There had been a period when Shen Cong’s vision for Vajra 2.0 included automated remote weapon stations for perimeter defense. That idea was gone now.
As evolved beasts kept evolving, conventional firearms had lost most of their practical value.
During the Violent Ape King assault, the Provincial Garrison had fired artillery and incendiary rounds continuously — and still couldn’t kill it. In the end it had taken Shen Cong’s hands. Activity had upended a lot of assumptions about physical force.
Firearms delivered more kinetic energy than crossbows, on paper. But a crossbow loaded with bone-gold arrows outperformed a rifle firing standard ammunition every time.
Bone-gold had become the definitive weapons material.
What firearms desperately needed now was bone-gold ammunition. Without it, their stopping power against anything serious was limited. Anhui Province was inland — its garrison had always been reserve and second-line forces, never well-resourced in research and development. The apocalypse had made that worse. The Research Institute currently being assembled could only realistically develop bone-gold rounds for handguns, rifles, and machine guns.
So when it came to vehicle-mounted weapons, what Shen Cong wanted most was a rotary cannon.
A Gatling-principle rotary cannon fed with bone-gold rounds would be a devastating platform. The problem was that it wasn’t viable yet — a rotary cannon burned through thousands of rounds per minute, and even with every person in camp manufacturing ammunition full time, it would run dry in minutes.
Still: one howitzer, two rotary cannons. That was what he wanted mounted. Even if they sat empty for now, once the ammunition stockpile was deep enough, they’d become exactly what he needed them to be.
For the remaining vehicle-mounted weaponry, the answer was ballistae — large-format bolt throwers.
At nine-bull strength, drawing a ton of force was nothing. He could manage a heavy bow or crossbow rated at twenty to thirty dan without straining. A twenty-dan heavy crossbow mounted on the roof would hit with impact comparable to a howitzer shell — and with bone-gold bolts loaded, it would be an instant-kill platform against anything short of a Super-heavyweight.
With Vajra growing larger and gaining more equipment capacity, Shen Cong’s ambitions for its weapons loadout had grown to match.
After an hour of discussion, Liu Yanbing took the blueprints back to continue revisions.
Shen Cong turned to the next item on his list: preparing for tomorrow’s tournament.
Honestly, he had no interest in a sparring competition — and he was fairly certain a scheme of some kind was embedded in it. But he’d chosen to integrate with the Mingfa Camp, and that meant operating within its structure. He wasn’t yet strong enough to simply dictate terms to everyone around him. Rules had to be followed.
Fast. Make it fast.
The shorter the fight, the less time any scheme had to operate. And he’d already arranged his seating — positioned directly beside Zhao Weiliang and Zhu Li, so that if anything went wrong, he could get his hands on both of the camp’s top two commanders in an instant.
He ran through his equipment checklist.
All weapons. Especially the Super-2 Ant Acid. Detonators and grenades. The machine gun, assault rifle, handgun. Blowgun, hand crossbow, javelins, war hammer, dagger, bayonet…
The Half-Activated Armor had thickened and expanded as its Activity Value climbed. The added weight was nothing — and it gave him enough surface area to hang his full arsenal, turning him into a walking weapons platform.
September 27th. No rain in over a month.
The Mingfa Camp, backed by Dongpu Reservoir and Dafangyong Reservoir, had no shortage of water. What it was running short on was the sense of safety. The Golden Jiao had settled into Shushan Forest Park and ranged out to hunt at irregular intervals — every time it moved, the camp’s sentries held their breath, dreading the moment it turned toward them.
The camp was no longer safe. The Violent Ape swarm assault had made that undeniable.
And Nanjing — the destination so many had pinned their hopes on — had been erased by a nuclear detonation, shattering those plans. Nobody knew anymore where safety might exist.
Into that mood, the Provincial Garrison Command had organized the largest tournament the camp had ever held. A deliberate attempt to shore up morale.
Platform Nine — the widest open space in the complex — hosted the opening ceremony. The entire camp’s attention converged there.
After a few rounds of microphone feedback, Commander Zhao’s voice came over the loudspeakers:
“Comrades. Brothers and sisters. We are the survivors — the last of humanity to make it through the disaster. Anhui Province, as we knew it, is gone. But we cannot lose hope.”
The address carried to every corner of the camp.
In the seating beside the main platform, Shen Cong sat in his dark silver armor, weapons fully loaded, body taut with readiness, scanning every angle for signs of a sudden attack.
His armor drew looks. It always did. But the camp had enough eccentric appearances by now that nothing was truly out of place — iron people’s Activity-laced combat armor wasn’t unheard of, even if most didn’t wear it around camp.
Commander Zhao’s voice continued:
“Transportation severed. Communications gone. Every link to the outside world cut. But hope cannot be cut. We survived the disaster — others survived it too. Across nine-point-six million square kilometers of Chinese soil, countless compatriots are living, and waiting for the day we find each other again.”
“The disaster isn’t what frightens me. What frightens me is losing direction. The world outside is not the world we remember. Evolved beasts everywhere. Human lives fragile from one moment to the next. Displaced survivors we can’t bring in because we can’t support them. But this — I, Zhao Weiliang, promise you this — this will not last forever.”
“Today, the Provincial Garrison leadership has reached a unanimous decision to hold this tournament. Not as a formality. As a declaration to every one of us — humanity is civilization’s sovereign species. We were. We will be again.”
“The top finisher in the evolved person division will be awarded the title of Edge of Evolution by the Provincial Garrison Command, and will simultaneously receive the rank of Colonel. The camp’s resources will be directed toward supporting the Edge of Evolution — to make that person the sharpest point of humanity’s advance, to surpass the evolved beasts, and to reclaim the glory that is ours by right.”
“I now declare the First General Tournament of the Anhui Provincial Garrison, the Hefei Garrison Command, and the Mingfa Camp — open!”
The applause was enormous.
Everyone poured into the qualifying rounds.
Shen Cong gave Commander Zhao a brief nod and walked out. He was already seeded directly into the round of sixteen — no qualifying required. He wouldn’t be needed for three days.
While the camp buzzed with tournament fever, a handful of people stayed at their posts — and Shen Cong went back to running missions.
His points total had reached 1,467. A few more days and he’d clear 2,000.
The moment Vajra 2.0’s blueprints were finalized, the overhaul would begin. The thought of the Lv1 threshold — everything it would unlock — made it hard to wait.
Three days passed quickly.
The full round of thirty-two had been determined. Shen Cong’s points stood at 1,852.
September 30th, eight in the morning. His first match.
“Your opponent is Song Qi. Mutant. His Activity core is in his shin bone — his sweep kick from the front is extremely dangerous.” Li Aiping, who had been knocked out of the ordinary division early, had taken up the role of his corner support.
Shen Cong looked across the arena at Song Qi preparing on the other side, and at the crowd already debating in the stands.
Song Qi wore a helmet. He had a chest plate and bracers strapped on.
Evolved people healed fast enough that weapons weren’t prohibited — and there was no rule against armor either. An iron person’s Activity combat armor was part of their strength, after all.
The first match was about to begin.
(End of Chapter 154)