite mob. Real deal's here.
"East one's the Vascular Devourer. West: Organ Proliferator. Fuck, why are all these names so goddamn gross?"
Names alone scream freakshows.
Clever Raider bastards even sketched rough portraits from observation. And the looks? Next level nightmare fuel.
First up: Vascular Devourer.
Upper body's sorta humanoid, but lower? Gave up imitating humans entirely.
Skin's thin and translucent, revealing a tangle of red tube-like veins inside, plunged into the ground like roots.
Size rivals an ancient tree trunk at a glance, hands like yanked-up roots slapped on.
"West one's... no pushover either."
Organ Proliferator.
This one's reversed: legs for bipedal walking, but upper body's split wide from gut to jaw.
Hook-like teeth crammed inside, organs on full display.
Back sprouting what—fur? Tentacles?—tons of 'em. Built to make you nope the fuck out on sight.
"Can't you Mutants... mutate a bit more normally...?"
Just looking triggers waves of visceral revulsion...
Sniping from afar sounds ideal, but decisions gotta be made.
Pick one and take its head first.
"Alright. Made up my mind."
Deep thought, conclusion reached.
First neck to sever.
Your name is—.