The blood could no longer be stopped. Edward Clark, in a panic, stained his own monk’s robe with large patches of crimson, and in the end, helplessly grabbed his hand, his face full of grief: “If I’d known, I wouldn’t have dragged you here!”

“Cough, cough…” Henry Clark suddenly gripped his hand tightly, and in those lifeless eyes, it seemed as if some light was flickering. Edward Clark only felt as if his palm was locked in place by a slender iron shackle.

“The Rebirth Sutra… will it…”

After a brief daze, Edward Clark closed his eyes, nodded, and said, “It will.”

Edward Clark had always hoped to guide this friend, whose heart was dead to the world, into Buddhism, to help him find some meaning in life. In the end, he realized he could do nothing—he could only recite the scriptures, to let him pass more peacefully.

“Namo Amitabha. Tathagata. Gate gate paragate…”

Amid the low chanting, Henry Clark felt his life slipping away. Strange auditory hallucinations slowly appeared in his ears, and within them he heard familiar voices. His last bit of instinct reminded him of something vibrating in his pocket.

With great effort, he fished it out. He really wanted to know—who would call him at the very end?

“Do you want a new life?”

Faced with the sudden voice in his mind, he suddenly wanted to laugh, and answered in his heart: “A new life? If you dare to give it, I dare to take it…”

His finger paused just as it touched the answer button, then stiffened. His lifeless pupils dilated completely, and the breath of life vanished from this body.

Edward Clark’s voice faltered for a moment, then continued, but the sobs grew stronger and stronger, until finally it became a wail of grief.

At the very moment he answered, Henry Clark heard a crisp sound, and then it was as if he was pulled into a black void, drifting forward amid a chaotic current. The warmth in his right hand never faded; the warmth of the relic made him fall into unconsciousness.

Until he woke up again.

Chapter 2 Welcome to This Mad World

When his consciousness once again emerged from chaos, his first thought was: “The beds in this hospital are so hard, just like the floor…”

His second thought: “This actually is the floor…”

Henry Clark’s mind was filled with shock and relief. Was he not dead? Survived a pierced heart? Or…

Was he already dead?

Suddenly, unfamiliar voices of conversation sounded in his ears.

“Last time in the team battle, that guy said: ‘According to my intel, the opponent this time is a magnetic field manipulator, probably a Magneto-type.’ Then another guy said: ‘Alright, let’s use ceramic bullets on him.’ Luckily I didn’t go—those two went and found out the opponent was a sea tiger, dead for sure… haha…”

A voice that sounded extremely annoying was whispering to another person, but it was obvious the other person wasn’t interested, only responding perfunctorily with “Mm, mm…” Even so, the annoying voice didn’t stop, chattering on with all sorts of terms Henry Clark didn’t understand.

If he could see, he would have found himself lying in a room paved with stone slabs, a Western-style building with all kinds of expensive decorations hanging on the walls. Henry Clark was lying on the floor, with several others unconscious on the ground as well.

In the center of the room, a talkative middle-aged man in a wrinkled suit was chatting with a smirk to the man beside him. The muscular man next to him responded absentmindedly, barely paying attention.

In the farthest corner, a cold-faced man stood with arms crossed, coldly watching the unconscious people in the corner. When he saw Henry Clark slowly groping to the side, he revealed a chilling smile.

“Hey, someone’s awake.” He turned his head, looking at the other two with a strange grin: “This time, you guys… won’t fight me for it, right?”

“I already said, do as you like, whatever happens is up to you.” The middle-aged man with the annoying grin waved his hand indifferently.

“John Baker…” The muscular man paused, squinting at him. “Don’t go too far… we all went through this.”

“You care? Who do you think you are?” John Baker raised his eyebrows provocatively. “Wanna have another internal fight?”

“Hey, don’t be like that, we’re all on the same team, peace is best, alright?” The middle-aged man stepped between them, patting the muscular man’s shoulder. “Andy Carter, John Baker is just thinking of the team, let’s talk it out.”

“Tch…” John Baker glanced at the two, said nothing more, and instead slowly walked toward Henry Clark and the others.

Henry Clark struggled to move his body, staggering as he propped himself up against the wall. He couldn’t find his usual cane, and the thing he’d been clutching before losing consciousness was gone too. Warily, he spoke in the direction of the voices: “Excuse me, where am I?”

“Pretty alert.” John Baker stopped, looked at the fat man unconscious at his feet, and casually kicked him: “Since you’re awake, get up, you useless lump.”